I can’t remember exactly when I first met Albert Ramsbottom. What I do remember is that my father introduced us. Oh, it’s not what you think. Dad, being from the north of England, had a fondness for old entertainers like Stanley Holloway who was well known for reciting monologues. Albert, along with his parents, was a central character in many of them. Dad had a small collection of Holloway’s records that he would resurrect every now and then when he felt like having a bit of a laugh. And we would often listen to them together.
“The Lion and Albert”, a poem by Marriott Edgar, was always my favourite. And Holloway delivered a great rendition of it. The poem itself is a very wry offering that illustrates the nature of the North Country people as pragmatic, honest, hardworking and having a penchant for frugality. In the story, the Ramsbottoms go on an improbable adventure that serves both to entertain and to point out life’s many ironies. Simply put, they visit the zoo and Albert, having poked a lion in the ear with a stick, gets summarily swallowed.
I should point out that I have always loved the dialect of England’s north and after years of teasing Dad about his own Yorkshire accent, became quite practiced at replicating it. “The Lion and Albert” seemed to me to be the perfect venue for showcasing this linguistic skill and so I set about memorizing the words. Thus, my party piece was born.
My first few dates with Albert were at home. I would recite for anyone who came to the house for a visit or sat around the dinner table. Anyone who made a delivery to the door was in danger of being conscripted for audience duty. As time passed, I became aware that the entertainment value to my family of repeated performances was wearing mightily thin but I managed to buy a few more listening hours by pointing out that I could always revert to practicing my yodeling techniques around the house instead. That shut them up.
As in many relationships, Albert and I, having experienced the burst of initial passion, cooled toward one another for a time. I became busy with my job and raising my own family. And Albert? Well Albert, I expect was content to have a few years off from being the lion’s dinner.
Then one evening, my department at work was having a party to celebrate the year-end. I had had one, maybe two, glasses of wine and was feeling particularly ebullient. My usual shy and self-conscious self gave way to someone bolder and infinitely more confident. And Albert came out to play. I was delighted with the reception he received that evening. There was a big round of applause and afterwards, some admiring glances. I felt my star come out.
From then on, Albert and I once more became fast friends. People would ask after him, invite him to speak at parties and receptions and I came to know that the piece of me that was often hidden, the show-off, the one that loves to be in the spotlight, had a strong ally.
Of course, I had to be very vigilant about the conditions around which I could successfully deliver such intricate verse. After a number of false and somewhat embarrassing starts, it became clear to me that while one glass of wine was helpful, three ensured that my brain would blur along with my equilibrium and chances are, something was bound to be left out, mispronounced or most horrifying of all, completely forgotten.
Over the years, Albert has come with me to a number of rather unlikely places. He has made an appearance in a very posh restaurant in Toronto in front of a substantial number of senior executive bankers,( They were suitably charmed by his “go for it” attitude toward the lion). He has performed at dinner parties, corporate gatherings, birthday parties, and after hours at conferences and workshops.
Once, he came with me to Philadelphia where I was to complete a university residency for my degree. On that occasion, my fellow Masters’ candidates lifted me up onto a chair where I not only delivered, “The Lion and Albert”, but also managed to provide them with the sequel called, “Albert Comes Back, which saw Albert, once swallowed by the lion, being regurgitated and showing up at his parents’ house just minutes before his father was to collect the life insurance money. That one drew a standing ovation. I think it was because most of my colleagues were in the insurance business. And it seems that Americans love an English accent.
Since then, the frequency of performances has dropped off. I’m running out of people who have not heard the monologues at all. Certainly, I have run out of people who want to hear them again. From time to time, I have strayed from Albert and told stories about Sam Small, another of Marriot Edgar’s characters or Robert Service‘s Bessie who complains of having a boil on her bottom. However, I think my fifteen minutes of fame, having been apportioned out in two minute increments is about over and I will have to find another way of polishing my star. Maybe I will go back to yodeling.
In the meantime, check out this link and Stanley Holloway will entertain you. Enjoy
Prissyperfection 