Letters to The Daily Telegraph

Letters to The Daily Telegraph

An Englishman’s garden…  SIR – Marion Snivel’s complaint about poor workmanship (Letters, June 9) reminds me of an occasion during the General Strike of 1926.  Upon finding a copy of the Daily Worker in our gardener’s shed (I say, “shed”, but to him it was home) I confronted the fellow and demanded an explanation.  He replied airily that “the working class” (who were conspicuous at the time by not working) were “no longer going to bow down to the bosses” and, in consequence thereof, I should consider my lawn “not to be mowed”.    Donning a pair of workman’s trousers, I mowed the lawn myself, receiving huge plaudits from my wife (and her very attractive sister, who was staying with us at the time).  If a job’s worth doing, it’s worth doing oneself.  It’s a pity that Karl Marx couldn’t grasp this elementary principle, considering the havoc he unleashed. TUBBY TOWELS                      The Dower House,                               Old Breeches,              Devon A patriot at the pump SIR – I would like to know why the petrol I put in my Morris Oxford has the sheer blasted effrontery to call itself British? BERNARD “DUSTY” REAR “Ganders’ Retreat”, Old Chelmsford, Essex. Ministering to our former colonies SIR – On a recent visit to the USA, I was surprised and delighted to see our own David Cameron competing with Newt Gingrich, Rick Santorum and Rick Perry to lead the Republican charge against Barack Obama in November. I’m sure everyone joins me in wishing our Prime Minister the best of luck. I feel very proud. MUHAMMAD AL-JAMIL IBN NIDAL IBN ABDULAZIZ AL-FILASTINI “Dusty Holes”, Chelmsford, Essex  The truth about the Midlands SIR – Sylvia Podmore (Letters, November 23) couldn’t be more wrong,  There are no bears in Wolverhampton. GLORIA GUSSET                     “The Smalls”,                                      Panties Lane, Dorset  No country for old rope SIR – I recently bought a piece of string at an auction but I’m damned if I know what to do with it.  Do any of your readers have the foggiest?   HUMPHREY SPOON     Cabin 5,                          “Sailors’ Rest”,               Penge Free speech SIR – Can someone please explain to me why my son, Tyrone, was denied access to the members-only Pavilion at Lords for wearing a shirt with the words, “Black people not welcome here”?  Everyone knows they aren’t.  What is happening to our venerable British institutions?  Is it now obligatory to say, “I support the right of Muslim paedophiles to rape and bomb our children” before being allowed to watch a cricket match? STEPHEN SHIT      Home Farm, Market Snodsbury, Lincs Ducks over Dorset SIR – We have become so accustomed to familiar species of wildlife being washed off the map by rising tides of toxic waste and deprived of their ancient habitats by Huns and Vandals disguised as “town planners” and “developers” that it might seem churlish in me to express alarm at an extraordinary increase in the population of a particular—and particularly well-loved—species. I refer to the Mallard duck and I confine my observations to the county of Dorset, particularly that area of Dorset that lies between and around Blandford Forum and Wimborne Minster. There are Mallards covering every river and stream, every lake and pond. Our walks and country rides are overrun, or rather overwaddled, by multitudes of the creatures. The “wing’d air”, as Milton had it, is “thick with plumes” and we are deafened, even indoors and at dead of night, by their incessant din. I have considered taking my guns to them, but I’m afraid of mass retaliation.      I would be fascinated to know if any readers in other parts of the British Isles are experiencing the same thing. MUHAMMAD AL-JAMIL IBN NIDAL IBN ABDULAZIZ AL-FILASTINI “Standing Pools”, Poole, Dorset.

Errors in the fields SIR – How I miss dear old Brock Hurley! The Countryside Diary has not been the same since Old Brock went to that great slaughterhouse in the sky. Like everyone else, I find Ben Silage a poor replacement for the great man. Silage knows nothing about the domestic animals, wildlife, food-crops or the trees, plants or wildflowers that make our land so lovely and brought poetry to old Brock’s pen. Last week Silage demonstrated that he doesn’t know the difference between a tractor and a combine harvester. He can’t tell one season from another and his ignorance of pigs is abysmal.  WELLESLEY HUBCAPS “The Old Misfits”, Pork Wheldon, Wilts Nature calls  SIR – In all the arguments for and against the proposed high-speed rail link to Birmingham, has anyone considered the otter?  SALLY SURRIDGE      “The Chilterns”,                         Coxley Womb,  Bucks                  Adopting appropriate names SIR –I recently got a letter from a Mr. กาญจนา  ประเวศ สมเพียร and I believe this is just the kind of thing that should be nipped in the bud. Shouldn’t immigrants adopt names appropriate to places, professions, characteristics and accomplishments? This after all is how our own names came about. And shouldn’t the names they choose be English, for heaven’s sake?      I have a Welsh neighbour called Admiral Sir Viscount Sidcup Sensible Pyjamas. The man is clearly an idiot, but I applaud his attempt to be “one of us”. HOPELESS ERNIE RUBBING VIGOROUSLY “The Rubbing Vigorously House”, Rubbing Vigorously Under Sluther, Wilts. Without let or hindrance SIR – I am sure I am not alone in wishing to emigrate to The People’s Republic of North Korea. My local Citizens’ Advice Bureau informs me that since the United Kingdom has no diplomatic relations with our fellow island fastness, there is no government office or department to assist me in my quest. I therefore appeal to you, Sir, and to my fellow-readers, for advice - particularly to any readers who may be perusing these pages north of the 38th Parallel.  LAURIE “LAIRDY” LAIRD “Casanova’s Castle”,                         Ludeleigh Old Swelter, Bucks            Baloney! SIR – Ivan Oates is wide of the mark in suggesting that sausages cause herpes (“Bangers and rash”, June 6).  Last year, on a trip to Sweden, I contracted the disease and saw the doctor immediately.  She was an attractive blonde, with full breasts and a stunning derriere and, when she crossed her legs, her short skirt rode up her rippling thighs to reveal – but I digress.  She asked me: “Have you eaten sausages recently?”    “Certainly not!” I ejaculated hotly.  Need I say more? TREVOR STIFF The Old Pencil Shop, Lewes      A Scot or not? SIR: I wonder if any of your readers with long memories could solve an ongoing dispute that has been ruining family Christmases for several generations. Is Fyfe Robertson a Scotsman? Ah hae ma doots, frankly. BEAUMONT O’FLETCHER “Legs Of My Fathers”, 23 Palmerston Road, Mumbai, ED16 Pl4, India