and she was surrounded by great grandchildren. I said, ‘Did you have a good birthday, Mrs Brewster?’
‘Yes, a very good birthday, thank you.’
‘Did you get a telegram from the Queen?’
‘Yes, I did, but I was a bit disappointed.’
‘Disappointed?’ I said. ‘With a telegram from the Queen?’
‘Oh, yes,’ she said. ‘It wasn’t in her own handwriting!’
I visited a lovely lady in Penkridge in Staffordshire. She was aged eighty-five and still delivering milk every day. She lived in an old farmhouse and she said to me (and this to me is astonishing) that she had never slept a single night of her life outside that house. She had been on a day trip to Great Yarmouth and a day trip to London, but every night she would come back. When you considerhow we all rush about the place nowadays and stay away on holidays, that was remarkable.
There was this man down in Usk in Wales. He told me that at the beginning of the war he was sent to India to look after the mules in a regiment out there. He was a vegetarian, and he knew you don’t eat the green stuff if you can help it in India, so he thought he would take some packets of mustard and cress seeds. He took hundreds of packets and after he had spent a hot day with the mules he used to take off his wellies, put some mustard and cress seeds in the bottom and go to sleep. And in the morning he would have mustard and cress for breakfast!
I can’t help it. That’s what he told me and I’m sure it’s true.
I interviewed a lovely chap at Biggleswade and he had a ferret down his trousers while I was talking to him. He did give me one big tip. If ever you want to put a ferret down your trousers, make sure it’s the male. He’s all right, but if it’s the female – it’s ‘gobble time’, he tells me!
That’s a good tip. You’re never likely to do it, but you never know. And I interviewed a rat catcher at Stockport. He was a very well-known rat catcher. He caught all the local rats but if he saw a particularly fine specimen of rat, he would keep it alive, take it to the vet to have itinoculated and put it in a cage in his garden. When I went, there were a hundred brown rats in there. He used to use them for films, for scenes in sewers and so on. While I was interviewing him, a rat was running all over him. Euggh! Awful!
A nd then the things people collect. There was a man at Tenterden in Kent who collected prams. He had three hundred and twenty-nine prams in his garden or in his house: two wheelers, four wheelers, some with hoods and some not. I went up to his bedroom and there were prams all in his bedroom too. He said, ‘Sadly, my wife has died.’
I nearly said, ‘Well, I don’t blame her!’
Another man in Sussex collected pipes. He had twenty thousand pipes and I saw them all – unbelievable. A man up in Cumberland collected bottles. He had eight thousand bottles of all different descriptions and people came from all over the world to see them.
S o you met all these interesting people and you never really knew if someone was going to tell you a funny story or not. I interviewed a dentist once and I said afterwards, ‘You didn’t tell me a story.’
‘No, I had one,’ he said, ‘but I didn’t like to tell you in case it wasn’t good enough.’
So I said, ‘What was it?’
‘Well,’ said the dentist, ‘an old lady came to have her teeth filled recently and I got the drill up to her mouth but had to withdraw it quickly. I said, “Excuse me, madam. Do you realise your right hand is gripping me in a very painful place?”
‘And she said, “Yes, we’re not going to hurt each other, are we?”’
F inally, someone who did tell me a good story once was the Archbishop of York. I had interviewed him when we did York Minster and I was in his palace at Bishopthorpe, when he said, ‘Let’s have a glass of sherry and I’ll tell you a story.’
Marvellous, I thought, from an Archbishop.
‘Well,’ he said, ‘you remember when
‘Yes, a very good birthday, thank you.’
‘Did you get a telegram from the Queen?’
‘Yes, I did, but I was a bit disappointed.’
‘Disappointed?’ I said. ‘With a telegram from the Queen?’
‘Oh, yes,’ she said. ‘It wasn’t in her own handwriting!’
I visited a lovely lady in Penkridge in Staffordshire. She was aged eighty-five and still delivering milk every day. She lived in an old farmhouse and she said to me (and this to me is astonishing) that she had never slept a single night of her life outside that house. She had been on a day trip to Great Yarmouth and a day trip to London, but every night she would come back. When you considerhow we all rush about the place nowadays and stay away on holidays, that was remarkable.
There was this man down in Usk in Wales. He told me that at the beginning of the war he was sent to India to look after the mules in a regiment out there. He was a vegetarian, and he knew you don’t eat the green stuff if you can help it in India, so he thought he would take some packets of mustard and cress seeds. He took hundreds of packets and after he had spent a hot day with the mules he used to take off his wellies, put some mustard and cress seeds in the bottom and go to sleep. And in the morning he would have mustard and cress for breakfast!
I can’t help it. That’s what he told me and I’m sure it’s true.
I interviewed a lovely chap at Biggleswade and he had a ferret down his trousers while I was talking to him. He did give me one big tip. If ever you want to put a ferret down your trousers, make sure it’s the male. He’s all right, but if it’s the female – it’s ‘gobble time’, he tells me!
That’s a good tip. You’re never likely to do it, but you never know. And I interviewed a rat catcher at Stockport. He was a very well-known rat catcher. He caught all the local rats but if he saw a particularly fine specimen of rat, he would keep it alive, take it to the vet to have itinoculated and put it in a cage in his garden. When I went, there were a hundred brown rats in there. He used to use them for films, for scenes in sewers and so on. While I was interviewing him, a rat was running all over him. Euggh! Awful!
A nd then the things people collect. There was a man at Tenterden in Kent who collected prams. He had three hundred and twenty-nine prams in his garden or in his house: two wheelers, four wheelers, some with hoods and some not. I went up to his bedroom and there were prams all in his bedroom too. He said, ‘Sadly, my wife has died.’
I nearly said, ‘Well, I don’t blame her!’
Another man in Sussex collected pipes. He had twenty thousand pipes and I saw them all – unbelievable. A man up in Cumberland collected bottles. He had eight thousand bottles of all different descriptions and people came from all over the world to see them.
S o you met all these interesting people and you never really knew if someone was going to tell you a funny story or not. I interviewed a dentist once and I said afterwards, ‘You didn’t tell me a story.’
‘No, I had one,’ he said, ‘but I didn’t like to tell you in case it wasn’t good enough.’
So I said, ‘What was it?’
‘Well,’ said the dentist, ‘an old lady came to have her teeth filled recently and I got the drill up to her mouth but had to withdraw it quickly. I said, “Excuse me, madam. Do you realise your right hand is gripping me in a very painful place?”
‘And she said, “Yes, we’re not going to hurt each other, are we?”’
F inally, someone who did tell me a good story once was the Archbishop of York. I had interviewed him when we did York Minster and I was in his palace at Bishopthorpe, when he said, ‘Let’s have a glass of sherry and I’ll tell you a story.’
Marvellous, I thought, from an Archbishop.
‘Well,’ he said, ‘you remember when
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