I have known my dear friend Doctor John Watson for many
years now, and as most readers of this publication will know, he has a small
delight in writing of our modest adventures in these pages.
So it was, when Mr. Greenough Smith – present editor of his
publication – asked if I would consent to turn the tables, as it were, upon my
friend and write a few short lines about him; I was delighted.
There are so many things I could write about my friend, but
my mind is especially drawn back to one rather warm August morning when Dr.
Watson and I had just finished one of Mrs. Hudson’s fine morning meals and sat
smoking our first pipes of the day, gazing out the open windows of 221 Baker
Street at some workmen across the way repairing the brickwork of the building
opposite ours.
“Hard job that one,” said my friend…
“What?”
“The brick workers, Holms. It’s hard and dangerous too. Did
I ever mention that in my youth I was once a hod carrier?”
“Hod carrier? Why on earth would you have taken up that line
of work?’
“Well…” he said as he relit his old Willmer, “I was very
young and had not been sure what I wanted to do with my life, and school had
not at all appeared exciting. Working in the out-of doors, and making a living
with one’s hands seemed oddly enough romantically “honest.” It was then that my
father mentioned that that there was an opening for the job of hob carrier… you
know… the man who carries the bricks for the bricklayers… it seemed the perfect
thing to do.”
“And how long did you remain at this occupation Watson?” I
asked.
“Oh, just the one day, Holmes.”
“One day! Now Watson, it sounds like there is a story in
this; “ I chuckled…. Do tell old friend.
So I settled back and relit my pipe, as my friend unfolded
his tale.
“The day had gone just fine. The work was hard, but I did
not mind, and the older men were glad to have a lad to do the carrying. It was
not till the end of the day the trouble began.”
“Do go on Watson…”
“Well, at the end of the day I was told there were a number
of bricks left up on the roof of the building we were working on, and it would
be my job to bring them down and stack them so that no one would be hurt,
should they fall from the roof. And I would have no help as the rest of the men
had already left, it would be a harder job still. So I sat for a moment’s rest
and thought about how best to proceed, when I spotted an old empty barrel and
formed a plan. I tied a rope to the barrel and then carried the rope up to the
roof of the building, where I ran it through a pulley at the end of a board
projecting out from the edge of the roof. Up I went again and filled the old
barrel with all the unused bricks.”
“Interesting plan my friend.” I said, as I relit my pipe and
smiled at what I suspected was about to come.
“Indeed it was, Holms. And the old barrel was just large
enough to hold every last brick, so the job would not be nearly as hard as I
had first thought.”
“Do go on old friend…”
“I had tied off the rope after hoisting the barrel to the
roof. So once filled with the bricks, I went down and untied the rope in order
to lower the bricks to ground. Simple really… too simple.”
“I had just not guessed that the old barrel, now filled with
the bricks would weigh far more than I did!” “And as soon as I loosened the
rope, the weight of the barrel of bricks lifted me off the ground!
“Surely you let go of the rope Watson?”
“No, Holmes, I went flying up into the air, and half way up
I met the barrel of bricks coming down. It crashed into me, and I received a
good many cuts and bruises about the head and shoulders. The barrel then
continued down and I up. At the top I slammed my head into the board and jammed
my poor fingers into the pulley, cutting them badly. As to the barrel of
bricks, it had continued to the ground, where it hit with a crash that broke
out the bottom and spilled the load of bricks!”
“Oh, my… What then?
“Oh, yes dear Holmes!”
“I was now lighter than the once again empty barrel, and
before I could swing over to the safety of the roof, I began a very rapid
descent to the ground! Of course, the barrel was still tied to the rope, so as
I began coming down, the devilish thing was jerked off the ground and began
another trip to the roof. Halfway down, I met the barrel coming up, receiving
more cuts to my feet and knees with a severe blow to my mid-section. The barrel
continued to the roof and I continued to the ground, where I landed in a heap
upon the spilled bricks, receiving even more cuts and bruises, I was in a very
sorry state indeed, Holmes.”
“But at least the worst was over by then my friend.”
“Not really Holmes…”
“Watson! Surely you don’t mean that…”
“Yes, Holmes. Somehow in the daze I found myself I
completely forgot…. That as I lay there upon the pile of bricks, holding on to
the blasted rope, all I could think of was that I deserved a good smoke. So I
LET GO OF THE ROPE to get out my pipe and pouch….”
“Watson, my dear friend, surely you did not…”
“Ah, Holmes, but I did. And releasing the rope, there was
now nothing to hold what remained of the barrel to the roof; it therefore began
to descend at a spiteful speed towards the earth, and me… And there it found
me, still sitting upon the spilled bricks, with pouch in hand; it crashed upon
me, knocking me out. I was still laying there the next morning when the men
came to work.”
“And then?”
“I decided to become a doctor, right then and there my dear
Holmes.”
Understandable, my dear Watson.”
“Elementary, my dear Holmes!”
Enjoy!
Christina
BC Calabash, available at Benningtons in Boca Raton
561-391-1372
