Poet on a Hill

Wednesday, 28 December 2011

Another Tale From the Welsh Valleys

I read in the paper that Puritans on York City Council, in England, find that the diamond sign that toddlers make with their fingers while singing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, evokes images of a deaf lady’s “Private Part.” So they have banned the sign from the city’s nursery.

The Puritan’s mind is a fascinating realm. The York story reminds me of the tale of Llewellyn, who travelled down to Cardiff from his chapel, somewhere beyond the Black Mountain. Then he went to see a psychiatrist.

“Well Llewellyn,” said the Shrink, “what can I do for you?”
   ”There are people in our valley spreading gossip that I’m a sexual pervert,” said Llewellyn. “So I want a certificate to pin on the chapel door, crushing such scandalous slander.” 
   “People are terrible,” said the Shrink, “but don’t worry, we’ll soon put a stop to the gossip. I’ll issue a certificate on the spot. It just takes a five minute test. That’s all.”

The Shrink tore a page from his diary and drew a circle, O, on it. “There you go Llewellyn,” he said. “What does that bring to mind?”
   “Glory be,’ said Llewellyn, taking the paper with a trembling hand. “You’ve drawn a buxom farm-wife’s Private Part.”
   “Hmm,” said the Shrink, drawing an oval, 0, on another page, “so what is that then?”
   “Dieu,” said Llewellyn, breaking into a sweat, “now you’ve drawn a red-flannel-knickered choir-lady's Private Part.”
   “Hmmmm,” said the Shrink, drawing a, V, on the next page, “and this?”
   “Heaven help us,”" gasped Llewellyn, wide eyed and open mouthed. “This is a jodhpur-clad horsewoman’s Private Part…”

And so it went on, through dozens of shapes and symbols until, finally, the Shrink offered a page with a square drawn on it. “What is this?” he wanted to know.
   “The devil’s work,” panted Llewellyn, with saliva running down his chops. “It’s the Private Part of a gym-knickered schoolmistress.”

At that point, the psychiatrist called it a day. “I’m sorry Llewellyn,” he told him, “but the gossip in the valley is true. You are a sexual pervert.”
   “Charlatan,” screamed Llewellyn, leaping to his feet and banging the table with his fist. “I’ll have you struck off the Register; sitting there all afternoon,drawing filthy pictures,  then calling me a pervert!”

                                             AW