Grampas Last Hurrah

This is set in the UK in the 1970s, so attitudes are very different. There is no social media, mobile phones, or internet. It is a different POV but covers the same events as the first chapter of Losing Inhibitions.

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James travelled up one Sunday in July 1973 for the annual family trip to see his Grampa in Southpool. Even though he was now in his late twenties, he was joining his mother and two younger sisters for two weeks and then would come up most weekends for the rest of the summer holidays. According to his grandfather's housekeeper and Mother, Grampa was becoming frailer, and this might be the last summer holiday they could all spend with him. Grampa was doing his best to hide it, but it was clear that things had changed. Time's winged chariot was at his back and threatening to run him over.

James liked the old reprobate. Grampa had a disreputable past and had been a notorious womaniser for most of his life. His opportunities for sexual experience had been assisted by the fact that Southpool was a seaside resort. There were weekly influxes of Grockles and seasonal arrivals of showgirls looking to have a good time. Many women had been up for a good-looking, wealthy man like Grampa to show them one.

James suspected that he was the only member of the family to whom Grampa could show the photo albums (actually, both James and Grampa thought of them as the Albums to distinguish them from the ordinary albums and filing cabinets of pictures) and share his reminiscences. Well, it was possible that Mother might have seen them, but he did not want to ask that question.

Each year in the album between 1919 and 1939 had between thirty to fifty photographs; about each one, Grampa had a tale and a memory. It certainly proved that Grampa was not losing his mind. Even if the stories were exaggerated, the ability to remember his lies consistently showed that the mind was working even if the body was weaker.

In the war years, the photos were different, but if anything, there were more of them. Disturbingly, he recognised quite a few of the pictures as being friends of Mother when she had been in the ATS and wives of officers in Father's regiment. Even in the 1950s, Grampa usually managed about thirty a year, mostly war widows and showgirls. Only in the 1960s did the photographs get rarer. While some photographs were taken by beach photographers or in photo kiosks, many were more daring. Grampa had been a keen amateur photographer and had a studio and darkroom in the cellar. It spoke volumes to Grampa's powers of persuasion that he had persuaded so many of them to pose in their underwear for him and in positions which indicated that they had just been or were just about to be shagged.

1967 was the last entry in the album. That was the same year Grannie had died from cancer, and Grampa had suddenly aged after a nasty illness. He had gotten away with seeming ten years younger than he was before that.

James got on with Grampa's housekeeper, Mavis, who had worked under Grampa as his secretary for twenty-five years and possibly under him on his desk. Indeed, her daughter looked more like James's mother than Mavis or her deceased husband. It was Mavis who buttonholed him first as he came through the door to tell him his Grampa wanted him to carve the roast at lunchtime and then said, "He's losing his interest in life, Jim. He's almost had enough of it, and while he won't do anything silly, he's not that bothered about staying around. At least he wasn't, but he perked up last week." She winked at him, "Your new aunt helped, and I think some young girl serving at the Club has caught his fancy."

James laughed, "He always said he wanted to die in his bed at ninety, shot by a jealous husband." Mavis smiled. It was an old family joke.

"Anyway, if you could humour him by regularly taking him to lunch or dinner there over the next two weeks, it might cheer him up enough to keep him going a bit longer."

"Has he said anything about a young woman?"

"Not to me, but your uncle Bernard looked very uncomfortable each time they returned from the Club. He even did his Steptoe impersonation to your new aunt. I think your Grampa heard him do it."

"Understood, I'll help him have fun."

Mavis paused, "I think he also feels sorry for your new aunt. Well, so do I."

James wondered exactly what she meant by that. He had only seen Aunt Juliette at the wedding, and she had looked very young and innocent. Still, it wasn't as though Uncle Bernard was a cruel man. A bit of a puritan, perhaps. He then nodded to himself. Mavis and Grampa were more likely to feel sorry for a young woman not getting the amorous attention she deserved rather than having to have sex with an older man.

Anyway, after Sunday lunch, when he had carved the chicken, he went to see Grampa and said, "How's it hanging, you dirty old man?" He impersonated Harry H Corbett well enough for Grampa to laugh.

"Half-mast at best, you cheeky young whippersnapper. So, Mavis Withers also heard your Uncle Bernard. We may both be old, and I'm decrepit, but we're not deaf."

"So, what did you do to upset Uncle Bernard, and who did you do it to?"

"Best if I show you. You're going with me to the Club tonight. Even if I can't spoon with her, I want you to do so. The dishonour of the family is at stake. At least one of us needs to stick their pork sword in her with gusto."

"Never say die, Grampa. You're only as old as the woman you feel. Anyway, spill the beans."

"Get out the Album and turn to 1930." Grampa handed him the key to the safe, and James got out the photo album. Grampa would have been in his late twenties then and had already been married for ten years. He wondered how Grandma had put up with him for nearly fifty years. She had been a Catholic, so divorce had been out of the question, but even still, since he could remember, they had sort of rubbed along. Certainly, Grampa had been surprisingly upset by her death.

Grampa looked through the album and pointed to a picture of a snappily dressed younger version of him, standing with his arm around the waist of a shorter woman with large breasts and a certain look in her eyes. "That was Eunice. She was on her Wakes week holiday. I met her in the pub on Wednesday afternoon. Her tits were fantastic, and she had a dirty laugh. I bought her a few drinks, listened to her, teased her, and after closing time, we were under the pier. She didn't want to get sand in her clothes, so I bent her over as she held on to a pillar with her skirt up around her waist, her breasts in my mitts and her knickers in her handbag. Christ, I should have made her put them in her mouth as she squealed like a pig. Blonde. Pity there were only two days left of her holiday then, but we took full advantage of them. Anyway, the new waitress at the Club looks just like her and is a good sport."

Good sport was probably a euphemism for being willing to be felt up by Grampa. No wonder the old boy had perked up.

"If the waitress looks like her, I'm certainly in for trying to fork her, let alone spoon with her."

Grampa laughed. "That's my grandson. Wish Bernard was more like you. He still thinks sex is a sin and feels guilty during it. It's a pity his new wife is so bloody innocent. I bet he can't get it up for long enough to even give us a chance of an heir to carry on the family name."

"But he won't pronounce it like you do."

"Still no chance that you'll change your name?"

"Sorry, Grampa. My dad felt the same way you do about the name. Why not ask Mark?"

"You are more likely to have sprogs than Mark. He's clearly a Bertie Woofter, and his wife teaches at Radclyffe Hall. Even dresses in tweeds and sensible shoes despite being twenty-five. Think about changing the name. After all, Farquharson is almost as embarrassing as Cockburn."

"Not the way you pronounce it. Anyway, everyone knows me as Farquharson. I'm not going to double-barrel it, either. I do want to get married someday."

Grampa laughed. "Fair enough. No harm in asking. Anyway, back to the waitress. Despite himself, your uncle was helpful last week by being rude to me in front of Samantha and more or less telling her that he thought she was on the game. She played up to this and allowed me to squeeze her knee and fondle her arse."

Grampa said, "Actually, look at 1953 as well."

This photograph was a posed one of a buxom blonde in red stockings, knickers and a basque. She was bent over in a way which accentuated her bosom, her hands on her hips and a look that invited the cameraman to come over and kiss her (at least as a start). "That was Diane Fraser. She was a chorus girl from London who wanted a portfolio of photographs to try and get better work and was happy to pay in kind. She wanted to go to the Rank Charm school. Christ, she could open her legs wide and high. I persuaded her that she needed more practice on the casting couch for one day a week during the season. She was up for anything."

"Grampa, are you saying you had the mother and the daughter?"

"No, they just look similar. Eunice was a mill girl, and Diane was a cockney trying to sound posh. Still would be something to have bonked mother and daughter."

He was glad the conversation had gone in this direction as it allowed him to raise a question that his mother and one of his friends had wanted him to ask.

"Grampa, did you shoot many portfolios for chorus girls and ingenues?"

"As many as I could. Most were happy to come to an arrangement. Got a few thousand photographs in the files. Why? Do you want to see them?"

"One of my friends is in publishing, and he says that there is a market for books about the old music hall days. He might be interested in one about the Southpool theatres and end-of-pier shows, especially with photographs of the chorus line. One of Mother's friends was in ENSA and then went on the radio and TV and would be perfect to write the commentary."

Grampa looked at him and thought about it. "I know the fella you mean. Dennis Hodd. Hey, you may have something there. We would have to be selective with the photos. Some were intimate, and the girls were young, foolish and sometimes a little drunk. I don't want to embarrass them too much now. Some of them went on to have good careers in showbusiness or married wealthy men."

"I think we can manage that. I'll talk with Mother."

He then went to see his mother, who was all in favour of giving Grampa an interest in life and promised to telephone her friend. She also encouraged him to seduce the waitress and tell Grampa all the gory details. She also said that she had told his aunt Juliette that he would not try to seduce her but would be a good friend to her. She then asked him to confirm this to the young woman, who was a little flustered. Mother was clearly up to something but would let him know more when she was ready. She was a merry widow who liked Uncle Bernard and no doubt wanted to help his new aunt Juliette make a success of the marriage. While she liked to joke that she and him both belonged in a PG Wodehouse book, Mother really belonged in a Noel Coward play or a Preston Sturges film.

He'd talked to Juliette, who'd understandably looked shellshocked from having had to deal with Mother's well-meaning advice and his gallantry. Still, she didn't seem to dislike it, and he suspected Mother would charm the young lady into being more relaxed.

That evening, he and Grampa took fifteen minutes to walk to the club. Five years ago, Grampa would have made it in seven minutes. Even last year, it would only have taken ten. Mavis was almost certainly right that he was nearing the end of his life. Still, he had left the walking stick behind, which was a good sign.

They were sat at a table in an alcove next to the window. This was Grampa's favourite table. Grampa sat with his back to the window, and James sat beside him. It made talking to Grampa easier and allowed them to watch the rest of the dining room.

The blonde, who looked like both the women in the photographs, walked over to their table with the menus. She cheerfully greeted them with, "Hello, Mr Cockburn. Is this your other son?" She pronounced it as Cockburn rather than Coburn, which was how Grampa liked to do so.

"Call me Arnie, young Samantha. This good-looking young man is my grandson James. Would you believe I looked just like him forty-five years ago?"

"I can see the resemblance. I would have believed that he was your son."

Grampa lapped it up, and James smiled at the woman. "Delighted to meet you, Samantha. Are you new here?"

"Just here for the summer. Working so that I can afford a holiday with my girlfriends before we all start at college." Implicitly, no boyfriend, which was good.

He saw what Grampa meant about Samantha being a good sport. Grampa fondled Samantha's arse through her black skirt as she served them wine. She simply giggled rather than looking shocked or offended. She also allowed him to do it again another three times over the meal and positioned herself so that he could do it discretely and without contortion. Mavis was right -- fondling her arse did seem to restore a bit of pep to the old man. He did grumble to James that Samantha was obviously wearing tights and not stockings. It also made sense as to why Grampa chose the table. It allowed him to feel up Samantha (or any other waitress) without it being evident to the rest of the restaurant what was happening. The girl also undid another button on her blouse and allowed Grampa and James a good look at her boobs when she served them coffee and liqueurs.

As planned, when it was time to pay the bill, Grampa went over to speak to some old cronies and left James to pay the bill. Typically, 10% was the going rate, but James upped it to 50%. She registered this and thanked him. He said, "Thanks for being so good with my grandfather."

"He's cheerful and friendly." She then looked at him, "It makes a difference that he's touching up Samantha and not the waitress. Anyway, he strokes and doesn't grab. It's not like serving in the private room on Friday night."

"Do you have an afternoon off this week?"

"I'm off tomorrow from 12 until 6 in the evening."

"Would you like to go for lunch at the Malt Shovel at 12.30 and then go to the pictures? My treat. We can see the new Bond film."

She looked at him and said, "I'll be delighted."

Both Grampa and his mother were delighted to hear that he was taking Samantha out. They both had suggestions for him to maximise his chances, and he made them both promise not to come and spectate.

Samantha turned up on time in jeans and a gingham halter top. The top left little to the imagination, and every man in the pub was staring at her, albeit some pretended they weren't. The pub did decent home cooking and had comfortable chairs. For Southpool, it was upmarket.

He had consulted with Grampa and his mother last night, who had suggested that he bring her a practical gift. Flowers or chocolates were fine in their way, but clothes had an attraction for a young woman who was struggling with money. Both Mother and Grampa said that back in the war, Americans could get a lot of action in return for stockings and cigarettes.

Grampa said the woman had admitted that she had fewer clothes than she liked. Her black skirts were designed to reduce the risk of attempted rape at the private dinners for clubs on Friday and Saturday nights. Tight enough so they could not be easily raised above her hips while allowing men to touch her knees. She had also hinted that she was open to wearing a shorter one in the restaurant.

Mother had gone shopping with his aunt Juliette on Monday morning while he took his sisters for a two-and-a-half-hour visit to the funfair. When he got back at 11.45, Mother handed him a small bag to give to the woman. "Black skirt with pleats. Not so short as to appear tarty, but it will allow Grampa to investigate her legs further."

Samantha expressed herself to be delighted with the gift and had tried it on in the toilets. When she returned, she kissed him and said it fit perfectly. He had admitted that he had taken his Grampa's advice on her measurements, and she had found that amusing. At Grampa's suggestion, he also gave her a book by Muriel Spark called "The Girls of Slender Means." This also went down well.

As they ate and drank, he encouraged her to talk about herself. He had been told by Grampa as a young man to listen to what women said and show that he remembered it. Grampa's view was that if you showed an interest in them as human beings, women did not mind that you wanted to get between their legs as well. He suspected this may have been truer in Grampa's time, but he still found it helped in the 1960s and 70s.

She explained that she was going to university in Bristol next year to study English. She didn't know what she wanted to do afterwards but wanted to be famous. She then winked and said she told most people she wanted to be a teacher. She was trying to earn some spending money by working for as much of the summer as possible this summer. Her parents had moved to Spain full-time now she had left school. Dad had retired last year and wanted to spend his declining years in a warmer climate. That meant she had to support herself in the holidays. She was waitressing in the club five evenings and five lunchtimes a week and working as a maid in the nearby hotel five mornings a week. She had afternoons and three evenings a fortnight off.

She then said that she had no boyfriend. She didn't think there was any point in making any commitment so close to going to university, although she still liked going out. "I've just given up having a steady boyfriend, not given up going with men." She then giggled and said that had come out wrong.

From what Grampa had told him, James knew that this was a favourite line of hers and that she was giving him the green light that she was up for some fun. Grampa had said one of his advantages of being a well-off man in the twenties and thirties was that he could afford to give his lady friends a good time, and they would be grateful for it. James was doing well in his career, and Grampa and his mother had helped him buy a house in Hampstead five years ago. Strictly, they had loaned the money on an interest-free basis. Grampa had insisted on this as, at the time, James had had a serious girlfriend whom Grampa did not trust. He had probably been right.

James told Samantha that he was unmarried (which was true) and was currently single (debatable but not really a lie). He also said that he was looking to enjoy his two-week holiday but did not really know anyone who lived in the resort other than family and friends of his Grampa.

They chatted about his uncle and his new aunt. He was intrigued when she said, "Your uncle is the type I don't like. He wants to bend me over the table but feels disgusted at himself for wanting to do so and hates me for making him feel that way."

"I'd never thought about him that way before. It does make sense."

"Ok, I know you and your Grampa want the same thing, but you at least don't blame me for making you feel that way."

"I wish more women were as honest as you about our motivations. And what do you make of my new aunt?"

"I've never really got to know girls like her. How old is she?"

"Still eighteen for another five months."

"Only a few months older than I am." The woman looked confused and said, "I feel sorry for her."

"So do I, but I'm not certain why. Well, apart from being married to my uncle. Still, it's not as though he's a bad man, really."

"But is he good for her?"

He paraphrased what he thought his Grampa and Mother would say, "I can see that they are both too repressed to let themselves enjoy each other. It's just that I'm not certain either of them would be happy about letting the inhibitions go."