Perhaps we need some light relief in trying times

The craziness of the world we live in is nothing new.

As long ago as 1605 Thomas Middleton wrote a play called A Mad World, My Masters and indeed it still is. Politicians who can’t be trusted, world leaders determined on self-destruction by warring with their neighbours, a presidential candidate who not only shows signs of a dangerous brand of lunacy but who, even worse, could well win an election. Add to all this an airport anguishing over where farewell hugs are to be permitted and we have a world in which Thomas Middleton would feel right at home.

But fear not. Just ten years or so before Middleton’s effort came another play, this time from William Shakespeare, which gives us hope and, indeed, provides this column with something of a motto. In The Merchant of Venice Portia, hoping for a brighter world having won justice for Antonio against Shylock, points to a candle and exclaims, "How far that little candle throws its beams! So shines a good deed in a naughty world."

It would be pretentious to suggest that Shakespeare had Nothing Too Serious in mind when he wrote those immortal words but I like to think that sometimes this column may lighten up the gloom created by events in a naughty world.

The answer could be to simply use humour to drive dull care away. You’ll be aware by now that I pinch good lines from wherever I can and that last phrase comes from a poem written by Harry Clifton in 1868. The London-born American specialised in sentimental moralising and the full version may well provide a motto for these dark days:

"Oh, drive dull care away,

For weeping is but sorrow.

If things are wrong today,

There’s another day tomorrow."

There. I’ll bet you’re feeling better already, and I’ve remembered something which may help to lift your spirits. It was comedian Peter Sellers’ favourite joke, which he told often and one which I’ve told far too many times but not always successfully. Sellers, of course, was a master of mimicry and brought to the gag his gift for voices — pretentious Englishman, provincial tradesmen and Oriental laundryman. This last voice involved a spurt of stage Chinese which is omitted from the version below as these days it could cause offence, but Sellers used it in an interview 50 years ago and as the man said, "The past is a foreign country; they do things differently there."

Sellers gave us the tale of an old actor, well past his prime, on a provincial tour. His shirt cuffs are frayed and trimmed with his nail clippers and his tie is egg-stained. He wears a black fedora hat in imitation of Oscar Wilde and speaks always in the manner of Sir John Gielgud pitching to the back row of the theatre.

He goes into a pub and greets the barman.

"What a fine old inn you have here, my man. I’ll have a Remy Martin." Pulling a piece of paper from his pocket he continues, "My name is Warrington Minge. I’m an actor appearing in the play at the Theatre Royal, Tomorrow was My Yesterday’s Today. Perhaps you could cash this small cheque for me?"

The barman points to a notice on the wall. "No Cheques Cashed For Theatricals".

"Never mind, then. I’ll have a small shandy just now and return for the cognac later.

Next door is a butcher’s shop.

"Ah good morning, master butcher. What a fine establishment you have here. Free from flies and other pests. A piece of your finest fillet, if I may. My name is Warrington Minge. I’m appearing at the Theatre Royal in Today was My Yesterday’s Tomorrow. I wonder if you would be so kind as to cash this small cheque for me?"

The butcher looks at the crumpled cheque and shakes his head.

"No, sorry. Cash only here."

"Never mind, then. I’ll have four sausages and call for them later."

The old actor tries all the shops (Sellers indulges in half a dozen regional accents) with no success and the cheque is well-crumpled. Minge ends up at a Chinese laundry and sweeps in with a flourish.

"Greetings, son of the Orient. Many a happy time I had during my years in repertory in Singapore. Wonderful audiences. Mysterious women and the fragrances of the East. Ah, happy days! My name is Warrington Minge. I’m an actor appearing in the play at the Theatre Royal, Yesterday was My Today’s Tomorrow. I have no soiled linen about me but the moment I have I’ll come to you. I wonder though, would you mind cashing this small cheque for me?".

The proprietor pushes the now-tattered cheque away and shakes his head firmly.

Minge thrusts the cheque back.

"In that case, would you mind pressing the damn thing for me?"

— Jim Sullivan is a Patearoa writer.