I will do the reader an ill service if I failed to relate the following true anecdotes. They give a faithful picture of the unique Luton world-view or weltanschaung (although, as was once observed of the Kaiser, a little German goes a long way).
The Jolly Surgeons
I was myself in the Romping Donkey tavern adjacent to the Luton & Dunstable Hospital when I overheard this amiable exchange:
Surgeon 1: 'How is your patient, sir?'
Surgeon 2: 'Oh, I cut him, sir!'
Surgeon 1: 'How deep did you cut him?'
Surgeon 2: 'I cut him, sir, for four guineas and two shillings!'
Surgeon 1: 'Ho, ho, ho!'
From this, it may be inferred that it might be unwise to present yourself at the L & D Hospital.
The Foolish Fop
This m
erry tale was imparted to me by a gentleman friend, a newspaper reporter, and therefore a man of the highest integrity. It seems there was a tall fop walking down George Street, Luton. He wore a great hat and feather, red and orange holiday hose, and a turquoise madrillon or half-cape on his shoulder.
This was presumably in case he should, by popular acclaim, be thrust suddenly into Luton's bull ring but inexplicably deprived of picadors.
A hobbledehoy (the local term for a young lad) saw him and darted into a carnival shop. The lad emerged wearing bells on his legs, a fool's cap on his head, and waving a fribblestick. He danced manically around the fop.
The fop roared: 'What, rascal, are you mad?'
'I cry you mercy, sir,' the urchin apologised 'but I took you for a maypole.'
In Luton, this jest is considered to be very funny.
The Jolly Surgeons
I was myself in the Romping Donkey tavern adjacent to the Luton & Dunstable Hospital when I overheard this amiable exchange:
Surgeon 1: 'How is your patient, sir?'
Surgeon 2: 'Oh, I cut him, sir!'
Surgeon 1: 'How deep did you cut him?'
Surgeon 2: 'I cut him, sir, for four guineas and two shillings!'
Surgeon 1: 'Ho, ho, ho!'
From this, it may be inferred that it might be unwise to present yourself at the L & D Hospital.
The Foolish Fop
This m
erry tale was imparted to me by a gentleman friend, a newspaper reporter, and therefore a man of the highest integrity. It seems there was a tall fop walking down George Street, Luton. He wore a great hat and feather, red and orange holiday hose, and a turquoise madrillon or half-cape on his shoulder.This was presumably in case he should, by popular acclaim, be thrust suddenly into Luton's bull ring but inexplicably deprived of picadors.
A hobbledehoy (the local term for a young lad) saw him and darted into a carnival shop. The lad emerged wearing bells on his legs, a fool's cap on his head, and waving a fribblestick. He danced manically around the fop.
The fop roared: 'What, rascal, are you mad?'
'I cry you mercy, sir,' the urchin apologised 'but I took you for a maypole.'
In Luton, this jest is considered to be very funny.
