Rosie Stancer is the embodiment of the idea that with self-belief, motivation and application, anyone can push themselves beyond their perceived limitations and achieve the extraordinary.
Pipe Dreams
November 18th, 2011Giving after dinner speeches is nothing to be sniffed at. It’s quite a feat of endurance. By the time all the processions, ceremonies, rituals, serial course dinner, followed by copious toast are done; not only do you have to pick yourself up from the tablecloth and stoke up the soggy grey brain cells, but you have to sparkle in front of, refresh and effortlessly hold the attention of your enviously better-fuelled audience. Most of whom are teetering on a plimsoll line between guffawing generously at your every feeble joke or slipping into that glazed-eyed far-off ‘wonder if my taxi will find me outside’ look. Either way, by the time your long-awaited moment arrives you have wound yourself up into sober coil of nerves.
That being said, recently I have spoken at some dinners that have been a real hoot. Only the other evening, in fact, at the Worshipful Company of Pipe Makers and Tobacco Blenders (that was half the speech taken up) at the Goldsmiths’ Hall, London.
It was one of those hugely theatrical, enjoyable evenings, packed to the gills with pomp, circumstance and more frills than on the attendant beadles’ frothy cuffs. But it was equally packed with laughter and wit that wasn’t to be quelled by the wonderfully jaw-dropping interior, with more gilt on its surface areas than on a Catholic conscience. Entirely in keeping, much ado was made of processing into dinner (my nightmare, as missing toes means keeping evening shoes on is an epic struggle which often ends up with one shuffling like an old gin bag).
The Master, in this instance, is a woman, the first in its history and what fun she is too. Really shaking up and away any residues of starchiness, (not that I detected so much as an atom within this auspicious company, which exuded warmth and geniality. Everyone I met was interesting and interested). I had such a good time sitting betwixt her and her Irish husband, the Master’s husband I suppose I could say) that time and countless courses flew by.
Quite suddenly the Guild chalice ritual was being initiated by the Master and then passed onto me and onwards. A chalice so enormous my whole head must surely have momentarily disappeared as I made to sip from it. I safely got through it without tipping the dark liquid contents down my front but a greater challenge was yet to come in the form of the formality of passing the Snuff which appeared to be nestling atop a ram’s head.
Fortunately imbibing the contents is not obligatory and the proffered pinch of snuff is taken with an accompanying pinch of salt. Visions of being held in the grip of a prolonged sneezing fit (I never sneeze less than 7 times at a go, sounding, according to some, like a bicycle tyre being pumped up) upon my queue to deliver a suitable oration, brought out the coward in me and I passed on Sam the ram to my neighbour.
Now some might find it questionable that I agreed at all to be the guest speaker at a tobacco-related occasion. But personally I champion it, even as a now non-smoker. One can well imagine how in earlier times, the bliss of a quick pipe at the end of a long day of sledge hauling in your tweeds and woollies was a treat to fantasise about throughout the hard hours and as motivating as the frozen carrot on a stick. Besides, tobacco does hold a indisputably key and interesting role in the history of polar exploration. And I’m not going to re-deliver my speech but in the process of researching it I did uncover some fascinating snippets: we might all know that in the era of heroism, when Scott and Sir Ernest Shackleton were busying around on the ice, they had ample rations of not just tobacco, but whisky and opium too. But here’s the thing – Scott had a good stock of ‘marching tablets,’AKA heroin. Readily available, in those days and up until the end of the war, at a certain well-known big store in Knightbridge beginning with the same letter. And sold in kits too, with needles and the works. A sort of easy starter pack.
More research unearthed yet another example of what made Sir Ernest such a great and empathetic leader: when he returned to rescue his men off Elephant Island after they had largely subsisted for 4 ½ months on seal and penguin blubber (and filled their pipes with seaweed and seal meat), as the ship drew close but before landing, Sir E threw to his men – not food, not medicine, not drink of any sort – but handfuls of tobacco.
On leaving, I was given a wee clay pipe, some snuff and a tiny snuff box. When back on the ice, the odd pinch to celebrate the passing of every degree, might not go astray and as Sir Ernest understood so well, might serve to buck one’s spirits up in the absence of anything or anyone else. It’s light, won’t freeze and the occasional sneezing fit could be very restorative and clear the nasal passage of frozen snoticles. And as all kit must be multi-functional to justify its presence, it can double up as a ‘snuff spray’ to render any peckish bear immobilised with its own sneezing fit.
PIPED MUSIC
Striking a different note on pipes; I am intrigued and really very chuffed as opposed to puffed to learn that my boy Jock, now at boarding school, has expressed a yen to learn the Pipes. Not that he was aware of it but Jock’s great grandfather, Sir James Wordie, who was the scientist and geologist on Shackleton’s 1914 Transantarctic expedition (see above) was a keen piper in both senses, of the tobacco and musical variety and that despite the former, was left with enough puff to continue with his excellent musical piping. And his nickname on the 1914 expedition? - Jock.