St Decrepit's trip to Germany

The forty  residents of St Decrepit Nursing and Residential Retirement Home groaned in collective relief as the coach finally reached its destination and squeaked to a halt.

“At last” exclaimed Henry Nutt, an ex Special Services Colonel, affectionately known as ‘Hardnut’ to his friends. “My bladder couldn’t take much more of that.” He disembarked stiffly with the others. “Now where’s that toilet?” He stumbled off into the depot, clutching his privates in a vice like grip. He was not alone.

The rest of the journey from the small town to the ancient castle on the mountain top where they were staying was on foot and they gathered for the long uphill trek with some trepidation.

Ginger Finger, a retired Royal Air Force squadron leader, gazed up at the track disappearing into the heavens.   “Half of this lot’ll never make it…at least in Blackpool it’s flat,” he asserted rather unkindly to nobody in particular.  

Any residual spirit that might have been remaining after the awful journey was quickly dampened by his insensitive remarks.

 Eventually they staggered through an area of tombstones to the entrance of a large mediaeval castle but not entirely without incident. Brigadier Lackshock was only just rescued in the nick of time from joining the airborne wheelchair division by a quick thinking seventy year old who managed to thrust his walking stick through the wheels before it disappeared over the precipice.A seat belt might have prevented the inevitable nose dive by the unfortunate brigadier who salvaged what dignity he could in true English stiff upper lip style, but a nose bleed is a nose bleed in any nationality. Eventually they sprawled exhausted in the gateway, gasping for air that seemed to have lost vital components; air with altitude.

Three buxom young females in national costume emerged from within and attempted to reassure the more badly distressed. It seemed to work for some of the younger males (under 70) who seemed to develop renewed interest in their surroundings.  

.  “Come along now, come along, Is not so bad, you British are not in so good shape,” a particularly healthy member of the trio said encouragingly. “Some goot German sausage and bier will soon have you up unt der feet.”

A tall, blonde, Teutonic looking man with a haughty expression appeared somewhat disconcertingly from behind a large tomb and made his way to the gate.

 “My name is Heinz and I am your host, you are all most welcome” he greeted them

The Rev. Herbert Scone and his wife Hilda, the others called cruelly “Buttered” who were also reliant on wheelchair assistance and bottled oxygen were still gasping in the thin air, but Henry with his lasting legacy of special forces fitness, could at least still find the energy for words.

“Listen to Count Dracula…almost welcome indeed. I’ll give em good shape. God my piles are red raw… I told you we should have left them behind,” he complained somewhat ambiguously.

 “We could have done if you’d let Dr Crippen freeze dry them when you had the chance,” his wife Hazel Nutt retorted scornfully with entirely the wrong interpretation. “But oh no, you were too worried about your bloody testicles, for what use they are, which isn’t much if you ask me”.

“No, not my piles, woman,” Henry corrected her irritably. “I mean your half dead oxygen starved parents over there. What do you mean…not much use? Chance would be a fine thing.”

 “Yes, and they’d be all right would they?” she replied sarcastically, ignoring the reference to her sexual reluctance, “back there with all those …‘vegetables’ who couldn’t come. Yes you’d like that wouldn’t you. Get rid of them while we gad about enjoying ourselves in Dracula country.”

“We should have gone to Blackpool. If you ask me the ones we left behind are the lucky ones. I need another piss, a strong drink and a bath in that order and that’s where I’m going next”

He staggered over towards the Imperial looking Heinz who regarded him disdainfully.

 “I need the bathroom where…?

“Yes, yes” Heinz interrupted, “I understand English vee are not fools you know”

 Henry glared at him. “I hadn’t finished my sentence, I was going to say…”

 “Yes, yes, I know what you were going to say”. He glanced round at a kitchen boy carrying a bag of rubbish across the courtyard. “Carl…show this gentleman where the toilet is, and vash your hands afterwards”

 “What?” The tired and now enraged Henry didn’t take insults from anybody, especially Germans.  “How dare you…you…salami sucking Sauerkraut …”

Heinz looked slightly perplexed. “Nein, nein, later, later, dinner is later.” He shook his head and shrugged. “English….”

Carl the kitchen boy placed his sack on the ground. “Yes Herr Vortiseven…this way please, this way.”

Henry wasn’t quite finished though.  “And while you’re at it find a couple of wheelchairs for those two unless you’d rather find a couple of coffins. We had to carry them up the last bit. Any more exertion will finish them off completely.”

Heinz looked shocked……he knew the word coffin and didn’t like the images  - bad for business.  “Ja, ja we haf everything for the immobile” he muttered.

 “Did he just say dinner won’t be till nine”? Hazel interrupted.

  We’ll see about that”  Henry retorted. “Now look here….” But mein host had already made a tactical retreat.

One by one the party made their way to the guest lounge.

Heinz Vortiseven  entered looking pleased with himself. “Attention!....Attention…! I haf arranged a little surprise for all my English guests, please all make comfortable.” He gesticulated to an ancient, wizened Bavarian in national costume who carried a huge pyramid of chocolates on a silver plate. His hands were shaking badly and the pyramid started to disintegrate. Some of the chocolates fell and soon it was an avalanche. This was not at all like the renowned TV advert they were all familiar with that depicted this after meal delight as the height of sophistication amongst the party set.  Within seconds the visitors were scrabbling about on their hands and knees in an undignified scrum trying to recover as many of the silver paper covered bonbons as possible. It was not a glamorous or dignified event. There was some groaning as arthritic joints strained and knees collided with stone flagstones. Heads cracked on the bottom of chairs and tables. A dispute between Brigadier Lackshock who had miraculously managed to dispense with his wheelchair and a retired Scottish  surgeon, Hamish Gould almost ended in walking sticks at dawn.

The brigadier by dint of longer arms under the chair managed to retrieve the prize first which was just outside the grasp of Hamish the surgeon. They glared at each other under the armchair.

“I saw it first you thieving  Sassenach” Hamish said threateningly with Scottish bluntness.

The Brigadier took the paper off and manoeuvred it into his mouth.

“I think it’s academic now old boy, sorry an all that, better luck next time. By the way when is the anniversary of Culloden?”

“We’ll see about Culloden if you can’t get up quicker than me.”

The brigadier only just made it.

An elderly spinster called Mabel Mountjoy who was under a table on all fours started to scream. “Rape….rape…..help me…… Oh dear oh dear……….”

A massive bearded head emerged from between her legs under her skirt. Arthur Saddleback, a retired pig farmer, a rough diamond of a man pleaded innocence looking wide eyed at the others.

“She backed into me, stupid woman…. For God’s sake give me some credit….I’m not that blind I mean look at her…hardly a young English rose in the first flush of bloom. …Mountjoy by name she might be maybe, but not by nature.” He screwed up his nose in distaste. “I think she must have farted.”

“Do you have to use words like that?” Hazel said.

“Say it like it is, that’s my motto…it’s in the dictionary and if it’s good enough for Chambers, it’s good enough for me.”

“You ought to get that seen to woman.” Arthur said defiantly.

Mabel comforted by two of her friends was led away sobbing.

 “Awful uncouth man, there, there dear it’s all right now, we won’t let the brute hurt you again.”

Heinz surveyed the melee in disbelief  “The English…so dignified….stiff upperlip. Bah!   Hooligans! even after the football has finished.”

The ancient servant cringed pitifully like a dog. “I’m sorry, Herr Heinz you know how I shake”

 “Get out, get out, you old fool…I look after you in your old age feed you, give you a roof and you can’t even do this properly…”      

 Heinz’s wife Grunhilda, obviously disturbed by the kerfuffle stood imperiously in the doorway “What is all this commotion? Heinz that is no way to speak to your father”       She beamed suddenly at the guests  “You are all obviously having a goot time ja .”

  “Yes, we’re playing hunt the chocolates and the winner gets to take the first plane out of here.” Olive Gould retorted sarcastically.    

Grunhilda turned to Heinz uncertainly “We have the drinks for the English party….schnapps all round”

“I think tea with sedatives would be better for this lot” Henry said unkindly.

“Please, please…drinks vill be served now please. Settle down everybody. Vee all haf a little drink before dinner. Schnitzel and sauerkraut…good Bavarian food and lots of bier unt schnapps.

Arthur and Hamish were soon testing the supply capability of DraculaCastle for beer and Scotch respectively and the rest of them were soon chattering merrily about the merits of Blackpool.

“Dinner will be at seven,” Heinz announced, “please in the meantime explore our castle and admire our country. You will find your rooms up the main stairs. I must ask you not to use the stair lift, there is a fault but we cannot turn it off. It vill be fixed tomorrow.  Please ask one of our many staff if you need any assistance.

“Chair lift….did he say chair lift, what’s he think we are….a load of geriatrics.?” An outraged and drunk Hamish  staggered out to the main stairs. “Bloody Sassenach contraption…let’s see what you’re made of then?” He slumped into the seat and pressed the button. It got half way up the flight and stopped momentarily before coming back down again at high speed making a high pitched whining noise. The chair hit the stop at the bottom and Hamish flopped out onto the floor.  “You bastard…….! German crap………! He started to flog the chair seat with his stick.

 Grunhilda dragged him away with a powerful arm round his neck, to an uncertain fate. It was getting late

Hazel opened the window wide and looked out at the fairytale view over twinkling lights of town far below.  “This is nice dear, come and look at this.”

“You know I’ve no head for heights, since my parachute accident,” Henry replied. “I feel light headed just being in here, I don’t think there’s much oxygen up here. Why couldn’t we have gone to Blackpool like we normally do? Thank God it’s only for a couple of nights. At least Blackpool was a week…and for the same money. What could you do up here for a week?  Just getting back up from the village would kill half of us. Which hare brained committee member dreamt  this one up? ”

“Blackpool, Blackpool," Hazel protested. "Always Blackpool, I’m sick of Blackpool…… you won’t find a view like this in Blackpool.”

“I wouldn’t want to see a view like that in Blackpool. What’s wrong with the tower?”

“Suit yourself I’m going to bed”

“What about Herbert and Hilda? Hadn’t we better turn off their oxygen? They’ll never sleep like that” I think they’d be better off in their beds too, that last two miles really took it out of them”
"You do it Henry, I'm rather tired now."

He got out of bed and trudged wearily outside.

 “Right that’s sorted…… I feel drained, I’m sure I saw a bat and there’s a red mark on my neck”.

“You should have shut the window.”

“This is not Transylvania, we’re bloody miles from Rumania.”

“Obviously no one has told the bats dear…If you wore pyjamas like I told you…

 Henry snorted, falling into a disgruntled sleep, dreaming about donkeys on a rain swept beach, fish and chips and how the rest of the world could get stuffed as far as he was concerned.  

Copyright Ben Corde 2013