Sir Robert Walpole Decides To Stay At Home

“That day, Charles, I turned my back on society.”

I knew of and respected the general’s decision.
“I disliked its frivolity, its general lack of sobriety

And its utter lack of military precision.”

The Indian clock under its dusty bell-jar chimed four

And a man in a pugaree came in quietly with a tray of tea

And stale scones. “We may be needing more,”

Said the general, pouring a cup for me.

The general favoured Darjeeling

With – “To put a shine on its boots” – a dash of rooibos.

I developed a tolerance for this brew, but couldn’t help feeling

The Darjeeling’s boots would have been better without this                     unpalatable gloss.

The general’s scones were like little crusty slippers

And he used a rancid ghee instead of butter.

He’d dunk them in his tea – “I call this ‘dippers’, ”

He would say with a grin, or rather mutter.

“I learned to do this in Bahawulpur, when I was a subaltern

“In the King’s Own Royal Unmounted Hussars.

“Pah!” His exclamation was like a bubble torn

Untimely from a bubble-pipe. “The local bazaars

“Were full of things like this—an array of teas

“On every stall. Refreshin’ after too much fizzy gin,

“I may say. But those markets were overrun with fleas

“And the stallholders had no bally discipline.”

When he came home, it was to an England he no longer                          recognised.

People had forgotten how to warm the pot

And some had taken to using tea-bags. Pyjamas were sanforised.

The general took one look and said, “I think not.”