Literary breakthrough
PROGRESS! Something of a breakthrough has been achieved in literary research begun a couple of weeks ago into the origins of the bawdy ballad Eskimo Nell, plus associated research into a poem with the refrain: "I never pushed pumpkins up Panama Canal"
To recapitulate. A well-known twitcher (that is, birdwatcher) recited all 46 verses of Eskimo Nell recently while he and his fellow-twitchers sat around the campfire up in Ndumu game reserve. He asked if I could discover whether this classic of crudity was indeed written by Noel Coward, the British entertainer who also wrote such things as Mad Dogs and Englishmen.
This prompted a reader who calls himself Harry to ask whether anyone can help him with another poem with the repeated line – all he can remember of it- "I never pushed pumpkins up Panama Canal".
Well, success on two fronts. Chris Taylor, a stalwart of the Natal Cricket Society, says he's sure it was Noel Coward who wrote Eskimo Nell. His father met him when he came out to South Africa during World War II to entertain the troops.
"My father hosted a dinner for him at the officers' mess at Roberts Heights (Pretoria) prior to his performing a one-man two- hour show
"My father commented: "He told a long poem called Eskimo Nell which was rather naughty but the men loved it.'"
Rather naughty? These military types can't be shocked.
And now (flourish of trumpets) Tim Pearce tells me Eskimo Nell was certainly written by Noel Coward. Plus he has the words of the Pumpkins In Panama, also written by Coward and in ways even naughtier than Eskimo Nell. He was given the words of both by an ex-RAF pilot, who said both poems had been popular in air force messes during the war.
Pumpkins In Panama begins with a story about an Englishman who emigrated to Panama and decided to become a pumpkin farmer. He bought pumpkin seeds from a mail order company. His entire crop failed and in disgust, he wrote to the mail order company to tell them that not a single one of their pumpkin seeds had grown into a pumpkin.
The mail order company answered:
"Dear Sir,
"We are wondering if you understand that there are male pumpkin seeds and female pumpkin seeds and they have to be mated and planted together for a pumpkin to grow."
The Englishman wrote back:
"Dear Sirs,
"In the course of a long and varied career I have…"
He then launches into a vivid account of highly improper encounters with apes, bulls-and so forth, going right through the alphabet from A to Z. The content does not belong in a family newspaper. Besides, I don't want the twtchers to get hold of it so they can recite it up in Ndumu, in the presence of impressionable bushbabies and hornbills.
But maybe we can get away with the last four lines:
Yikked yaks in Yokohoma
Zipped zebras in Zanzibar
But, I refuse to be a
Pimp to a pumpkin pip in Panama.
Yes, mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun …
Spared exposure
MILITARY men, RAF pilots ... Eskimo Nell, Pumpkins In Panama. We demure naval types are at least spared exposure to such bawdiness.
Who's that knocking at my door?
Who's that knocking at my door?
Who's that knocking at my door?
Said the fair young maiden.
It's me, it's me from over the sea!
Said Barnacle Bill the sailor.
It's me, it's me from over the sea!
Said Barnacle Bill the sailor.
But I go no further. I don't want this to fall into the hands of the twitchers, to be read at the campfire at night up at Ndumu, in the presence if impressionable bushbabies and hornbills.
I am privy to their communications. It seems another twitching jamboree is coming up. E-mails are flying back and forth concerning beer, scotch whisky and Old Brown sherry.
All jolly good fun, no doubt, but I can't help worrying about those impressionable bushbabies and hornbills.
Tailpiece
THE salesman rings the doorbell. It is answered by a small boy smoking a cigar, holding a glass of brandy and with a copy of Playboy under his arm.
"Sonny, is your mother at home?"
"Now what the hell do you think?"
Last word
He is indebted to his memory for his jests and to his imagination for his facts. -
Richard Brinsley Sheridan
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