For whom the bell tolls

“Ask not for whom the bell tolls, it tolls for thee”

(John Donne)

A reference to Merrye Olde Englande with its tradition of ringing church bells whenever one of its parishioners died. For if they die, a little bit of us dies too.

A quaint idea in these cynical times for it seems to me that the reverse is true these days. One less competitor, one less mouth to feed, one lesson person in the way of making money, money, money.

Quite the worst time of my life was trying to acclimatize my much loved Colombian wife into British Culture. She worked in Harvey Nichols, adjacent to Harrods. Predictably the locals were cold & aloof so she befriended the aging Janitor, but sadly, after a few months her new friend died and she announced that she was taking the day off to attend his funeral. “Not a good idea”, said I, full of foreboding, but she shot me a look that could kill “HE IS MY FRIEND!”

That night she arrived home with a face reddened by tears, she was the only one who bothered to attend. “How can you!!! You British ! You don’t like each other!” A dagger to the heart, that line, started my divorce from the country of my birth.

Methinks the old John Donne would thoroughly approve of present day Vietnam, for they honor their dead as no other. Amongst the great sights of Dalat are huge motorcades on their way to the cemetery, white & grey robed Buddhist Monks giving their gongs an almighty thump, hundreds of motorbikes proudly fluttering banners.

In Saigon their saffron robed brethren would parade the streets in Jazz bands loud enough to wake the dead. Invariably in the early hours of the morning, often 3 am.

Birthday parties are held for the dead, Grandma Tuyen’s bash who died six years before, was a “first” for your bewildered correspondent, who troubled to take flowers as a gift. Oops.

The members of my language club once inquired as to my own plans after kicking the bucket. “Cremate me & throw me in the lake”, half in jest. “Oh no, we’ll have a HUGE party for you Thay” (teacher).

??? !!! How do I get to be there?

All Roads Lead To Marriage

In Vietnam families are the “be all” and “end all” of life on earth. In the early days I was won’t to ask my students as to who was their favorite movie, rock or sports star. Universally, their answer was “My Brother”, “My Mother” or “Grandma”.

This being the case they firmly believe that man & woman belong together. When I tried to explain to my erstwhile Saigon Landlady that I wish to be “alone” due to being an “oldie with a weak heart” she swiftly retorted “Maybe if you had a girl you would be younger & your heart better” Still stops me in my tracks, that one.

They play this game “You like Vietnamese girl?” if you say no you cause offence so the answer is always yes. Then they’ve got you. May I introduce? The separated but not divorced bit always gets ‘em, if not then “She can live in one house, me in another” deflects the attack.

The initial crusade has ebbed with the course of time, but still marital initiatives abound. Happens at least once a week, young and old, fat & thin, short & tall. Sometimes there’s a direct attack “I be your girlfriend” Can’t ever remember being so aggressive with girls when I was young.

All along the lines of “I wonder if he’ll be the one to take me out of poverty?” of course. Your correspondent is not so foolish as to believe that it’s “love”.

Often I’m given a phone number. She can’t speak English and I can’t speak Vietnamese, doesn’t stop them getting mad at me when I don’t call though. Occasionally I’m placed in an embarrassing situation. One very hospitable landlady invited me to dinner & was due to “introduce” me to her sister later on. When the sister appeared, dressed in a beautiful Ao Dai, the company melted away leaving me alone with a lady who didn’t speak a word of English. What was I suppose to do? Jump the poor girl?

Another time I was in a room with a Grandma, Mother & Daughter. “Which won vor yor wive?” ventured Te Ay (elder sister), grabbing the youngest’s breast in the process. “Babby”, pointing at my much vaunted nose.

But if I were ever to say “yes” then the real trouble would start, for you can marry them but not date them. With the community spirit comes an epic level of gossip & she would be called every name under the sun. In Saigon one time I was even turned away from an internet café when trying to bring in two young students for an English lesson.

“Too young for you!”

“My Students! “

"Too young, not use!”

“Out!"

I had a young pretty friend in Saigon who befriended me, entirely platonic on both sides. When we were seen together the locals hounded her so mercilessly that we were forced to retreat to my room to chat, always leaving the door wide open. Fortunately, by then, my landlady knew me well enough to know that nothing untoward was going on.

My shop assistant girl friends were always delighted to see me but careful to screen me from the street for fear of the flak that would fly.

In Dalat, I seem to be able to get away with my pals being called “Con Gai” (daughter) a ruse that they invented.

Innocence Regained?

Sitting by the lake with a visiting friend, an American Professor, we were several times approached by college girls eager to practice their English.

In disdain (disapproval ?) he muttered “Virgins !, wouldn’t even occur to them that men could do them any harm” Quite so, not cognizant of their dating rules I’m reliably informed that she won’t tickle your fancy or “play ball” until engaged, not even on your birthday.

A date would bring forth a chaperone, in all likelihood.

This freedom from sexual derring do releases the girls to flirt with great vitality all day long, the sexes trying hard to please each other.

But none of it is on a sexual wavelength, the Viets seem not to think in these terms.

In this regard, at least, my country sometimes has it over Vietnam. For one of the most memorable tales of my youth was of two frisky nurses, each with a reputation for “putting it about”, announcing their intent to go celibate. Presumably they were drunk. The effect was to galvanise every able bodied male for 50 miles to beat a path to their door, flowers in one hand, bubbly in the other, chocolates in a box.

Folklore has it that the white flags flew over the nursing home just 72 hours later.

Happy days.