Taking Popsy for a ride

Taking Popsy for a ride

It was ages ago, It was a lovely English summers afternoon and I was working on my car in father’s old coach house, the year after the general strike, 1927.

I had been away at Oxford doing my degree and had just passed the civil service exam so was ready to join the foreign office, which was as father intended, rather than taking up motor car racing as I rather preferred.

Anyway quite suddenly Popsy whom I had not seen for absolutely ages knocked on the door and walked in.

“Hello Bertie, still playing the grease monkey I see,” she chuckled.

“Yes, bit of bother with a Carbertooter,” I explained, “Rich one moment, weak the next.”

“I’m sure it is,” she said, “Like Pater rich one moment, stony the next.”

“Anyway old thing,” I explained, “Need to do a test run before it rains, don’t want to come I suppose?”

I knew she wouldn’t, she tended to hang around, she was a lot younger than I maybe eighteen to my twenty two, but she was a plucky little thing, bit of a tomboy and her family lived just up the road from us and her father was in the Rotary club with my father so I indulged her.

“I’m getting married,” she announced.

“Good lord!”I exclaimed, “I thought you were still at school.”

“No Bertie,” she insisted, “ I finished ages ago and Pater can’t afford the fees so he’s marrying me off to Bertie Burford.”

“Bertie Burford, Popsy Burford,” I mused, “Well you’ll make a lovely couple,” I surmised, “Bertie certainly has an eye for the ladies.”

The big fat idle lump, I thought, he’s twice the size of her.

“Has he had lots of lady friends?” Popsy asked.

“Had lots of ladies yes,” I agreed, “Three in one weekend on occasions, lord knows what they see in him, his old man’s estate probably.”

“So why does he want me to marry Bertie?” she asked.

“Probably doesn’t,” I ventured, “ I expect your father threatened him with a shot gun, how should I know.”

“Granny says he want’s a virin so he can be sure his children are his,” Popsy suggested.

“Wise old birds Grannies,” I said as I clipped the bonnet down on the old Riley, “Sure you won’t join me?”

“No I really don’t need a face full of dirt and bugs,” she explained.

“Suit yourself,” I agreed, “Was there anything else?”

“Do you think Bertie loves me?” she asked.

“With the tiny bit of love he doesn’t have for himself,” I observed, “You’re only marrying for money so where does love come in to it?”

“You’re so cold and calculating,” Popsy observed.

“I’m just older than you,” I explained, “It’s about practcalities, not love, if I were a romantic I would be a racing driver, but I’m not so I’m joining the civil service, and you need a husband who can provide for you and your children.”

“You most definitely are not a romantic,” Popsy observed.

“No,” I agreed, “So I join the civil service and you marry Bertie, two pawns in the ocean of life.”

“Shouldn’t that be Prawns?” she suggested.

“Probably,” I agreed.

“Doesn’t Bertie usually go for girls with big boobies?” Popsy asked.

“Yes, I suppose so,” I agreed, “Tarty pieces all tits and lipstick.”

“I thought so,” she agreed, “So why does he want to marry me?”

“I suggest you ask him,” I suggested, “Or you could just lie back and think of England.”

“But what if he doesn’t like me?” Popsy asked, “If he can’t, you know, consummate?”

“Bertie, good god he could do it with Methusalahs grannie,” I assured her, “Have no fear.”

“But my boobies are tiny,” Popsy explained.