My Giddy Aunt

The problem started when Aunt Lillian decided to become an amateur vet. Cutting the cat’s claws had ended up with her having to go to the cottage hospital to be given a tetanus jab because she forgot to bind him up tightly in a towel before going mad with the nail clippers. Tarzan had fought back with great vigour and had won the battle fair and square. No question about it.

Clipping the dog had subsequently needed a visit to the local dog groomer to sort out the poor animal before it died of embarrassment. Dogs hate to be laughed at and trying to create a poodle from a mongrel had caused distress. Pompoms protecting the joints were just tufts of hair and a bare midriff did nothing for her image. Poor Peggotty looked a sight for weeks as she slunk around the garden trying not to be noticed.

So it was with some unease that I entered the kitchen and heard: “Jojo, Alfie looks proper poorly and I think he needs a tonic.”

“Alfie looks quite perky to me. What do you think is the matter with him?”

“He is just ignoring that new arch that I created for him,” pointing to the hideous multi-coloured creation that stood in the bottom of a very crowded fish tank. “I spent all day yesterday painting it and I thought he would really be pleased but he did not seem at all grateful. I don’t want him getting bored. Animals need diversions to keep them active and healthy.”

“Alfie is a fish and I don’t think he requires all the playthings that you have put in there. He can hardly move. He needs space to swim around and get some exercise. He really is getting too fat.”

“No. He needs a tonic and I have just the thing.” She reached into the cupboard under the sink and pulled out a large bottle with no label on it. “Give me a teaspoon from that drawer.”

She pulled the fish tank towards her and reached in up to her elbow. Alfie sensibly swam into the corner behind the Eiffel Tower and warily looked out through the weeds.

“Come here Alfie” she called. “There is nothing to be frightened of. Mummy just wants to make you feel better.”

I suspect that Alfie had seen what happened to the other animals when ‘mummy wanted them to feel better’ and he kept his distance.

Aunt Lillian proceeded to chase him around the tank before she shouted: “Come here you little devil. I will give you what for when I do catch you.”

Alfie was not giving in easily. He swooped under the new arch and she took the skin off her knuckles as she tried to grab him.

“Oh sugar!!” This was my aunt’s latest swearword.

“You had better not let mum hear you say that - I got a smack when I said it the other day and Michael was sent to bed with no tea when he said ‘blugger’. Mum said that we had thought bad words, even if we had not actually said them.”

“Your mother has no sense of humour – that’s her trouble, but don’t tell her I said that,” wiping the blood on the tea towel.

“Hand me that sieve will you? I can’t let him get away with it. He will start to think he is the boss and training always starts with establishing who is top dog.”

Alfie was swimming along the front of the tank and I thought he looked as though he was gloating.

“I think Alfie is top dog at the moment as he drew first blood.”

She took the sieve and came up quickly behind him. “Ha, caught you. You didn’t get away that time” She turned to me.

“Pour a bit out of the bottle into the spoon and hand it to me carefully.”

I picked up the bottle and took the top off.

“What is this?” sniffing at it. “Urgh! It’s cod liver oil. You can’t give that to Alfie. It will kill him.”

“I will have you know that I give that to all my animals when they are under the weather.”
I already knew this as I had often been overwhelmed by the fishy breath of her various pets.

Peggotty was her devoted and long suffering companion. She was strangely shaped dog, somewhat like a triangle - very wide at the back tapering to a point at the front. At the local dog sanctuary she had been rejected by everyone because of her strange appearance until my aunt took pity of her.

“Hurry up Jojo. Alfie is gasping for breath. Hand me the spoon.”

“Won’t this make Alfie into a cannibal? After all it is made from fish.”

She paused: “I hadn’t thought of that. Never mind, it’s made from cod and not gold fish oil. So it will be all right,” and with that she poured the contents of the spoon into the gaping mouth of the fish.

“Alfie is a black fish not a goldfish” I pointed out. “It might not work the same.”

“Of course it will. As I said it is made from cod liver oil which is not black or gold fish oil!”
Alfie coughed and he wriggled and then coughed again. Then he lay still and his eyes glazed over.

“What’s the matter with him?” cried she cried.

“I think you have drowned him.” I replied.

“Don’t be silly. You can’t drown a fish, they are used to swimming in water and any way they breathe through their gills not their mouths.”

“Swimming in water is one thing but having a teaspoonful of cod liver oil forced down his throat was quite another.”

She laid him down on the tea towel but he did not move.

“Perhaps I should give him some artificial respiration. I learnt about that when I did a first aid course. That should do the trick.” She proceeded to gently push on his chest. Nothing happened.

“Mouth to mouth resuscitation will bring him round!” with this she grabbed him and started to blow into his mouth - again nothing.

He was a very small fish but I had visions of him blowing up like a giant black balloon and floating up to the ceiling.

“I think he is dead. You killed him you know,” I said sorrowfully. “I think he would have got used to the arch and would have enjoyed swimming under it if he had been given half a chance.

“Poor Alfie - I didn’t mean to do that to you.” She looked down at him sadly and then brightened up. “Perhaps he is just pretending to be dead to make me feel bad. He is quite a joker.”

“No, he is dead. He is not going to rise up like Lazarus. Dead is dead and he is quite dead.”

“I really loved him you know. I just wanted to make him feel better.” She wiped her eyes on her apron and declared: “Anyway, what is done is done and there is no point in crying over spilt cod liver oil, so hand me that Swan Vesta box from over by the cooker and we can put him in there and bury him in the garden.”

I looked out of the window. “It’s pouring with rain, we will get soaked.”

“Then we will just have to wait. So put the kettle on Jojo but leave the match box open so he can see. I am sure he was frightened of the dark. He used to swim round and round when I put the light out each evening.”

We sat down at the kitchen table with our mugs of tea looking at the head of the fish peeping out of the matchbox.

“I know what we will do. We don’t want to get soaked.” Aunt Lillian jumped up and ran into the bedroom. After a couple of minutes she emerged dressed in black and carrying a black lace shawl.

She went over to the gramophone player and put on the record of Handel’s Dead March from Saul which blared out into the kitchen at full volume.

“We will have a funeral service,” she shouted, “and sing a hymn or two. Come on get yourself ready,” throwing the shawl to me. “We have to show some respect for Alfie even if he was only a fish.”

“Okay, I am ready. I will get my mackintosh and wellingtons.”

“You don’t need a coat. We will stay here in the warm.”

“How will we be able to have a funeral service if we don’t go outside?”

“Do you know the trouble with you is that you have no imagination? Come with me, I know exactly what to do,” and with that she closed the matchbox with a flourish and led the way down the hall and turned left into the toilet.

It was a bit of a tight squeeze; “We will just flush him down the loo. That way we will not have to go outside and get wet and he will be able to go down to the sea and join his friends. It is a much better way for a fish to end his days than being buried in the cold dark ground.”

With that she carefully placed the matchbox in the toilet and started: “Dust to dust and ashes to.......” Here she stopped. “That doesn’t sound right. Let me think.”

“How about this?” She then stared to declaim in her best Sunday voice: ‘Fish to water and water to sea, in the sure and certain hope of resurrection in the big pond in the sky’,” and with that she pulled the chain.

After the first rush of water subsided there was Alfie in his little coffin floating above the waterline.

“I forgot that the matchbox would float.” She grabbed the offending box and extracted Alfie and laid him back in the water and again pulled the chain.

We both held our breath but when we looked down, the little fish was still bobbing up and down in the pan.

She yanked at the chain almost pulling it off the cistern and after seven goes she was losing her patience and had to admit defeat. She put Alfie back into the wet matchbox and handed him to me.

“There is nothing for it Jojo – you will just have to get your sowester and wellingtons on and do the job properly. Don’t forget to put him with the other fish as I am hoping to plant a row of seed potatoes there and fishbone meal helps produce a really good crop of King Edwards.”

I had to smile. My Aunt Lillian had an answer for everything.