From Billy the goat to William Windsor

From Billy the goat to William Windsor

An unexpected outcome of the coronavirus is that around the world wildlife is taking advantage of empty towns and visiting the deserted streets. One such example is in Llandudno, a resort town on the Irish Sea in northern Wales. During the past week spotted strolling around the town centre was a herd of Kashmir (Cashmere) Goats, which have been enjoying themselves dining on the town's tasty hedgerows.

How the goats became established there is a tale in itself. In 1837, the Shah of Persia gifted two such animals to Queen Victoria to mark her forthcoming coronation. They joined other Kashmir goats already on Llandudno's nearby headland of Great Orme, and the soft Cashmere wool became very popular, making excellent shawls.

A few years ago, one Kashmir goat, called Billy, of the same bloodline as the Llandudno herd but born in a zoo, became quite a celebrity in Britain. As part of tradition, Billy joined the Royal Welsh Fusiliers in 2001, not as a mascot but as a lance corporal, marching at the head of the battalion on all ceremonial occasions. His handler held the cherished title of Goat Major.

Billy, now named William Windsor 1, performed admirably until he let himself down at a royal parade in Limassol, Cyprus in 2006 when he stepped out of line and tried to head-butt a drummer. William was charged with "unacceptable behaviour" and "lacking decorum" and demoted to fusilier. (I am not making this up). After protests from animal lovers, three months later William was reinstated to lance corporal, his commanding officer explaining that the goat had "time to reflect on his behaviour''. The goat retired in 2009 and has been replaced by William Windsor II, who has so far refrained from any head-butting.

There's a word for it

As mentioned a couple of weeks ago, the coronavirus has sparked its own vocabulary from "self isolation" to "herd immunity". It's got to the state where some news organisations are even providing a "glossary of terms" to help us navigate our way through such wordage as "contact tracing" and "asymptomatic". Another word which has resurfaced is "furlough".

We are all familiar now with "lockdown", "safe distancing" and "flattening the curve". Then there is the rather creepy "patient zero" and even scarier "super-spreader". A new one this week was "pandemic pantries", a reference to people who hoard food at such times. And "droplets" is no longer quite the innocent-sounding word I once thought.

Sadly, but almost inevitably, we also have "covidiots'' for those who recklessly ignore warnings.

Standing in line

On my weekly excursion to the supermarket I was greeted by an incredibly long queue that stretched through the mall into the far beyond. People were apparently lining up for a handout of face masks and did so very patiently considering the extended wait they endured.

When I was first in Thailand people used to joke that no one in the kingdom knew the meaning of the word "queue". Over the years things have changed quite a bit, although there are still some who seem to think you join a queue at the front. However, as is seen on a daily basis, BTS queues usually line up in a reasonably orderly manner.

Coming from England, I have considerable experience of queuing. In fact queue etiquette is embedded in the culture. A recent survey showed that an English person averages a total of four days a year standing in a queue. Maybe it should become an Olympic event.

George Mikes, a Hungarian-born British writer, summed up the situation when he observed: "An Englishman, even if he is alone, forms an orderly queue of one."

The jab

In Britain, to fight coronavirus they are talking about bringing back the BCG jab -- which in the 1950s and 60s was a vaccine injected into every 10-14-year-old kid to protect them against tuberculosis (TB), the bacterial lung infection.

As an 11-year-old, I can remember lining up in the school corridor with the rest of our class preparing to enter the small room where the doctor awaited us with his dreaded needle. We were all a bit nervous and matters weren't helped when the fellow two places ahead of me fainted as soon as he saw the needle. Admittedly the instrument was quite a terrifying sight. This did not exactly instil confidence in me and when it came to my turn I shut my eyes and hoped for the best.

Since then I have adopted the "eyes shut" or "look away'' policy upon any encounters with ominous-looking needles, although I must admit in moments of weakness to having yelped on a couple of occasions.

French not spoken here

Four years later I was stood in that same little room at school undergoing something much more painful -- my French O-level orals exam. It was the first time I had been in that miserable room since the TB shots, and all I could think of was the needle and that fellow fainting. It will come as no surprise I failed the test miserably. The examiner was apparently not impressed with my mangled pronunciation when asked to recite a few lines of Sur le pont d'Avignon.

My failure came as no surprise to my French teacher who had written in my annual school report the less-than-encouraging, "tries hard, without much success."


Contact PostScript via email at oldcrutch@hotmail.com

Roger Crutchley

Bangkok Post columnist

A long time popular Bangkok Post columnist. In 1994 he won the Ayumongkol Literary Award. For many years he was Sports Editor at the Bangkok Post.

Email : oldcrutch@gmail.com

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