The amiable looking chap with the generous hooter and the knowing gaze could write a bit.
Bech saved Petrescu for last, and walloped his back, for the man had led him to remember, what he was tempted to forget in America, that reading can be the best part of a man’s life.
John Updike (1932-2009)
Nice try Rex but save it for the judge.
In an unrelated story, Californian President Arnold Schwarzenneger has shown grammatical dexterity, if not linguistic subtlety, in a letter to the motley club of girly men that passes for a legislature in that golden, if bankrupt, state.
You can read the letter here.
| At the outset, Babbelon applauds the use of language, |
| carefully constructed pieces that play with a |
| reader’s mind, exercising a full range of faculties, beyond the |
| obvious and literal, opening the recipient up to the |
| sub-surface. If an undercurrent is pulled across the warp of |
| the text, a resonance is produced that delights |
| intellectually. To find such creative depth in political |
| California gives Babbelon hope for the word. |
There is a name for the particular structure achieved by the Governator but it escapes Babbelon for the moment. No doubt it will be back.
My name is Rex Crane and I am a hero,
I fought in the war – I showed no fear of
the Japanese though captured and tortured
and held as a POW, after my mates were all slaughtered
I was only 15, left behind by my family,
in Malaya, just my older brother and me
We joined the other “stay behinds” and fought as guerrillas
We were only young men but we were fearsome killers
Eventually the Japs caught us and threw us in jail
My feet were beaten, my hand pierced by a nail
We worked on the Burma railway, two thousand men died
But my brother and I made it, we came home alive
Now my brother has passed but I still carry on
Reminding Australia that we have to be strong
I’m not really a hero, just one who was there
Australia’s war dead are a cross we all bear
I’ve had a good life, I’ve been lucky I think
The ex-POWs of Australia President
I’ve had a long innings, I’m 83 now
I’m ready to die quietly, to take my last bow
Until the phone rang on Wednesday and it all went awry
You see everything I just said is an absolute lie
I never lived in Malaya, I never fought in the war
I grew up in Adelaide, life was a bit of a bore
I wanted to join up, it seemed like the go
My mates and I rode our bikes to the depot
But the navy bloke there said “You’re too young to fight
Just get back to work, get out of my sight”
So that’s what we did, we went back to school
It should have ended there, but I was a fool
I did an apprenticeship, worked all my life
Ran a hotel in the bush, found and married my wife
One day I saw an advertisement, Singapore POW Day
So I went along, I knew what to say
I’d read a few books, I thought I’d pretend
Play the war hero, have a bit of a lend
They invited me in for tea, everyone was so kind,
Before I knew it I was in a bit of a bind
One thing led to another, I had to keep going
They gave me a pension, my profile was growing
Until a war researcher saw straight through me
She’d written a book about the “stay behinds” history
She rang a journalist, they all started looking
My days were numbered, my goose was cooking
My brother’s alive, he lives in the States
The journalist rang him, he soon put her straight
then the journalist rang me and the party was over
I’d been living a lie and she blew my cover
I always just hoped to peg out you see
And that would be it, my little fantasy
No one would know, no one would care
Isn’t that OK, isn’t that fair?
People believe what they want to believe
I know it was wrong, I was naïve
But you know that you need me, so I put on a show
We all need our heroes, even fake ones, you know?
