Douglas.
My dad grew up as an only child with a single mum. His father had died of TB when he was 3 months old, and his mum was of questionable sanity. As a young man he seemed to gravitate towards wise men, and one day while out walking he met the late and great Douglas Carter.

Douglas was a man of the cloth. Jilted in love, he'd become a Roman Catholic priest and lived a life of celibacy. Dad and he hit it off as mates. Drinking in pubs, walking the hills of Yorkshire and setting the world to rights. It was Douglas who pointed my dad in the direction of my mum, Douglas who married them, and Douglas who baby-sat my brother while I was born.

Douglas taught us chess, draughts, patience and other ways to pass the time. He even tolerated our noise and constant unplanned interruptions when he was performing his own private mass in the dining room when he stayed.

However.. Douglas wasn't a normal man of the cloth. He had a beautifully sharp sense of humour and a deeply mischievous mind. It was he who offered up a bottle of my parent's elderflower wine to the local wine snob, (who thought it was a very expensive something-or-other, and even suggested which slope of which valley it came from), and it was he who sent my parents a novelty condom for a joke wedding anniversary present.

Take that in for a moment... A seriously devout RC priest, buying and posting a novelty condom... I can imagine his infectious cackling laugh even now :o) Dad inflated the thing like a balloon, and it turned out to be defective... So he put a puncture repair patch on it and sent it back... :D

I digress.

Amongst the Many bad habits Douglas tried to deviously instil in my brother and I, was the ritual of the butter-knife. My mum - the only religious one in the family and the only one who cared about manners - insisted upon a butter knife. Douglas would ALWAYS take some butter, then stab the knife into the pat of butter in a flourish that could described as a "Reverse King-Arthur" :) Mum hated this, but couldn't tell a priest off....

My brother and I - to this very day - regularly stab the knife into any pack of butter, be it StIvel, Lurpack , or (welcome to Sweden) Bregott or Lätta. When visiting our parents We make a point of doing it. It's allowed, because "Douglas taught us to"

Over a decade ago, Douglas finally succumbed to old age, and we went to help clear out his tiny old flat. Framed in pride of place on the wall next to his chair was a novelty Condom - Dunlop repair-patch and all.

I'm not a religious guy by any mark - Infact, being an engineer I consider myself to be completely the opposite. However, I believe that if I fail to take any given opportunity to execute a "Reverse King-Arthur", that Douglas - Father-figure to my dad and Grandfather to my brother and I - would turn in his grave. Given the vast respect I hold for that man, I'll never take the chance.
( Humpty Dumpty was Pushed Is unaware of having any limits., Sat 22 Nov 2008, 0:00, 2 replies)

clicked
Sounds like a rare man indeed. Our lives would have been the richer for meeting him.
(The Incredible Sulk Finally remembered his password on, Sat 22 Nov 2008, 0:30, closed)

He clearly lives on in the fond memories of those he met.
*clicks*
( FeralCatMan Unusual disease collector., Sat 22 Nov 2008, 15:30, closed)