Ursula

Think about Maria Von Trapp the governess type character in the Sound of Music. Then think about Mary Poppins. Mix them together and add a broad Scottish accent, then add the Scottish reputation for looking after what’s theirs and not parting with it without a struggle. Think about someone you know who says the most outlandish things possible. Out of the mouths of babes, comes from the bible. In the biblical context the phrase illustrates how children can express profound wisdom or truths unexpectedly. In Ursula’s case nothing of any profound wisdom came out, nonetheless it was true.

You now have a mental picture of Ursula.

It wasn’t her real name; it was a secret nickname: Ursula. Mistakenly given to her, as we thought Julie Andrews’ character in the Sound of Music was named Ursula. When it was later discovered correctly to be Maria. It was too late. By that time the mistake was discovered, correcting the name would only have caused unnecessary confusion. It served no purpose. So, she remained with the nickname Ursula of incorrect Von Trapp origins; she looked like and fitted the name of Ursula anyway. The nickname stuck, and she became known as Ursula to us all.

Her real name was Gwen, and she was a childhood friend of my wife.

Ursula was her code name amongst the males in the group. The group were a haphazardly connected bunch of husbands and wives, well passed their sell by date. Ursula’s code name used to bypass any angry looks from the wives of the group in case the husbands were overheard, which would lead to open chastisement by the female supporters or wives of Ursula’s strange opinions, and her equally weird actions. The wives of the men. Using the code name Ursula for Gwen amongst the men increased the subterfuge of old men hiding something innocuous from their wives. As every time Ursula said something that only Ursula could say, all the patronizing wives nodded in agreement in a thoroughly irritating manner. If Ursula did something that only Ursula would do, and the rest of women tried to cover up. Clandestinely using her nickname which was only shared and explained amongst the male fraternity of the mixed group, just by whispering one word – Ursula; made these old men happy. Little things please little minds. Nonetheless, the nickname explained everything which was unexplainable to the male contingent, with the normal collective response of a round of sanguine nods of agreement.

The nickname, and the resulting sanguine nods meant of course; it’s Ursula, who else!

According to her best childhood friend, my wife. Ursula had always been a little strange, the expression my wife always used when I repeated anything to do with Gwen aka Ursula.

“She’s away with the fairies!” Meaning not quite living in the present, or the present of this world. I also thought Ursula should have been medically studied to prove that parallel worlds really do exist.

At a very tender age she was romantically attached to a wandering gypsy family, with horse-driven caravans who moved around the country constantly, normally to be one step ahead of the law. I use my wife’s words when I recount the events from her childhood recollections of Ursula. Especially when I recount her words; romantically attached. Without digging too deeply into the circumstances, it was a topic my wife would never illusionate further. Ursula vanished from her home in Scotland, and her family reported her as a missing person for years. Occasionally, sighted as the travelling caravan wandered around all the various parts of United Kingdom.

It is my feeling that there is another stark version of the truth. where an underage innocent girl was abducted, in order to increase the size of the gypsy community. She certainly became a child mother and gave birth to five children over the years of wandering around the United Kingdom, with no fixed abode.

The story recounted by my wife only adds substance to the legend of Ursula, together with deep respect that under these unusual circumstances she brought up five children on the road. The wandering gypsy road.

She finally lived in a fixed abode, but by then it had been twenty years a wandering.

Her story doesn’t end when it comes to the words romantically attached. Later Ursula runs off to France with an aristocrat. Again, the stories come from my wife with a vivid imagination and a strong sense of loyalty to her childhood chum, more importantly a secret talent for making a silk purse out of a sow's ear when it comes to storytelling. She certainly wooed an innocent boy, me into marital bondage with her charming tales.

Ursula fell in love, or became romantically attached to a French dignitary, with aristocratic lineage, and blue blood flowing through his veins, supposedly going back to the disposed monarchy of France. So, this tale goes. The problem with this new romantic discovery for Ursula was that the man didn’t have a family estate or property in France, in fact he was penniless. However, as Ursula recounts so passionately in her story this time around and with her own words.

“I wanted his babies! I was desperate.”

Telling her story this time to the listening group, one can now imagine the respond of the intently listening men in the group, as one of them quickly whispers the word that explains all – Ursula. As the others nod subtly, without drawing attention to themselves or disturbing the ruddy faced and impassioned Ursula from continuing her story.

Ursula, the woman who lived in shoe, actually it was a caravan for most of her life, and brought up five children, wants more children. It was an Ursula moment.

“I was in love.” Ursula admitted, as though it was the first time. Ursula continued emotionally with her story, as she lifted her head towards the heavens, in front of silent intensely listening group. The last words seemed like a confession for what she was about to say next.

“But I wasn’t getting any younger!”

All the listeners nodded in agreement.

“I took hair and skin from his body and paid for the IVG process to create sperm to be impregnated into me at any time in the future. At the same time, I paid for the same process to create IVG eggs, so that one day we could create perfect babies. Right now, the sperm and eggs are all in deep storage, ready for that special and magnificent day!” Ursula ended with a sigh.

The listening open-mouthed audience didn’t need to whisper the secret nickname on this occasion. Ursula had surpassed herself.

The reason the subject of Ursula’s French romantic attachment appeared in the general conversation, together with the breaking news about her eggs and sperm being stored in the IVG bank, was because the group were planning a bicycle trip in France. It was a regular event.

Ursula was full of glee and delight, when she said excitedly “Oh golly. Count me in, I love a bike ride!”

So, when Ursula arrived outside our house with a full sized replica of the jolly green giant’s bicycle strapped high and proud on top of her 1960’s retro VW beetle and strode up the pathway singing “the fields are alive with the sound of music” full of excessive energy and exuberance, I knew this time it was going to be an extraordinary trip.

It took a team with engineering skills and knowledge to unstrap and remove the bicycle from the roof of the car. At one point we all thought the car was constructed with the huge bicycle attached, inseparatable from the moment of manufacture. Or the bicycle was made with the car attached. Both were conceivable. The bicycle was the type seen in their thousands in places like Amsterdam, perfect for flat city terrain. This one was made for the jolly green giant, it was a pastel shade of light green, with loads of advertising stickers promoting a bicycle shop in Stratford-upon-Avon.

“Where did you get the bike? From Mary Poppins.” I jokingly asked Ursula

“It’s free. As long as I promote the bike on my travels. It’s a new style concept.” Ursula gushed.

“A new concept for giants!” I replied.

“Did it come free with the car? Or was the car built with the bike attached.” I then asked sarcastically.

“No stupid, but I did manage to get a petrol allowance for my troubles.” She replied proudly, completely missing the sarcasm.

After the separation of the bike from the car, the next challenge was how to get the bike to France. The plan was to use two cars, with five cyclists, and strap the five bikes onto the two cars. The bikes everyone else possessed were trail bikes, equipped for off road, and rough terrain. Ursula’s bike was only fit for flat level terrain, going to the local shops, and filling the enormous basket fitted to the handles with groceries.

The giant’s bicycle was too big to be strapped outside onto the car without a feat of engineering skill, fortunately one of the cyclists owned a large SUV, and the bike was accommodated inside. It had to be dismantled, by removing the front wheel. In hindsight, Mary Poppins aka Ursula or the bike should never have been removed from Strafford-upon-Avon for the safety of all.

“We were planning on cycling along beaches in France, off road. We’re not sure the jolly green giant’s bike is suitable.” We all said.

“It will be fine, don’t worry.” Ursula replied.

It wasn’t fine, and we did worry.

To avoid the beaches and off-road terrain, a decision was made to travel part of the planned journey instead by train. Unfortunately, French domestic railway coaches were never designed for Ursula’s bike, nothing was. More dismantling of the bike was needed to accommodate the bike, and a small disruption to the coastal line schedule occurred that day.

When we finally hit the open road, about a mile or so into the bike journey we looked back and there was no Ursula or the giant bike. Everybody started to head back from whence we came, and there was Ursula on the side of the road looking sadly at the giant bike.

“My chain’s come off!” She cried.

The men amongst the team, started to help Ursula with the unattached chain, the now damsel in distress. With most bikes a chain coming disengaged from cogs was a simple job. Unfortunately, the jolly green giants’ bike was built with the concept that nothing would fail. Consequently, the chain and wheel cogs were hidden under chain guards, and other nonfunctional apparatus. Once the chain was reattached, there was a pool of spare parts littered on the highway. The unnecessary parts were all dumped into the large basket normally used to accommodate shopping.

In testing out the reattached chain one or two of the male cyclists got on the bike to test out their fine workmanship. It was so hard to push down a pedal on the bike, you needed legs and calf muscles like that of the jolly green giant. The same person the bike was made for. How Ursula managed to pedal the bike was anyone’s guess. Hidden under the long flowing skirt completely unsuitable for cycling were her legs of steel, Scottish steel.

The chain falling off the cogs occurred with regular irritation. Ursula was always at the rear of the group, by some distance, riding in Mary Poppins style with a big happy smile on her face. We took it in turns to repair Ursula’s bike; hands blacken and covered in the oil and grease from the frequent repairs. The shopping basket increasingly filled with spare parts from the bike. In the end there were more parts in the basket than remained functional on the bike itself.

On returning the bike had to be strapped back on top of the retro VW beetle. It wasn’t attached to the roof of the car in the same manner as the outbound journey from Strafford-upon-Avon. The shopping basket now overflowing with spare parts sat forlornly in the back seat of the car. A nude skeleton of a giant’s bike, a sad reflection of its former fully fitted self.

“Well, we all made it back in one piece. Shame about me bike though.” Ursula shouted through the open window of her departing car. Beaming smiles as normal.

“It was fun, let’s do it again sometime.” These were her parting words.

Not without breakdown cover, I thought as her car full of bike parts; headed for Strafford-upon-Avon, with Shakespeare’s words never so truly said - Travelers never did lie, though fools at home condemn them. A line from the Tempest, suggesting travelers seek new experiences. I wonder if Shakespeare’s words on travelers ever contemplated Ursula as it was always a new experience no matter whatever the occasion.