ODE
JOH. ENSCHEDE
We cannot, however, quite believe
the following story:
Two Dickensians wanting to see so
mething of the Dutch country-side
hired a tandem, a bicycle built for two,
and rode along many dykes, passing
one wind-mill after the other.
At last they reached higher ground
where something like a hill rose in front
of them. After terrific labour they re
ached the top and the Dickensian in
front, wiping his brow, said: „This was
a hundred times as steep as I thought it
would be."
,,It certainly was", said the other,
„and if I had not put on the brake, we
might have slid downhill".
Did you know that during tulip-time
in Holland in 1945 there were no flo
wers? Dutchmen had looked at the
bulbs with more covetous eyes than
they ever did at the flowers: for the
bulbs dressed with for instance a curry-
sauce were a welcome change in the
monotonous bill fo fare of sugar-beets
and rye boiled in water. We shall give
you the recipe for tuliphash:
take two pounds of tulips-bulbs and
leave them in water during the night.
If no tulips have sprouted, they may be
hyacinths which are more poisonous
but this should be risked and the bulbs
now must be peeled and put on softly
boiling water with salt for an hour, then
stew them with love for butter.
This is for slimming.
In the centre of the newly won, treeless and
desolate dry land of the former Zuydersea I
came across a small service station bearing a
short notice, that read: „Don't ask us for in
formation; if we knew anything we wouldn't
be here."
On the Continent, if people are waiting at a
bus-stop they loiter around in a seemingly
vague fashion. When the bus arrives they make
a dash for it; most of them leave by the bus and
a lucky minority is taken away by an elegant
ambulance-car. An Englishman, even is he is
alone, forms an orderly queue of one. Many
English families spend lovely evenings at home
queueing up for a few hours, and the parents
are very sad when the children leave them and
queue up for going to bed.
On the Continent there is one topic which
should be avoided: the weather. In England,
if you do not repeat the phrase „Lovely day
isn't it?" at least two hundred times a day, you
are considered a bit dull.
on seeing the printing of
If ENSCHEDE had printed these our best-loved books
and if the characters could then observe this print,
its mellow clarity would soften hearts of flint,
its sweet-toned splendour would redeem the toughest crooks.
Sir Mulberry Hawk would try to earn his keep by dint
of hard and honest work; Scrooge would not need the hint
of sundry ghosts to mend his life; a tender glint
in Sally Brass's eyes would glorify her looks.
Quilp's face would shine with human kindness and no fears
would shake the boys committed to the care of Squeers;
Uriah Heep and Pecksniff suddenly would be
filled with remorse. On second thoughts, though, it appears
we should be glad this magic print they cannot see,
for we would also lose Miss Fanny Squeers's leers.
An American from Boston visited the bulb-
fields round Haarlem. Standing in a field and,
admiring the flowers, he happened to hear his
host remark that he was at that moment some
thirty feet below the level of the North Sea. He
gazed blankly through his rimless spectacles;
then with a yelp of panic he packed up and
made hot-foot for the nearest country he could
find that was surrounded by honest-to-God
cliffs.
The trouble with tea is that originally it was
quite a good drink. So a group of the most emi
nent British scientists put their heads together
to find a way of spoiling it. Their labour bore
fruit. They suggested that if you do not drink
it clear, or with lemon or rum and sugar, but
pour a few drops of cold milk into it, and no
sugar at all, the desired object is achieved. It
suddenly became the national drink of Great
Britain and Ireland still retaining, indeed
usurping, the high-sounding title of tea.
An Amsterdam skipper, noticing an Eng
lishman diving and swimming in the Amstel
most perfectly, declared: „Of course, all those
foreigners can swim. They've got to wash
continually, because they are- so dirty".
The Germans live in Germany;
The Romans live in Rome;
The Turkeys live in Turkey;
But the English live at home.
Advice to Dutch visitors in England: If you
go out for a walk with a friend, don't say a
word for hours; if you go out for a walk with
your dog, keep chatting to him.
When continental people say England, they
sometimes mean Great Britain, sometimes the
United Kingdom, sometimes the British Isles
but never England,
I have heard in a theatre in Haarlem an
English lady whisper in very audible tones,
when thrilled by the leading tenor: „Wouldn't
you think he is English, my dear?"
