The Mooning

The scene was set in a Summer’s day. The exact day is not the important factor in the tale that is now to be told but rather, the circumstances and the characters making up the scene are the important elements.


Follow me for a moment if you please.

The Grandfather whom we shall call simply “Pap” was a respectable old codger, stately in bearing and demeanour, moral to the core. He was a product of the very proper “Victorian Age” of Humanity —– He was a very “Proper and Dignified” soul.

Nevertheless, despite his respectability and despite the fact that his state in life was not set in the starry heavens of the wealth or the elite, he was forced, by circumstance, to dwell at the edge of a farming village in a bungalow without electric lights or the convenience of an indoor bathroom — or any of the other amenities enjoyed by those of higher state in his place and time.

So one day, in the midst of the hottest of Summers, in the Year of Our Lord, 1944, the gentle old soul was called by Nature to tread the long and narrow path to the old worn but utilitarian little building that served as a toilet.

The sky was blue and clear and the clouds were puffy and white and the paw paw tree was bearing her little sour-tasting reddish fruits.  The dandelions had long since disappeared with the violets following close behind.

But there was a white chicken somewhere in the yard and a pig in the pen a little distance away.

So, as “Pap” was making his way slowly and deliberately to the run-down shed of an “Outhouse” to do his business as Nature intended, he became aware of a commotion off to his right and he stopped his journey for a moment and turned to see.

In the farmer’s field a few yards from where he stood, the crazy old bitch of a wife of the even crazier farmer was plowing the field with a hand-held plow pulled by a single worn and weary old nag of a horse.

Pap’s mouth suddenly fell open and he stood absolutely aghast as the old crone at the helm of the plow stopped her work and yelled at him, “Hey! Old Man! Look at this!”

Whereupon the ancient hulk of a wrinkled old farm wife hiked her dress, revealing to the startled and shocked gaze of “Pap” her rather ample and totally bare naked fleshy posterior portions!”

It would be insufficient for me to reveal, at this point, the degree of pressure that was placed on the credulity and dignity of “Pap” at that fateful moment so I will leave such as that to your own surmisings.

If that hadn’t been enough of an event to make for a conversational day, it was also the same day that Colonel Smarde decided to buzz the town with his B-17 bomber airplane coming within a scant few yards of the chimney tops so that those on the ground below could feel the force of the air coming from the descent and read the smallest of print on the bomb bay doors of the aircraft.

Pap never forget the shock of “The Mooning” and he told the tale over and over again at the little country store where all the old people hung out and to every ear that would hear.

The chicken and the pig in the pen never saw what happened that fateful day and the paw paws on the tree couldn’t  have cared less.

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