On the proper conduct of a game of Wham

 


When Windlesham came to elevenses and declared he’d been Whammed I had assumed he was tidily and taken to using an Americanism to cover the fact he had been having Pink Gins before the sun was not so much below the yard arm but positively trembling at the prospect of having to put in an appearance and was staying snugly in bed. This, it appears, is not the case.

It was Finchley who tried to explain the rules.  Apparently, some popular crooners had written a song in which a chap, led astray, probably by a shapely ankle, declares that last Christmas he was rather smitten with a gel, but the little minx had turned to another, so this year he was going to find a steadier sort and commit himself to a romance more worthy of him.  I think I understood things up to that point. The point of the game, Finchley assured me, was to get through Advent without once hearing this popular ballad, and if you did so, you could spend the rest of the Christmas season with a sense of well being and general bonhomie. 

It was at this point Bushey pointed out that as he spent almost all his time in a snug corner of the library, where he was able to pick up the cricket and, while it was impossible to rely on the English tourists, you could trust that Test Match Special would not let you down by playing anything other than Soul Limbo, bringing warmth, if not hope, to willing hearts in the depth of winter.

Gosfield said, surely it was no good having a game where someone like Bushey could excel without making the slightest effort on his part. Surely this should be a sport which required strategy and risk. It was at that point that the ‘Loyal and Ancient Whammed Club’ was established and some sensible order brought to the matter.

Windlesham went first and said the playing field should be defined.  We almost had an argument more acrimonious than that of League and Union over Rugby codes. Gosfield maintained that the Orthodox start of the Christmas season was Advent Sunday, so the Sunday nearest to St Andrew’s day it was. Bushey claimed 1st December was when most folk would find it acceptable as they were opening their calendars. After a considerable debate an ‘Edict of Nantes’-like compromise was reached; each was to look into his own conscience and decide if they were opting for ‘Religious’ or ‘Secular’ Advent as their starting point.

The question of how one was to be whammed was then discussed. Gosfield claimed that if Bushey was to remain in his splendid isolation then he, personally, would take it upon himself to pipe music into the library and force him to concede.  Both positions were considered unsporting and it was ruled that if any fellow attempted to wham another with malice a forethought they were to be exiled from the Club for a period of now less than three days and no more than seven.

This satisfied Bushey, however it was thought that some sort of risk had to be taken during the season to ensure a chap deserved his title. It was agreed that at least two hours a day must be spent ‘in danger.’  This could consist of listening to the wireless, but no the Third Programme, which was likely to be running extended coverage of ‘Folk Carols of Lower Swabia’ as anything else and did not constitute a risk.  Going out to any settlement about 500 souls in number was felt to be the ticket. This allowed the careful gamesman to show cunning by, perhaps, only going to the sort of establishment that would play traditional carols or prefer stygian silence, to light airs and popular classics.

At this point Windlesham asked if it were possible to be unwhammed by hearing it again when the dinner gong went and any further rule making was put into abeyance.

 

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