From The Archives

The Secretary writes:

Ramblum Mortuum...

 

  One cannot help but notice that the topic of death has arisen in recent postings, and indeed was the subject of some debate over cigars & brandy the other eve.  Observing that there were many uncertainties over the appropriate etiquette in dealing with dead Ramblers, or those who become so during Rambles, methought Members may benefit from some archival investigation.

The Society's basic tenet in these matters is that death makes no difference to status of Membership.  This is self evidenced by the healthy number of dead Members who regularly contribute to Society matters, such as Colonel Hampton, R J Oooooostead and others.

However, the Society does frown upon applications submitted after death.  One such is that of Peregrine “Trip-hammer” Fontenheim, who was nomination recusaverit in spite of his mother’s argument that the funeral service & burial in the family mausoleum should be counted as his first Ramble.

  Cessation of mortality during Rambles is not uncommon, and raises numerous challenges for which no one policy has proven universally applicable.  As a general consideration however, a Rambler mortuus occupies no more space than a Rambler vivus, so no major alteration of plans should result.  Only the most churlish would expect their fellows to Ramblus Interruptus.

Lord Tiggy Periwinkle’s Party continued their four-day excursion into the Caledonian Highlands in spite of the tragic First Cake-stop near Bannockburn.  Indeed they returned the good Lord to his ancestral home four days later, exactly as consue tudine, in time for High Tea.  In fact, so calmly was the matter handled that it wasn’t until that evening’s poor showing at billiards – where-in His Lordship normally excelled – that his Great Aunt, Lady Glockshot, observed the inevitable change in his demeanour.

This particular case may well have benefited from the remoteness of the Ramble itself, however, as the Caledonian peasantry are hardened to the sights of Nature in the raw, so to speak.  More southerly centres of population may prove more complex scenarios, requiring discretion to be uppermost.

Tiggy Periwinkle's skull  in the Society archive

Tweeder Munro’s suggestion of placing the cadaver upright in the passenger seat is certainly better advised than Mrs Cynthia Peynton-Blanc’s insistence on the placing of her demised spouse on the roof-rack of their shooting brake.

Other party members recall she was concerned to acquire more room for the Afghan hounds, and that indeed all progressed smoothly until rain & wind so disturbed the covering picnic blanket that they found themselves somewhat alarmingly confronted by numerous Constabulary (“Like a cohort of over educated Storm Troopers!” as Mrs P-B still relates the story) shortly after Staines.

However, even the simplest solutions can be derailed, if only by well-meaning honesty. One Rambler party found themselves in delicate waters while on a pleasant Cotswolds jaunt tracing the remnants of whipping posts, stocks, gibbets and other instruments of civil order in picturesque hamlets.

  An unfortunate case of “the Battenburg Gargle” had struck down T C Leathersmocq (Junior or Senior – I confess my uncertainty) at first elevenses.  An un-anticipated consequence of this development was that in each successive village, the back seat remained permanently occupied by one tweed-clad gent, while the explorations & perusals of worn down stumps & street corner signs proceeded.

A Rambler Mortuus occupies no more space than a Rambler Vivus

The good Cotswold folks’ ancestors must have clearly benefited from the aforementioned floggings and gruesome humiliations, and were now at such an advanced stage of social sophistication that, noticing this repeated pattern, they kindly rose to provide a remedy for what they perceived as an impediment to the full enjoyment of their parishes.

Thus by the mid-afternoon stop for a long lost ducking stool, a small party awaited the Ramblers’ Lagonda by a village pond, consisting of a vicar, a churchwarden, a Postmistress and two school governors, with a bath chair at the ready for the perceived invalid.  Four sturdy immigrant workers stood by, ready to assist with practicalities!  Overwhelmed with such kindness, and yet at a loss as how to reject such hospitality, our Members were in an awkward pickle.  Fortunately her years behind the counter had made the Postmistress an astute judge of human dealings, and she clarified all matters to such an extent that the good vicar offered a service of interment there & then!

  Thus each situation must be approached afresh and when in doubt, seek the solution which causes the least disruption to the Ramble.  Clearly on occasion the boot may be more efficacious than the passenger seat.  Member Many Coats’ suggestion that expiring mid-Ramble should be entirely prohibited is understandable, and has been adopted in the past, but can cause awkward conflicts of interest: hence the number of deceased Ramblers still on the books, as it were.  The proposal of a statute requiring two weeks’ written notice of impending mort to the Committee, while commendable, carries certain logistical problems relating to Sunday post and availability of clerical staff.

Take heed...

  Some debate arose over the Guzzle-Rights to the deceased’s picnic hamper, as to what constituted precedence amongst the remaining party for first dibs.  Again, no one particular policy will suffice; but harken to St Benedict's warning: Above all things, gluttony must be avoided. Take heed lest your hearts be overcharged with surfeiting.

Lemon Drizzle must be handled carefully, as it seems it can be the cause of the most vociferous exchanges.  Obviously occasions shall arise where specialist tastes should be given preference, for example, are we not all aware of Many Coat’s international reputation as connoisseur of the French Fancy?

 
Hopefully the above will shed some light on matters mortuus, and that regardless of where we find ourselves on the ever turning Wheel of Dame Fortune, all Members shall strive to preserve the purity of the Pax Ramblum.


 The Secretary