Golden Memories: the Professor

While I was growing up in the 1960's, we lived next door to a rather eccentric family. They were often referred to in the local paper, so it seemed to me that they were uniquely weird. These days, of course, reality TV programmes demonstrate just how common strange behaviours are.

The family were obviously quite rich, because they owned three properties in the neighbourhood, including an old college. Only one of these had human occupation, however, with the other two housing enormous numbers of cats and dogs.
The matriarch of the family was possibly a giant rat in a previous life, with yellow protruding teeth and an agitated, aggressive manner. She had somehow recruited a number of well meaning helpers, and was often seen with a man in a blonde wig who had a cat perched on his right shoulder. She herself always wore a moth eaten dressing gown.

Her daughter was disturbingly ordinary, but her son was a chip off the old block. He built a miniature village in their back garden and tried to charge the neighbours £1 to view it. He later became a self-proclaimed archeologist, antique dealer and stand up comedian. The police finally confiscated his car when he refused to tax it on political grounds.

But now I come to the professor. He was a kind, friendly 'put upon' type of fellow, who acquired his title from his appearance (high domed boffin head) and the fact he did work at a college 50 miles away. He was old, stooped and had a pronounced limp, but apparently never missed a day's work. Then one day (so the story goes) he was faced with a walk on sheet ice, up the hill to our local railway station. He fell badly and had to complete the journey on his hands and knees. When he got to the station he was five minutes late for the train.

But the train was still there.

The station master had held it back for a man who was more reliable than a clock.