My Dad never wanted me to be a Mycologist-The further memoirs of Derek Scrambler.
(Recorded by Staff Reporter Pileus Stipe.)
“Once again we met Derek Scrambler – veteran second striker with Frantick Foragers Fungus Group – in the tap room of the Ruddy Russula. After a few preliminary enquiries concerning the health of this grand old man of Fungology and the ancient ceremony of Replenishing the Drought-stricken for which - as was traditional – the visitor always paid, His Secondship deigned to answer some of our questions:-
PS So how did you get started Derek?
DS Weeeeeell - me Dad never wanted me to be a Mycologist. I remember ‘im to this day; sitting in front o’t kitchen fire wi’ his feet in our tin bath (‘e were second class wine maker down at Saggett and Drawbridge’s and elderberries were awful on ‘is nails) ( ‘e should have put water in it but what did we know) and ‘e said –“Listen our Michael -” (he never could remember me name) “- A’m not havin yer malarkining about in the woods wi’ a basket and that Enid. It in’t natural, yer look a right nancy. Yer can take her behind’t faggot mill chimney like the rest of the lads do - and tha can learn a proper trade laike a bird mechanic or frog sampler or summat useful like that ……” and then e’ went off down’t road to’t Lepidopterists Armpit.
Coming back five minutes later for ‘is boots.
PS What about your mother?
DS Me Mam were a bit different, she always encouraged us lads even when our Graham went in for camel stuffing and everybody knew that the nearest camel were in Belle Vue Zoo and they needed that for the Whit Walks. Any road up she said to me “Gerald -” (her memory were rubbish as well) “- never mind what yer Dad says, you can borrow me third shopping basket, the one I use for slack and I hope you have a nice day. Don’t forget your sandwiches…” And she made me a jug of lilac tea to keep warm with. And I’ll have a pint……
DS Well it was me first outing and I was that proud. Of course I wasn’t on the team – I still thought Fungi of Switzerland was that foreign comedian at the Blue Hygrocybe Nitespot - so Enid and me were only allowed on the site as observers. Frantick were taking on Halifax at home – I remember Ezekiah Sykes were the First Striker on the Halifax side and he swore like ‘ell when Enid shoved him into Slaggy Bottom Pond where he were looking for Mycena bulbosa but he was overruled because the adjudicator said she slipped. Which she had – I pushed her. I learned quite a lot that day. Funny – it were that day that I had the biggest find in all me career. It were a huge white agaric and I dragged it across two fields from’t canal, where some of the lads had said I might find a bit. I couldn’t weigh it in of course, they didn’t allow supporters contributions then (still don’t) – which were just as well ‘cause I found it were really a concrete tripe-ship post that they’d loosened out o’t bank. They did laugh and Mam were right mad when it went through the bottom of her basket. AND it ‘urt me foot.
PS But that didn’t put you off.
DS Oh no; some of me mates used to giggle a bit when they were on the fermented conglomerates but I kept sneakin’ off to’t foray on Saturdays instead of goin’ to’t ferret racin’ and then I heard that there was a vacancy in The Frantick (we never called ‘em Foragers, everybody knew what we meant) – a vacancy for a junior Lactarius Taster and Grader. Well it weren’t First Striker but it were something, so I got down there right sharp. Now us Scramblers always had tough tongues because Mam would make sure we cleaned our plates well to save on soap so I had natural advantages as you might say. You started on the easy ones like turpis and blennius and went on to torminosus and pyrogalus – when you could get the hazel trees that was – and pretty soon I was made up to full skirmisher. (It were just as well, it was starting to wrinkle me teeth. You don’t stay long in that job.)
PS But you didn’t start as a skirmisher with the Frantick?
DS Oh No – they wouldn’t have me right off, so I ‘ad to swallow me ambitions and do two seasons in the lower league with Pontefract Cakeless …… which was a good experience, because I was really too good for ‘em but they wouldn’t put up with me giving meself airs. A few times I’d find myself in over me wellies at the muddy end of the beck for some weird reason that everybody but me could see – especially when there was dung about. But I didn’t really mind - yer could grow good leeks off me boots in them days…..
PS I suppose that was where you got to know a lot about Coprinus …….
DS Well it helped. But it made yer awful thirsty…….. (Oh you shouldn’t have, thanks very much, there really wasn’t any need but since its here …..) Of course, our Dad didn’t like it at all. “ Poncing about in’t countryside in wellies….” he’d say “ that’s no life fer a Scrambler. . .” and he’d kick me in’t teeth and get the bus to the BWI (Blind Window-cleaners Institute – Ed.), stopping off at me uncle Ted’s for his white stick and blue glasses ‘cause he were Head Wringer that year and he had to keep up appearances. But I stuck with it even when Dad couldn’t sup ale for a week after me Mam made that pie with Coprinus …. Eee ‘e did curse – well he did when ‘e could spare time from rushing down to the street bottom to the privy. It were a different world then, Pileus; I think perhaps we were a bit backward in some ways….. I mean we all knew about yer Amanitas being chancy but ‘Deadly Nightshade’ were only called ‘Nightshade’ in Frantick until Coffin Billy’s mam made sloe gin with some of the berries. And as for ‘Poison Pie’ …… They were all barmy in that family – not that there’s many of them left of course - but it were that dodgy we all used to ‘ide when ‘is birthday came round in case we got an invite.
PS Derek, tell me – what was it about foraying – what was the initial attraction?
DS Well it was the glory of course but it wasn’t just that, it was, weeeell – all the lasses were after me like maggots up a Blewit’s stipe - well they were till Enid got to know. She were an Hebeloma Sniffer by then and starting on Tricholoma so it were no good me saying that Gladys Armathwaite and me were going training by looking for the Sepedonium under the Leucopaxillus giganteus caps in Cleckheckmondsedge Fields. It took me ages to get the gorse prickles out of me foraying trousers. . . . . .
And then there was the fun – I mean when you find the opposing striker paralysed in the middle of the Psilocybe patch and you can convince them that they can fly – or when you can show them where you found Mycena rorida, got to be well into a bramble patch ( you wait till they’ve got right in and then you pull their wellies off – works everytime….. ) And; and; blimey is that the time? I promised Tupper Eggburton to show him how to spot Leucogyrophana pulverulenta from two hundred yards. See you.”
PS “And off he goes in the Roller – the one with the cowpats on the wings. However a curious fact is that Eggburton lives in quite a different direction – you can’t keep a good forayer down it seems; I wonder where Gladys lives now.
