Innocent or What.

I plod on with the writing of an autobiographical work I started many moons ago. (Covering the period 1945-59.) Around 70,000 words to date, I persevere for several reasons, not least because I wish my children to know where this 'grumpy old man' came from, so to speak. I alternate between self confidence and self doubt. In view of my age and remembering the recent and other health frights I write with one eye on the 'mortality stakes' so to speak. The trick is to finish your life's 'projects' just before you pop off. Easier said than done, the end for us all usually comes with little warning. But enough of maudlin thoughts!
I am still very interested in any instances of humour, perceived to be rude or otherwise you found funny in your formative years. Times have changed, we change, does childish humour change with the passing of time? Memories fade but surely everyone remembers ONE joke or story from their murky past. Any reminisces, jokes, stories gratefully received. If you are of more 'tender' years, no matter. It is the idea as to what children/adolescents find funny that interests me.

Draught copy, at present titled 'Childhood Revisited.'

The less than subtle humour passed between ourselves, all the more enjoyed by virtue of being out of the hearing of adults. Many jokes began, ‘There was an Englishman, an Irishman and a Scotsman,’ and it was always the Irishman who was the butt of the joke, for we were ignorant of the confines of political correctness. Yet there was no deliberate malice intended on our part.

This couple always wanted a child and they were thrilled to have at last a baby boy. An unusual child, different in that, instead of having a belly button, he had a small golden nut and bolt, a BSW, half inch Whitworth nut and bolt. (We were of course unaware of the more delicate term navel for belly button. Of any case belly button was good enough for us.)
People came from far and wide and his parents would roll down his nappy so that they could view this amazing sight. But as the child grew up he became embarrassed by the fact that he was different from other children. Girlfriends were amazed, but also amused and it wasn’t doing his sex life any good. So he visited his doctor. The doctor was worse than useless, so were other specialists in The Health Service. He was desperate, willing to visit anyone who might be able to help. There appeared no way that conventional medicine could help. Which is why he found himself consulting a witch doctor in darkest Africa.
“My son,” said the witch doctor, “there is only one cure for your condition. You must find a field of ripe corn. On the night of the full moon you must lie down on the ground. At exactly midnight you must pull down your trousers and wait.
With mounting excitement he returned home. Summer came and he found a field matching the witch doctor’s requirements. On the right day, an hour before midnight, secretly he lay down in the centre of his chosen field. He rolled down his trousers and waited. At exactly midnight the clouds parted, the moon shone brightly and a little angel, holding a white napkin floated down from the sky. The angel alighted amid the corn and carefully unwrapped the napkin, revealing an exquisite gold spanner, a BSW half inch Whitworth spanner. Expertly handling the spanner, he proceeded to unscrew the nut and remove the bolt.
He placed them carefully in the napkin, smiled at the young man and flew silently away. The young man lay in the corn and joy overcame him. He could not believe that at long last he was the same as anyone else. His troubles were surely over, and he joyously jumped to his feet, shouting at the top of his voice, “Look at me, look at me, I’m cured.” And then his backside fell off!

In early adolescence our humour tended to reflect our growing occupation with sex. Two stories we related amongst ourselves in our formative years were typical.
A man escaped from an asylum and broke into the laundry next door. He then raped all the women workers before disappearing. His actions naturally made the front page of the local newspaper, the headline reading, ‘Nut Screws Washers and Bolts.’
(Amazingly we could have been no more than twelve years old when we told this story.)

Three cowboys walked into the local store to buy provisions. An attractive young lady stood behind the counter.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
“A bag a’ raisins” requested the first cowboy.
The young lady moved a ladder to the shelves behind the counter and proceeded up it until she could reach the top shelf, showing a large expanse of stocking as she did so. She returned to the counter with a sack and gave it to the cowboy.
She looked at the second cowboy. “A bag a’ raisins” he too requested. The young lady returned to the ladder and proceeded upwards, showing even more stocking and flesh. She returned to the counter with the sack and turned to the third cowboy.
“A raisin?” she enquired.
“No, just a’ twitchin’ replied the cowboy.

Perhaps some of the jokes we told each other were gleaned from the radio though I can remember no joke that could directly be attributed to any known source.
Two escaped lions from London Zoo were walking down Regent Street.
The biggest turned to his mate and said, ‘Isn’t it quiet for an Easter Monday!’

Were we normal little village tearaways with a healthy love of life. Or would modern day psychologists see more in our irreverent behaviour, I wonder.