Wine and Water

OLD Noah he had an ostrich farm and fowls on the largest scale,
He ate his egg with a ladle in a egg-cup big as a pail.
And the soup he took was Elephant Soup and the fish he took was Whale.
But they all were small to the cellar he took when he set out to sail,
And Noah he often said to his wife when he sat down to dine,
'I don't care where the water goes if it doesn't get into the wine.'

The cataract of the cliff of heaven fell blinding off the brink
As if it would wash the stars away as suds go down a sink,
The seven heavens came roaring down for the throats of hell to drink,
And Noah he cocked his eye and said, 'It looks like rain, I think.
The water has drowned the Matterhorn as deep as a Mendip mine,
But I don't care where the water goes if it doesn't get into the wine.'

But Noah he sinned, and we have sinned; on tipsy feet we trod.
Till a great big black teetotaller was sent to us for a rod,
And you can't get wine at a P.S.A., or chapel, or Eisteddfod,
For the Curse of Water has come again because of the wrath of God,
And water is on the Bishop's board and the Higher Thinker's shrine,
But I don't care where the water goes if it doesn't get into the wine.

G. K. Chesterton (1874-1936)

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Gilbert Keith Chesterton was among the big Edwardian men of letters and rubbed elbows with the likes of George Bernard Shaw, Hilaire Belloc, and H. G. Wells. He is best remembered as the author of some fifty stories featuring a Catholic priest, Father Brown, who solves crimes by drawing on his knowledge of human nature. Born into the middle class London He did not learn to read until he was over eight and one of his teachers told him, "If we opened your head, we should not find brain but only a lump of white fat." Thankfully he didn't let that inane judgement stand in his way or the world would be a sadder place.

The original text of Wine and Water appeared in From The Flying Inn in 1914. Chesterton is poking fun at the the "bluestockings" (the aggressively moral minority). His style is characterized by witty and paradoxical epigrams on the surface, but also frequently point to deeper meanings. Although Chesterton was obstinately Catholic himself and might be expected to keep accord with fellow zealots, he came down with boldness and conviction against any restriction of an Englishman's right to ale, cider and wine. Which is of course the topic of satire here. The great sailor Noah loves his wine and no matter how the sea may slip and slop about to batter his ark he's a happy man as he tells his wife, "I don't care where the water goes, if it doesn't get into the wine."

Chesterton always assumes his readers are English, so a few of the references may need explanation:

• Mendip (in the second stanza) is an area of Somerset known for its deep tin mines.
• As an acronym P.S.A is one I can't determine. Please /msg me if you do.
• The Eisteddfod is the national singing competition of Wales,
• Albert Herring says about Esiteddfod: "I think it was held on a Sunday; under (the) Methodist influence pubs in Wales didn't open on Sundays until pretty recently (as from some time in the 19th century). England was a bit laxer."

So here you have it. In "Wine and Water," Chesterton would have us believe Noah, said these words frequently to to his wife when he sat down to dine. But Chesterton never did let on as to whether Noah took along two of each wine, a white and a red.

Sources:

G. K. Chesterton:
www.mtangel.edu/library/subject/chesterton.html

The Poet's Corner:
http://www.geocities.com/~spanoudi/poems/

Public domain text taken from The Poets' Corner:
http://www.theotherpages.org/poems/chester1.html#6

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CST Approved

She poured the wine from a brown ceramic jug which was held from a height so the crimson liquid splashed into and around the mug. She slowly moved it across the rough wood surface of the table before bringing it to a stop in front of her customer. He was a elderly gentleman with a balding head and bushy grey eyebrows. He wore the usual ensemble of threadbare clothes that was not uncommon among the local community. The mug of wine in front of him was his seventh drink so far. She didn't usually keep count but this was a rare occasion. He had drunk his first couple of drinks in great gulps but had eventually and slowly begun to sip at the bitter liquid. It was as if he had realised the drunken stupor he yearned to be in was in fact not a place you wanted to get to in a hurry.

His eyes were a watery blue colour, a mixture of old age and the tears he was trying to fight. The woman who was serving him seemed to realise this as she replaced the candle on the table to help fight off the growing darkness. She sensed his fear and his isolation. She lifted her long colorful skirts and sat beside him though there was much work to be done. Softly and gently she spoke to him. A quiet murmuring in his ear. At first he didn't speak only shook and nodded his wizened old head in a manner which made it seem too big and heavy for his stooped shoulders. Then as the shadows grew longer he turned towards her and heads almost touching they spoke in whispers.

The night grew steadily deeper, other customers came and went. The old man and the serving woman stayed ensconsed in their corner. A bubble around them and their conversation. Eventually a bell was rung signalling closing time. Its loud clanging was the only thing to break their bubble. With a hand on his shoulder the woman got up to take her leave and took with her his now empty cup. Without a glance at anyone or anything the old man made his way to the door. His steps were unhurried for he had no desire to be anywhere else. Now the place where he sat is empty and cold. The woman who sat with him rinses from the cups, the remaining dregs of wine. The water she uses so cold it numbs her fingers.