Fillets of Plaice, by Gerald Durrell by Fillets of Plaice Page B
Authors: Fillets of Plaice
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Bellow's story about Potts. Lane.
It was at about this time that another rather strange character appeared in my life. I had been working for some time with Mr Romilly and he trusted me implicitly. Periodically he would send me down to the East End of London to collect fresh supplies of reptiles, amphibians and tropical fish. These we got from the wholesalers, whereas, as I have explained, the farm (which really ran the shop) sent us all the freshwater stuff that we needed. I enjoyed these jaunts where, in gloomy, cavernous stores in back streets I would find great crates of lizards, basketfuls of tortoises and dripping tanks green with algae full of newts and frogs and salamanders. It was on one of these forays into the East End that I met Colonel Anstruther.
I had been sent down to Van den Goths, a big wholesaler who specialised in importing North American reptiles and amphibians, and I had been given instructions by Mr Romilly to bring back 150 baby painted terrapins those enchanting little freshwater tortoises with green shells and yellow and red markings on their skins. They were each about the size of a half crown. We did quite a brisk trade in these for they were a good and simple pet to give a child in a flat. So I made my way down to Van den Goths and saw Mr Van den Goth himself, a great heavily-built man who looked like an orang-utan carved out of tallow. He placed my terrapins in a cardboard box with moss, and then I asked him if he would mind if I looked round.
Help yourself, he said. Help yourself And he lumbered back to his chair and picked up a Dutch newspaper which he was reading, stuck a cigar in his face and ignored me. I pottered round for some time examining some of the beautiful snakes that he had and became breathless with admiration over a crate full of iguanas, bright green and frilled and dewlapped like any fairytale dragon. Presently I glanced at my watch and saw to my alarm that I had over-stayed my time by at least half an hour. So, grabbing my box of terrapins, I said a hurried good-bye to Mr Van den Goth and left to catch the bus.
What I had not noticed, and it was very remiss of me, was that both the terrapins and the moss which Mr Van den Goth had put in the box were excessively moist. During my wanderings round the shop this moisture had soaked through the bottom of the cardboard box with the not unnatural result that as I climbed up the stairs to the top of the bus and was just about to take my seat, the entire bottom of the box gave way and a cascade of baby terrapins fell on the floor.
It was fortunate for me that there was only one other occupant on the top of the bus and he was a slender, military-looking man, with a grey moustache and a monocle, wearing a very well-cut tweed suit and a pork-pie hat. He had a carnation in his buttonhole and a malacca cane with a silver knob. I scrabbled madly on the floor collecting the terrapins, but baby terrapins can move with extraordinary speed when they want to and I was heavily outnumbered. Suddenly, one of them rushed up the central alley of the bus and turned in by the military-looking man's foot. Feeling it clawing at his well-polished shoe, he glanced down. God, I thought, now I'm for it! He screwed his monocle more firmly into his eye and surveyed the baby terrapin which was making a laborious effort to climb over the toe of his shoe.
By George! he said. A painted terrapin!
Chrysemys picta
! Haven't seen one for years!
He looked round to see the source from which this little reptile had emanated and saw me crouched, red-faced, on the floor with baby terrapins running madly in all directions.
Hah! he said. Is this little chap yours?
Yes, sir, I said. I'm sorry, but the bottom has fallen out of the box.
By George, you're in a bit of a stew, what? he shouted.
Er…, yes…, I am, actually.
He picked up the baby terrapin that had managed to get on the toe of his shoe and came down the bus
It was at about this time that another rather strange character appeared in my life. I had been working for some time with Mr Romilly and he trusted me implicitly. Periodically he would send me down to the East End of London to collect fresh supplies of reptiles, amphibians and tropical fish. These we got from the wholesalers, whereas, as I have explained, the farm (which really ran the shop) sent us all the freshwater stuff that we needed. I enjoyed these jaunts where, in gloomy, cavernous stores in back streets I would find great crates of lizards, basketfuls of tortoises and dripping tanks green with algae full of newts and frogs and salamanders. It was on one of these forays into the East End that I met Colonel Anstruther.
I had been sent down to Van den Goths, a big wholesaler who specialised in importing North American reptiles and amphibians, and I had been given instructions by Mr Romilly to bring back 150 baby painted terrapins those enchanting little freshwater tortoises with green shells and yellow and red markings on their skins. They were each about the size of a half crown. We did quite a brisk trade in these for they were a good and simple pet to give a child in a flat. So I made my way down to Van den Goths and saw Mr Van den Goth himself, a great heavily-built man who looked like an orang-utan carved out of tallow. He placed my terrapins in a cardboard box with moss, and then I asked him if he would mind if I looked round.
Help yourself, he said. Help yourself And he lumbered back to his chair and picked up a Dutch newspaper which he was reading, stuck a cigar in his face and ignored me. I pottered round for some time examining some of the beautiful snakes that he had and became breathless with admiration over a crate full of iguanas, bright green and frilled and dewlapped like any fairytale dragon. Presently I glanced at my watch and saw to my alarm that I had over-stayed my time by at least half an hour. So, grabbing my box of terrapins, I said a hurried good-bye to Mr Van den Goth and left to catch the bus.
What I had not noticed, and it was very remiss of me, was that both the terrapins and the moss which Mr Van den Goth had put in the box were excessively moist. During my wanderings round the shop this moisture had soaked through the bottom of the cardboard box with the not unnatural result that as I climbed up the stairs to the top of the bus and was just about to take my seat, the entire bottom of the box gave way and a cascade of baby terrapins fell on the floor.
It was fortunate for me that there was only one other occupant on the top of the bus and he was a slender, military-looking man, with a grey moustache and a monocle, wearing a very well-cut tweed suit and a pork-pie hat. He had a carnation in his buttonhole and a malacca cane with a silver knob. I scrabbled madly on the floor collecting the terrapins, but baby terrapins can move with extraordinary speed when they want to and I was heavily outnumbered. Suddenly, one of them rushed up the central alley of the bus and turned in by the military-looking man's foot. Feeling it clawing at his well-polished shoe, he glanced down. God, I thought, now I'm for it! He screwed his monocle more firmly into his eye and surveyed the baby terrapin which was making a laborious effort to climb over the toe of his shoe.
By George! he said. A painted terrapin!
Chrysemys picta
! Haven't seen one for years!
He looked round to see the source from which this little reptile had emanated and saw me crouched, red-faced, on the floor with baby terrapins running madly in all directions.
Hah! he said. Is this little chap yours?
Yes, sir, I said. I'm sorry, but the bottom has fallen out of the box.
By George, you're in a bit of a stew, what? he shouted.
Er…, yes…, I am, actually.
He picked up the baby terrapin that had managed to get on the toe of his shoe and came down the bus
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