A Very Brief Autobiography
Dick D. Devlin tells me a number of people have written or called trying to guess my identity. “What are they talking about!?”, I asked him. I’m not using a nom de plume! I assume cigar buyers have a reasonable level of sophistication, so I must say I’m shocked – shocked – that none of them have heard of me.
I’ve therefore devoted today’s column to giving you a quick autobiography of who I am and where I come from.
I’ll start by way of answering some other mail Dick D. Devlin has received – apparently many female readers have sent underwear and other unmentionables trying to ascertain as to whether or not the great Major Garr is single, and if so if they can have a taste of the legend. Well ladies, yes, I am single and I will get to each and every one of you in my own good time. This reminds me of a joke my old friend former deputy Secretary of State Rich Armitage was telling me last time he was down under. Two bulls are standing in the top paddock, looking down at all the cows in the bottom paddock. The younger bull says, “As soon as that gate opens I’m going down and fucking as many of those cows as I can.” The older bull replies, “Son, wander down slowly and fuck ‘em all”. Like the old bull I am, I do things in my own time and always end up doing the things I want. However, ladies, do please keep in mind: whilst I will spend an evening or two with you, you cannot possess me. No, marriage is not on my agenda. Women, I believe, are like hurricanes. They arrive all wet and wild and when they’re gone they’ve taken your house and your car.
I was born in 1851 (told you I’m bloody old) in London. My mother, Lola Montez, and father, the celebrated soldier Harry Flashman, never married or even lived together. In fact, at the time of my birth my father was married to another lady. So I’m genetically predisposed to my behaviour with the women.
Unfortunately Lola took me to the US and Australia when I was very young, and Harry lived outside London with his wife when he wasn’t travelling the globe fighting for King and country so I only met him when he was very old. As a youngster I would read about his exploits in the press, however. He had many successes, including rising to the rank of Brigardier-General, receiving the Victoria Cross and being knighted. When I finally met him at the age of 89, however, he told me he his greatest triumph was bedding over 10,000 women. “They could start an army with my off-spring”, he said as he slapped his nurse’s behind. As I became older I had heard some rumours that my mother had been intimate with Lord Palmerston and my lineage was therefore questioned; meeting old Harry and seeing his behaviour confirmed for me that he was truly my father.
So my upbringing was with my mother, and let me tell you she was a marvellous lady. Despite her exotic name, she had been born Marie Gilbert in Limerick, Ireland. She ran away from home in her late teens and established herself as a Spanish dancer (her mother was half-Spanish) on the continent. Before long her beauty had gathered her quite a reputation, and it was in Paris that she met King Ludwig of Bavaria. The two immediately fell in love and she became his mistress. Upon his death she seized control of Bavaria, and was its very liberal ruler until a revolution led by those bloody Catholic Jesuits forced her to flee back to England. And it was here that I came into the picture. My earliest memories of my childhood are living with my mother in New York, where she had her own Broadway play Lola Montez in Bavaria. They loved it so much there that she was asked to perform it in San Francisco, which she did. It was there that she married the proprietor of a prominent local newspaper. She would drive him crazy writing articles and editorials that she wanted published. I still remember her attacking him whenever he said they were unpublishable. She would often sneak into the printing presses and force the staff to publish them anyway, infuriating him when he read them in the morning. I suppose this is where I get my excellent style of prose from, as well as my penchant for writing unpublishable works. I remember the two fighting increasingly more as I got older, until late one night Lola ended the argument with him by grabbing his todger and sticking it in a printing press. The next morning she announced to the newspaper’s staff, “I shall say the same thing to you I said to the Bavarians: Fuck you all, I’m out of here.” Hours later, we set sail for Australia.
Arriving in the Ballarat goldfields, my mother returned to the stage and her quite erotic dancing filled the halls every night. She made her fortune from those drunken miners willing to pay the Earth to see a bit of thigh or a flash of knee. I remember one morning she read the local Ballarat Times and found an article describing her in most unflattering terms. She grabbed a horse whip and marched into their offices, whereupon she attacked the editor with the whip. He never again published a bad word about her.
With her new found fortune she took me back to New York where she retired, spending her idle time on charity activities and giving lectures about beauty and fashion to young ladies. Unfortunately, she died at just 41, leaving me an orphan at 10. A wealthy orphan, nonetheless, which made me very popular at my boarding school back in England. In my early days I would treat the boys to candy and comics, in my later years I would buy hookers and alcohol. I think every boy in my year lost their virginity on my dime.
After my school days I was a man of leisure, spending copious amounts of time and money drinking, gambling, fucking and smoking cigars at the clubs around St James and nearby alley-ways. Unfortunately, I had a little too good a time for at the age of 19 I was flat broke. Not even able to afford a roof over my head, my only option was to join the army. The best decision of my life, it transpired, for that career led me into the many adventures you are fortunate enough to hear about in these letters.
I’ve therefore devoted today’s column to giving you a quick autobiography of who I am and where I come from.
I’ll start by way of answering some other mail Dick D. Devlin has received – apparently many female readers have sent underwear and other unmentionables trying to ascertain as to whether or not the great Major Garr is single, and if so if they can have a taste of the legend. Well ladies, yes, I am single and I will get to each and every one of you in my own good time. This reminds me of a joke my old friend former deputy Secretary of State Rich Armitage was telling me last time he was down under. Two bulls are standing in the top paddock, looking down at all the cows in the bottom paddock. The younger bull says, “As soon as that gate opens I’m going down and fucking as many of those cows as I can.” The older bull replies, “Son, wander down slowly and fuck ‘em all”. Like the old bull I am, I do things in my own time and always end up doing the things I want. However, ladies, do please keep in mind: whilst I will spend an evening or two with you, you cannot possess me. No, marriage is not on my agenda. Women, I believe, are like hurricanes. They arrive all wet and wild and when they’re gone they’ve taken your house and your car.
I was born in 1851 (told you I’m bloody old) in London. My mother, Lola Montez, and father, the celebrated soldier Harry Flashman, never married or even lived together. In fact, at the time of my birth my father was married to another lady. So I’m genetically predisposed to my behaviour with the women.
Unfortunately Lola took me to the US and Australia when I was very young, and Harry lived outside London with his wife when he wasn’t travelling the globe fighting for King and country so I only met him when he was very old. As a youngster I would read about his exploits in the press, however. He had many successes, including rising to the rank of Brigardier-General, receiving the Victoria Cross and being knighted. When I finally met him at the age of 89, however, he told me he his greatest triumph was bedding over 10,000 women. “They could start an army with my off-spring”, he said as he slapped his nurse’s behind. As I became older I had heard some rumours that my mother had been intimate with Lord Palmerston and my lineage was therefore questioned; meeting old Harry and seeing his behaviour confirmed for me that he was truly my father.
So my upbringing was with my mother, and let me tell you she was a marvellous lady. Despite her exotic name, she had been born Marie Gilbert in Limerick, Ireland. She ran away from home in her late teens and established herself as a Spanish dancer (her mother was half-Spanish) on the continent. Before long her beauty had gathered her quite a reputation, and it was in Paris that she met King Ludwig of Bavaria. The two immediately fell in love and she became his mistress. Upon his death she seized control of Bavaria, and was its very liberal ruler until a revolution led by those bloody Catholic Jesuits forced her to flee back to England. And it was here that I came into the picture. My earliest memories of my childhood are living with my mother in New York, where she had her own Broadway play Lola Montez in Bavaria. They loved it so much there that she was asked to perform it in San Francisco, which she did. It was there that she married the proprietor of a prominent local newspaper. She would drive him crazy writing articles and editorials that she wanted published. I still remember her attacking him whenever he said they were unpublishable. She would often sneak into the printing presses and force the staff to publish them anyway, infuriating him when he read them in the morning. I suppose this is where I get my excellent style of prose from, as well as my penchant for writing unpublishable works. I remember the two fighting increasingly more as I got older, until late one night Lola ended the argument with him by grabbing his todger and sticking it in a printing press. The next morning she announced to the newspaper’s staff, “I shall say the same thing to you I said to the Bavarians: Fuck you all, I’m out of here.” Hours later, we set sail for Australia.
Arriving in the Ballarat goldfields, my mother returned to the stage and her quite erotic dancing filled the halls every night. She made her fortune from those drunken miners willing to pay the Earth to see a bit of thigh or a flash of knee. I remember one morning she read the local Ballarat Times and found an article describing her in most unflattering terms. She grabbed a horse whip and marched into their offices, whereupon she attacked the editor with the whip. He never again published a bad word about her.
With her new found fortune she took me back to New York where she retired, spending her idle time on charity activities and giving lectures about beauty and fashion to young ladies. Unfortunately, she died at just 41, leaving me an orphan at 10. A wealthy orphan, nonetheless, which made me very popular at my boarding school back in England. In my early days I would treat the boys to candy and comics, in my later years I would buy hookers and alcohol. I think every boy in my year lost their virginity on my dime.
After my school days I was a man of leisure, spending copious amounts of time and money drinking, gambling, fucking and smoking cigars at the clubs around St James and nearby alley-ways. Unfortunately, I had a little too good a time for at the age of 19 I was flat broke. Not even able to afford a roof over my head, my only option was to join the army. The best decision of my life, it transpired, for that career led me into the many adventures you are fortunate enough to hear about in these letters.
posted by Major Curtis Garr (Ret.) at 09:27
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