Jasper.

There seemed to be a greater proliferation of idiosyncratic characters scattered through the front bars of hotels back in my days as an aficionado of the amber fluid. I’m talking of the 70’s. They made their presence felt in benign ways and then faded away like Autumn sunsets. One such character I recall from those long, gone days was Jasper, that’s the only name we knew him by, and then for only one long, hot Summer.

Jasper was a “Balt’, i.e.; he was of those states centred around the Baltic Sea, perhaps he could have been Estonian, he was a tall ponderous sort of chap, with a long serious gaze, with one of those what are called “lantern jawed” faces. He always spoke in a slow, carefully chosen word way. I don’t wonder many philosophers came from the Baltic States, Jasper appeared to put a lot of thought into what he said before he said it, but then he didn’t ever say much of great import.

“You gotta watch those ‘Balts’ “ Jack Mitchell warned.”Ooo, they’re trouble, those bloody Balts”. We were always being warned about “Balts”, why, I never knew, as they didn’t seem to be of any more trouble that the majority of “the great unwashed”.

He always wore shorts in the summer, not short shorts like a footballer, but loose baggy ones to the knee. He would sit at the bar pint in hand with legs crossed in a peculiar effeminate way, that is; with his legs entwined like women do, and he would stare incessantly at one person or spot before delivering some profound statement.

“Michael” he announced out of the blue one day “Michael, would you tell your girlfriend to stop staring at my legs, I know I haff good, manly legs, but could she please not to stare at them so ?”

Of course , Mick was astonished and choked on his beer. Tracey, Mick’s girlfriend, was outraged and put on one hell of a show, Jasper was nonplussed by the whole affair and just commenced to roll a cigarette with his slow ponderous methodology.

Jasper had huge hands, big fingers more suited to blacksmithing or a farrier for draught horses than what he did do, but no-one knew quite what that was as he was an awful liar. Jasper’s toil at rolling a cigarette was something to watch, he was so clumsy with those big hands that it was quite a chore that exasperated him at times.

One day a “airy” young lady sitting next to him at the bar took out of her dilly-bag one of those automatic cigarette rollers where you place the paper then the tobacco, then lift or flip the lid and a perfectly formed “rolly” cigarette appears to greet you. Jasper, ciggy-paper stuck to his bottom lip watched this magic with deep concentration, his big paw all the while shoved deep into the pouch of tobacco, as he watched, the ciggy-paper fluttered with his breath on his lip, he detached it and addressed the young lady.

“That is a cleffer machine, a vonderful machine, where did you obtain it?” he asked in his slow deep voice.

“Well I didn’t steal it if that’s what you mean?’ The young woman replied.

“I vas not accusing you, madam, you look like a honest young lady, an honest AND attractive young lady, perhaps later I would like to get to know you in a more familiar way, I like you, and I like your machine, I am asking where you haff purchased it”.

The following week, Jasper was seen to have one of those machines, it would sit at his elbow on the bar next to his pouch of “Drum” tobacco, Jasper now had a contented look on his face, and he would gladly demonstrate the marvels of that machine to anyone who asked, and many would take advantage of his hospitality of the proffered resulting cigarette until he woke up to the fact that he was being taken for a ride, philosophers are like that, they learn fast.

Jasper disappeared out of our lives as quickly as he appeared. Late one night he asked Mick for a lift home on the back of his 1000cc. Suzuki, Mick delighted in putting the fear of god in anyone silly enough to ride pillion with him, Jasper had no sooner settled himself on the trembling machine and informed Mick to drive carefully as he, Jasper, was… and that was the last we heard of Jasper as Mick took off full-throttle and it was impossible to tell if it was the roar of the motor, the squeal of the tyre on the road, or the Joe. E. Brown howl of  despair (google it) from Jasper as they disappeared down the road.

But he never came back.