One Hand Clapping

I was asked recently what the sound of one hand clapping is and was reminded of my Great Uncle Percival Augustus Seymour, KBE, MBE, BBC, IBM, AT&T.

A brief stint in the British Foreign Office saw him spend some time in India where he met Mohandas Gandhi, or, as Great Uncle Percy knew him, 'Monty'. One night, toward the end of a particularly heavy session of drinking, Monty asked my Great Uncle Percy what he thought the sound of one hand clapping was. Great Uncle Percy swept a single hand across the table, purely in the spirit of scientific endeavour, and knocked a bottle of gin over his inquisitor.

Now, the way Great Uncle Percy told it, Monty, while the world knows him as a peaceful soul, was a complete sod when drunk. He threw himself across the table at Great Uncle Percy and the two of them started to brawl, until the bar owner took them both by the neck and threw them out into the street.

The following morning, both men woke with terrible hangovers to find that they were both naked. Moreover, they were lying beneath a stall at a very busy market. The animosity of the previous evening evaporated as it became clear to them that they would have to work together.

Monty, by all accounts, panicked terribly. He was a lawyer at the time. What would his clients think? But we Seymours are made of sterner stuff. There has been a Seymour at every major British battle since Hastings and none have ever found that, even under the most intense of pressure, their ability to think quickly was impaired.

The stall they were beneath was covered by a couple of white sheets. Never a man to let I dare not wait upon I would, Great Uncle Percy snatched the sheets, which the two men wrapped around themselves, and ran as fast as their legs could carry them.

Monty was by far the superior man over the first few yards but Great Uncle Percy, like all Seymours, always came into his own in the gallops and soon took the lead.

Once clear of the outraged stall holder, the two men slowed to a walk and edged their way down a series of sidestreets in an effort to gain their bearings and find their way home. It was then that they came across a policeman, who looked them up and down and ordered them to stop and state their business.

Poor old Monty thought the game was up, but, as I have already said, Great Uncle Percy was a Seymour. He informed the policeman that Monty was a great spiritual leader and he was his first disciple.

In those days, the Indians loved a good spiritual leader. Even some of the bad ones were quite successful. The policeman asked Monty to impart a pearl of wisdom for him to think about.

As unlikely as it may seem now, Great Uncle Percy swore to the day he died that the words that came out of Monty's mouth were: 'It's only the hairs on a gooseberry that stops it being a grape.' Adding, 'Think about it,' before wandering away with his chin in his hand, apparently deep in mystical thought.

The two men made it home and had a little sleep for they were still groggy of mind. When they woke up and Monty threw open the shutters of a window, he was greeted by the site of at least a thousand people, all holding gooseberries above their heads (some cheating with grapes) waiting for Monty to make an appearance.

He wanted to tell them to go away, but he saw the policeman at the front, still looking suspicious, so he had to keep up the pretence. Great Uncle Percy hid just out of view and whispered to the dumb-struck Monty what to say:

Knowledge is knowing that a tomato is a fruit; wisdom is not putting tomatoes in a fruit punch.

Very hot surfaces do not necessarily look hot.

When door says 'push', there really is no point in pulling.

And so on.

A year later, Great Uncle Percy was recalled to London, from where he followed the career of his old drinking pal with both interest and some amusement. But it wasn't until later life that he confided to the family his role in the eventual overthrow of British rule in India, for obvious reasons, and we kept it secret till he passed away.

I was still young when I went to visit him on his deathbed. He called me over and asked me if I knew what the sound of one hand clapping was. I admitted I didn't. With his very last breath he answered for me: 'A billion Indians laughing.'

Then he died.