My blog title might sound like a children's storybook but it isn't. It really happened!
In my last blog I talked about how, having recently discovered my local Heritage Centre, I'd been amazed by the national importance of some of the local history it has documented, such as the fact that our long stretch of sandy beach was once a testing place for Britain's pioneer aviators in the early twentieth century.
Now, a few weeks on, I have been persuaded to volunteer at the Centre, which means I have unlimited access to its many documents, photos, maps and stories, all things useful to a writer, so, as you can see, I'm not being entirely altruistic! I am, however, taking my role seriously, which means that at the moment I am researching local information for the Centre's next themed exhibition. This is to be about local sport. I've agreed to cover golf (which I don't play) and horse riding (I don't ride). My theory is that novices always ask the best questions.
I can hear you asking "so where does the hippo come in?" It's a fascinating and very amusing story.
Our local golf club, which has one of the best links courses in the world, has a well documented history which is overseen by its own historian, and it is he who told me the story of Horace the Hippo.
In 1892 (in the days before big game hunting was frowned upon) the golf club captain shot Horace, a Nile hippopotamus. There is no information about where or why he shot him, or how he got him home but, until 1909 when the gentleman died, Horace was displayed in his house. It was then that his widow probably decided that he didn't do a lot for her decor because she donated him to the golf club. (To enjoy this story we have to remember that these were very different times. Today such happenings would be rightly frowned upon.)
Anyway, in 1909 Horace was put on display and there he remained until 1941 when 3 young naval officers whose ship was in Liverpool Dock, had what seems to have been a very enjoyable and well lubricated day at the golf club. This culminated in them deciding to kidnap Horace. Wrapping him in a blanket, they took him back to their ship in a taxi.
The story about them being stopped en route by a local policeman and having to tell him they were taking their aunt home because she had a sore throat, and about him shining his torch into Horace's mouth, is probably apocryphal, although it does add entertainment value!
What their long term plans were is unknown but what they hadn't expected was to be mobilised the very next day, so with no opportunity to return Horace they had no choice but to take him with them. Thus, strapped to the ship's lighting tower, Horace the hippo set off for Narvik in Norway to hunt for U-boats.
He remained on active duty until the end of the WW2, although I'm not sure how successful he was as he was torpedoed twice. He was, however, rescued on both occasions, and ended his wartime service with nothing worse than a broken tusk.
On demobilisation, his exploits reached the ear of his Admiral who, furious with his naval officers, explained the situation to the golf club captain of the time. Fortunately for the culprits, he too was a serviceman, and he said that if Horace was returned to the clubhouse the whole affair could be forgotten. "After all," he said. "Boys will be boys!"
A bit battered by his adventures, Horace had a makeover before being restored to pride of place in the clubhouse. He is still there now, and every year golfers compete for the Hippo Cup with the winners receiving a small hippopotamus replica as part of their prize.
I just love this story It's so much more interesting than the lists of names, trophies and golf scores I was expecting, even though I know how important they are to the golfers. And I have an invitation to meet up with the historian too, to talk about what can be copied, borrowed or photographed for the exhibition. I am so looking forward to it, and of course to seeing Horace in the 'flesh!'
