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7/23/2025, 5:05:05 AM
>>64017749
Reminder if you lived a century ago and were a young gentleman you were bound to have a few accidents: case in point this letter I found in archives
>You’re acting as though I’ve loosed rounds into the Foreign Office. (Once, mind you, and that was ricochet.) The way you carry on, one would think a negligent discharge were some moral failing—rather than the perfectly natural, practically inevitable hiccup that comes with honest engagement in the fine traditions of gentlemanly armsmanship.
>Frankly, I consider them a rite of passage. Not ideal, no, but inevitable in the long run—like a fencing nick, or one’s first regrettable entanglement with a cousin.
>If I may jog your memory:
>1. University rooms - Acquired a Webley Bulldog from a fellow reading Law—quaint snub-nose thing, more bark than bite. I’d had two gins, possibly three. In demonstrating proper thumb placement for a gentleman’s pocket revolver, the hammer slipped. Round went directly into the ceiling rose. Mercifully, the upstairs tenants were opium enthusiasts and either didn’t notice or assumed it was thunder. I apologised with a bottle of Chartreuse.
>2. The Commons Incident - Took young Fawcett out to the fields—never handled a revolver, poor lamb. I assumed the cylinder was empty. Attempted to demonstrate safe trigger pressure. The hammer fell. A .38 round kicked up dust between his boots. He now attends Quaker meetings and flinches at lawnmowers.
>3. My Parents’ Estate - Was attempting a bit of mechanical experimentation on a surplus Lancaster pistol. Acquired it from a retired inspector who swore it “always needed a firm hand.” While fiddling with the barrel housing (sans manual), I forgot a round was chambered. Result: one shattered Regency mirror, Mother in tears, and Father convinced I was attempting a very melodramatic suicide.
Reminder if you lived a century ago and were a young gentleman you were bound to have a few accidents: case in point this letter I found in archives
>You’re acting as though I’ve loosed rounds into the Foreign Office. (Once, mind you, and that was ricochet.) The way you carry on, one would think a negligent discharge were some moral failing—rather than the perfectly natural, practically inevitable hiccup that comes with honest engagement in the fine traditions of gentlemanly armsmanship.
>Frankly, I consider them a rite of passage. Not ideal, no, but inevitable in the long run—like a fencing nick, or one’s first regrettable entanglement with a cousin.
>If I may jog your memory:
>1. University rooms - Acquired a Webley Bulldog from a fellow reading Law—quaint snub-nose thing, more bark than bite. I’d had two gins, possibly three. In demonstrating proper thumb placement for a gentleman’s pocket revolver, the hammer slipped. Round went directly into the ceiling rose. Mercifully, the upstairs tenants were opium enthusiasts and either didn’t notice or assumed it was thunder. I apologised with a bottle of Chartreuse.
>2. The Commons Incident - Took young Fawcett out to the fields—never handled a revolver, poor lamb. I assumed the cylinder was empty. Attempted to demonstrate safe trigger pressure. The hammer fell. A .38 round kicked up dust between his boots. He now attends Quaker meetings and flinches at lawnmowers.
>3. My Parents’ Estate - Was attempting a bit of mechanical experimentation on a surplus Lancaster pistol. Acquired it from a retired inspector who swore it “always needed a firm hand.” While fiddling with the barrel housing (sans manual), I forgot a round was chambered. Result: one shattered Regency mirror, Mother in tears, and Father convinced I was attempting a very melodramatic suicide.
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