one of my favorite g&s stories is when hms pinafore came out and everyone really liked the “what never” “no never” “what never” “well hardly ever” line so it became a thing people kept saying and it got so widespread that it started popping up in newspapers so one day the head editor from some newspaper got so fed up that he was like “I NEVER WANNA SEE THIS STUPID WHAT NEVER THING AGAIN!!!!!”
and of course someone in the office HAD to get up and say
“what, never?”
and that is how gilbert and sullivan created a meme in 1876
Since this post is taking off, I might as well share some more of my favorite G&S stories.
Gilbert once gave his priincipal tenor the direction to cross to a bench and pensively sit down. The tenor, being a heavy man, accidentally broke the bench, to which Gilbert remarked, “I said pensively. Not expensively.”
While rehearsing, one soloist was having a hard time memorizing the music and sang a part confidently, but wrong. Sullivan stopped the rehearsal and said, “That is a lovely tune. Now would you try mine?”
And finally, a historical instance of one of the most well-known music jokes. An older woman, who did not yet know the difference between a composer and a librettist, approached Gilbert and told him that his shows had inspired her to look up older composers such as Beethoven and Bach. She then asked him if “Dear Batch” was still composing. Gilbert’s response? “My dear lady, as Bach has been dead over a hundred years, I assume he is decomposing.”
Ok, if we’re getting into Gilbert’s sass:
Ruddygore, at first, was very badly received, and Gilbert didn’t take it well. In response to criticism of the title, he grumbled that he would just rename it “Kensington Gore or, Not Quite So Good as The Mikado” (Kensington Gore being the name of artificial stage-blood).
An aquatintance of Gilbert’s asked once “How is Bloody Gore going?” Gilbert corrected him that it was Ruddigore, and when the other man said it was basically the same thing, Gilbert replied “Oh, so I suppose saying ‘I admire your ruddy countenance’ is the same as ‘I like your bloody cheek!’”
Another story involves the tenor in the original New York production of Pirates of Penzance. He kept messing up his words and actions, and when Gilbert admonished him, the young man replied “Sir, I will not be bullied-I know my lines!” To which Gilbert retorted “That may be but you do not know MINE!”
And one more historic instance of an old joke: when Gilbert arrived home and inquired as to the location of his wife, Kitty. A servant says “She’s around behind”, and Gilbert says “I know she has, but where IS she?”
That is the exact spot my parents found a stray kitten. Nice little addition to the family, but would have been a terrible addition to the pavement had she not been very vocal OTL
No joke, the place where that cat is resting in this picture is called a “dead cat hole” it’s an automotive term. Don’t believe me, look it up.
This is also where I found a stray cat, she was up in there during a thunderstorm and I begged my dad to let me being her inside and that’s the story of how I got my first cat.
Please don’t skip over this without reading it and making a mental note. Even if you don’t have a car, tell your parents or whoever, and make sure to do this. You think that’ll never happen but that’s what everyone thought who had this happen and didn’t check, and that poor cold cat met with a terribly sad end.
You know what I don’t get? When fanfic authors apologize for long chapters. It’s like? You gave me bonus content, for free, and you’re sorry about it? Bruh. I have already named my firstborn after you. Dude.
You know what else I don’t get? When they apologize for short updates. It’s like: look at these new words I gave you! Sorry I didn’t give you even more free words. Bro, that’s at least two words that I did not have yesterday. For free. Dude. Thank you.
And another thing: when people drop out of nowhere with a surprise update and then apologize for it taking a while. Like, dude, I wasn’t expecting anything, and you gave me words. I thought this fic was abandoned, but wait: there’s more. You just popped in and reminded me that this is a Good Fic that I should probably reread. You made my goshdarn day.
Basically fanfic writers are under no obligation to publish anything so when they do update it’s always a net positive because the story is longer now, and I have something to read, so thank you so much to everyone who writes fic at whatever pace or quantity they want.
Carpathia received Titanic’s distress signal at 12:20am, April 15th, 1912. She was 58 miles away, a distance that absolutely could not be covered in less than four hours.
(Californian’s exact position at the time is…controversial. She was close enough to have helped. By all accounts she was close enough to see Titanic’s distress rockets. It’s uncertain to this day why her crew did not respond, or how many might not have been lost if she had been there. This is not the place for what-ifs. This is about what was done.)
Carpathia’s Captain Rostron had, yes, rolled out of bed instantly when woken by his radio operator, ordered his ship to Titanic’s aid and confirmed the signal before he was fully dressed. The man had never in his life responded to an emergency call. His goal tonight was to make sure nobody who heard that fact would ever believe it.
All of Carpathia’s lifeboats were swung out ready for deployment. Oil was set up to be poured off the side of the ship in case the sea turned choppy; oil would coat and calm the water near Carpathia if that happened, making it safer for lifeboats to draw up alongside her. He ordered lights to be rigged along the side of the ship so survivors could see it better, and had nets and ladders rigged along her sides ready to be dropped when they arrived, in order to let as many survivors as possible climb aboard at once.
I don’t know if his making provisions for there still being survivors in the water was optimism or not. I think he knew they were never going to get there in time for that. I think he did it anyway because, god, you have to hope.
Carpathia had three dining rooms, which were immediately converted into triage and first aid stations. Each had a doctor assigned to it. Hot soup, coffee, and tea were prepared in bulk in each dining room, and blankets and warm clothes were collected to be ready to hand out. By this time, many of the passengers were awake–prepping a ship for disaster relief isn’t quiet–and all of them stepped up to help, many donating their own clothes and blankets.
And then he did something I tend to refer to as diverting all power from life support.
Here’s the thing about steamships: They run on steam. Shocking, I know; but that steam powers everything on the ship, and right now, Carpathia needed power. So Rostron turned off hot water and central heating, which bled valuable steam power, to everywhere but the dining rooms–which, of course, were being used to make hot drinks and receive survivors. He woke up all the engineers, all the stokers and firemen, diverted all that steam back into the engines, and asked his ship to go as fast as she possibly could. And when she’d done that, he asked her to go faster.
I need you to understand that you simply can’t push a ship very far past its top speed. Pushing that much sheer tonnage through the water becomes harder with each extra knot past the speed it was designed for. Pushing a ship past its rated speed is not only reckless–it’s difficult to maneuver–but it puts an incredible amount of strain on the engines. Ships are not designed to exceed their top speed by even one knot. They can’t do it. It can’t be done.
Carpathia’s absolute do-or-die, the-engines-can’t-take-this-forever top speed was fourteen knots. Dodging icebergs, in the dark and the cold, surrounded by mist, she sustained a speed of almost seventeen and a half.
No one would have asked this of them. It wasn’t expected. They were almost sixty miles away, with icebergs in their path. They had a respondibility to respond; they did not have a responsibility to do the impossible and do it well. No one would have faulted them for taking more time to confirm the severity of the issue. No one would have blamed them for a slow and cautious approach. No one but themselves.
They damn near broke the laws of physics, galloping north headlong into the dark in the desperate hope that if they could shave an hour, half an hour, five minutes off their arrival time, maybe for one more person those five minutes would make the difference. I say: three people had died by the time they were lifted from the lifeboats. For all we know, in another hour it might have been more. I say they made all the difference in the world.
This ship and her crew received a message from a location they could not hope to reach in under four hours. Just barely over three hours later, they arrived at Titanic’s last known coordinates. Half an hour after that, at 4am, they would finally find the first of the lifeboats. it would take until 8:30 in the morning for the last survivor to be brought onboard. Passengers from Carpathia universally gave up their berths, staterooms, and clothing to the survivors, assisting the crew at every turn and sitting with the sobbing rescuees to offer whatever comfort they could.
In total, 705 people of Titanic’s original 2208 were brought onto Carpathia alive. No other ship would find survivors.
At 12:20am April 15th, 1912, there was a miracle on the North Atlantic. And it happened because a group of humans, some of them strangers, many of them only passengers on a small and unimpressive steam liner, looked at each other and decided: I cannot live with myself if I do anything less.
I think the least we can do is remember them for it.
The Paradox Machine 