Lawrence Durrell

'A series of unforgettable evenings now began, old boy. Each mission thought up some particularly horrible contribution of its own to this feast. The nights became a torture of pure poesy and song. An evening of hellish amateur opera by the Italians would be followed without intermission by an ear splitting evening of yodelling from the swiss, all dressed as edelweiss. Then the Japanese mission went beserk and gave a Noh play of ghoulish obscurity lasting seven hours. The sight of all those little yellowish, inscrutable diplomats all dressed as Mickey Mouse, old boy, was enough to turn milk. And their voices simply ate into one. Then in characteristic fashion the Dutch, not to be outdone, decided to gnaw their way to the forefront of things with a recital of national poetry by the Dutch Ambassadress herself. This was when I began to draft my resignation in my own mind. O God! how can I ever forget Madame Vanderpipf (usually the most kind and normal of wives and mothers) taking up a stance like a grenadier at Fontenoy, and after a pause declaiming in a slow, deep - O unspeakably slow and deep - voice, the opening verses of whatever it was? Old Boy, the cultural heritage of the Dutch is not my affair. Let them have it, I say. let them enjoy it peacefully as they may. But spare me from poems of five hundred lines beginning, 'Oom kroop der poop'. You smile, as well indeed you may, never having heard Mrs Vanderpipf declaiming those memorable stanzas with all the sullen fire of her race. Listen!

Oom kroop der poop
Zoom kroon der soup
Soon droon der oopersnoop.

'And so on. have you got the idea? Perhaps there is something behind it all - who am I to say? All I know is that it is no joke to be on the recieving end. Specially as she would pause from time to time to give a rough translation in pidgin for Smith-Cromwell's benefit. Something like this: "Our national poet, Snugerpouf, he says eef Holland lives forever, only, how you would say?, heroes from ze soil oopspringing, yes?" It was pulsestopping, old man. Then she would take a deep breath and begin afresh.

Oom kroop der poop
Zoom kroon der soup.

'In after years the very memory of this recitation used to make the sweat start out of my forehead. You must try it for yourself sometime. Just try repeating 'oom kroop der poop' five hundred times in a low voice. After a time it's like yoga. Everything goes dark. You feel you are falling backwards into illimitable black space.

- La Valise (Antrobus)