‘Prince Albert in a Can’ and Other Poetry by James A. Tweedie The Society October 17, 2021 Beauty, Covid-19, Culture, Humor, Poetry 23 Comments . Prince Albert in a Can What can I say? I wore a mask and did The social distance thing, got Pfizer-vaxxed And tested negative five times (I kid You not!), did online research, asked A lot of questions, followed every rule And took a trip to Maryland to lay A dear old friend to rest. Was I a fool To take a chance and travel all that way? What can I say? On my way home I felt Unsettled in my stomach, runny nose And headache, too. It seems the cards Fate dealt Were laced with Covid—That’s the way it goes . . . So now, I’m locked up tight like a sardine— “Prince Albert in a can” in quarantine. . . Dad’s Stories in memory of Paul W. Dale They took their father’s ashes out into The Chesapeake, a bay that he knew well. He sailed it often, every year or two, And always had a sailor’s tale to tell! But two days short of 98 he died And took his untold stories to the grave. So with a chartered Captain as their guide They faced the wind and bobbed from wave to wave. Then one by one they took the unsealed urn And shook their father’s ashes overboard. “Aloha” and “Farewell” they said in turn, “May fair winds bring you safely to the Lord.” And afterwards they joined their mom and had A good time telling tales about their dad. . . James A. Tweedie is a retired pastor living in Long Beach, Washington. He has written and published six novels, one collection of short stories, and three collections of poetry including Mostly Sonnets, all with Dunecrest Press. His poems have been published nationally and internationally in The Lyric, Poetry Salzburg (Austria) Review, California Quarterly, Asses of Parnassus, Lighten Up Online, Better than Starbucks, WestWard Quarterly, Society of Classical Poets, and The Chained Muse. NOTE TO READERS: If you enjoyed this poem or other content, please consider making a donation to the Society of Classical Poets. The Society of Classical Poets does not endorse any views expressed in individual poems or commentary. Share this:Click to share on Twitter (Opens in new window)Click to share on Facebook (Opens in new window)Click to print (Opens in new window)Click to share on LinkedIn (Opens in new window)Click to share on WhatsApp (Opens in new window)Click to email a link to a friend (Opens in new window)Click to share on Pinterest (Opens in new window)Trending now: 23 Responses Peter Hartley October 17, 2021 James – How the blinkin’ ‘eck did you get Prince Albert to wear that mask? I happen to know he’s been dead since 1861! And by the law of averages four negative tests is bound to lead to a positive test for the fifth. And you probably asked far too MANY questions. You should just do exactly what you’re told. Two excellent pieces of humorous narrative poetry, these, that give us all the option of believing both tales as actual fact or fantasy, so that we don’t need to be too depressed by the subject matter of the second being the scattering of somebody’s ashes. They both read well as either, and both have excellent punch lines. Reply James A. Tweedie October 17, 2021 Peter, My middle name is Albert (hence the James A. Tweedie) and the phrase “Prince Albert in a can” in the U.S. was both a shorthand for the product pictured (sans the mask which I added) as well as the punchline to one of the lamest jokes ever misconceived. (As a child I actually owned and used a can identical to that pictured to carry fresh-caught earthworms—packed in moist soil—to use as fishing bait when steam fishing with my family in the Sierras each summer). While the poem is written lightly and could be construed as fantasy it is, I assure you, autobiographical (although, thankfully, I am no longer in a can). Reply Joseph S. Salemi October 17, 2021 Do you mean this silly joke, which I recall from the 1950s? Customer: Do you have Prince Albert in a can? Tobacconist: Yes, we do. Customer: Well, why don’t you let him out? Mike Bryant October 17, 2021 Joe, I remember my older brother using that as a phone prank in the ‘50s… C.B. Anderson October 17, 2021 My mother told me that she and her friends used to pull that prank, probably in the early 1940s. When I lived in Arizona, sometimes P.A. was the only tobacco you could find, so I smoked it — hard times, indeed. jd October 17, 2021 I loved them both Mr. Tweedie, beginning with the title of the first which drew me right in. The juxtaposition of the vax woes with a bygone era is unusual and fresh. No doubt many of us can relate to the second poem as well. Reply James A. Tweedie October 17, 2021 Thank you, jd. I was honored to be included with Paul’s family as they celebrated his life and said their goodbyes in the manner described in the poem. I wrote the poem for his wife who, along with Paul, I had known during my 17 years in Hawaii. Paul was a psychiatrist/medical doctor (who left his Manhattan practice to serve the government and people of Micronesia. He was a pioneer in the use of lithium to treat bipolar disorder as well as a sailor and author of books related to early British voyages of exploration in the Pacific (look him up on Amazon—his book on one of Cook’s voyages based on his journal is still a good seller. His two on Palau are also good reads). Reply Paul Freeman October 17, 2021 Humour is the best medicine – and so’s light-hearted verse. Hope you’re not feeling too grim, James. Apparently being vaccinated cushions the blow. I may be a bit dumb, but are the Prince Albert mentions in reference to Albert contracting typhoid while out and about? Reply James A. Tweedie October 17, 2021 Paul, thanks. I am fine and yes I believe the vaccinations greatly moderated my response to the virus which I thought at first was just a common cold but then grew to feel more like a typical flu. And, “No,” the reference to Prince Albert was intended only as a metaphor for my self-confinement. Reply Susan Jarvis Bryant October 17, 2021 James, it’s great to hear you’ve bounced back and your writing skills are still as strong as ever. You certainly weren’t a fool to travel to a dear friend’s funeral… you have that wonderful memory portrayed in a beautiful poem – a priceless gift. I love the celebratory nature of “Dad’s Stories”. Paul W. Dale was obviously a much loved, highly respected and very interesting gentleman. Your lovely poem says so. Reply James A. Tweedie October 17, 2021 Thank you, Susan. I am grateful for your ever-affirmative comments. Reply Sally Cook October 17, 2021 Dear James – Thanks for bringing back a childhood memory of mine. The minute I read the words “Prince Aobert, I thought of my father – an eccentric man and a heavy smoker. Sometimes it almost seemed as if he had forgotten he had children; other times his children were sure of it. But once he remembered us, he became over-solicitous, making up little projects for us to do. As I said, he was a smoker, and a heavy one. One such project I recall was a favorite of ours – being seated at a table with a little machine for rolling cigarettes, some papers and a can of Prince Albert pipe tobacco. It became a game; trying to see who could roll the most cigarettes for daddy ! Pall Malls simply weren’t strong enough to satisfy his jaded tastes. Reply Joseph S. Salemi October 17, 2021 Sally, I remember those little rolling machines too. Most smokers would roll a bunch at home, and them place them into their metal cigarette cases. But some guys would carry the small machine with them wherever they went, and would take it out to roll a cigarette anyplace. Many smokers preferred the stronger pipe tobacco (like Prince Albert, or Half and Half, or Cherry Blend) for their cigarettes. American commercial brands of cigarettes frequently used a weaker grade of tobacco to keep the price down. This was not true in the early twentieth century, however, when really strong Turkish and Egyptian cigarettes (like Melachrino) were sold (with cork or straw tips). But they were expensive. There was always a wonderfully rich scent of different tobaccos back in the 1940s and 50s. Now the Gesundheit Nazis have put an end to that. Reply Sally Cook October 18, 2021 Joe, when my father was a boy they gave out tiny intricately colored miniature oriental rugs with a susbstantial cigarette purchase. My father had a whole stack, which I now have. Rolling cigarettes for him was always great fun; a game which, if it had a name would probably have beeen called something like “Helping the old man out. After all, he had other things to do, like lying in a reclining chair on the porch with a beer he shared with his cat, whom he had trained to lap the stuff from a saucer. James A. Tweedie October 17, 2021 Sally, Thanks for the comment. If nothing else, a poem should trigger an experiential response to the subject it addresses and the manner in which that subject is addressed–either as affirming the reader’s own experience or diverging from it. Just as different people may respond differently to the experience of attending the same funeral or their experience with tobacco (for example, I very much enjoy the sweet/pungent/biting aroma of cut and cured tobacco in a smoke shop–with Cherry Blend being the preferred choice of one of my pipe smoking graduate school roommates. But the smell of tobacco smoke has always produced the exact opposite response. The ersatz smokers of my generation didn’t require a machine, just a pack of Zig-Zags twisted at each end. Reply Sally Cook October 18, 2021 Oh, James, isn’t it fun to look back on simpler times? Times when tobacco was actually tobacco and not a mix of chemicals and floor sweepings? Near where we live, there is a reservation where you can buy such stuff at a greatly reduced price because there is NO TAX. But the tobacco police are all about. I recall going to the doctor and a nurse asked me if I smoked . I replied that I had tried it in high school but lost interest. When I got a copy of my medical records they stated that I “claimed” I was not a smoker. I was furious and made them change it. Guess they were only “claiming” yet another statistic, to be used for who knows what nefarious purpose. By the way, did I neglect to say your poems were tremendously enjoyable? When I saw that prince Albert can I became overwhelmed with nostalgia. Jeff Eardley October 17, 2021 Mr. Tweedie. I thoroughly enjoyed reading these and I hope you are in full recovery mode. “Dad’s Stories” is particularly poignant for all of us of the 50’s generation who have lost fathers. Best wishes to you and yours. Reply James A. Tweedie October 17, 2021 Thank you, Jeff. I am doing well with no symptoms of anything but the various chronic ailments I had previously! Your comment suggests to me the possibility that some Baby Boomer equivalent of J. M. Barrie could create a Neverland where all the lost fathers go to experience their own diversions and adventures as, like Peter Pan, they spend eternity chasing after their own shadows! And all too soon we will become the fathers who will have been lost to our children. Until then, all the best! Reply Norma Okun October 17, 2021 Wow wonderful way to tell about the virus. Unexpectedly funny. The second poem about losing a relative who lived a happy and very long life. Well done. Reply David Watt October 18, 2021 James, your narrative sonnets artfully lighten serious subjects through the addition of humor. “Prince Albert in a Can” brings back memories of my grandfather’s constant pipe smoking, and the distinctive fragrance following in his wake. Thanks for two entertaining reads. Reply Margaret Coats October 18, 2021 James, the real question for you is whether you can smell the fragrant tobacco there in your can. If you are able to, you will be okay when they let you out. My own tobacco memory is receiving a pipe and proper pipe-tamping-and-cleaning tool as a gift when I passed my three-hour oral exam on anything in English and American literature. I had qualified to be a professor, and thus was given the proper professorial paraphernalia. The tobacco was not Prince Albert, but an exotic blend that smelled too good to burn! Keep sniffing! Reply James A. Tweedie October 19, 2021 LOL Margaret, No, I’m afraid that–as I mentioned in one of my comments–my can of Prince Albert was used for carrying damp soil and live earthworms for fishing bait. Instead of enjoying the fragrance of professorial-quality cut and cured pipe tobacco, I was surrounded by the musty, earthy, loamy smell of worms and dirt. As you can imagine, it was good to get out and smell fresh air again. When I was ordained as a pastor I did not receive a pipe, etc. Instead I received a halo which, like most things made of metals other than gold and platinum, requires constant polishing. It also slips down on one side which makes me look somewhat rakish. Reply Margaret Coats October 20, 2021 James, I can certainly laugh at that! But do keep up your halo-polishing and straightening. We all need it, and when pastors think they can do without it, that is when the congregation goes to hell along with them. One saintly pastor of mine said that other priests laughed at him for going to Confession, and where are we now with that attitude among the clergy? No wonder we have a rampant plague with loss of taste and smell as one major symptom! Your Prince Albert poem is more significantly odiferous than you may have thought! Reply Leave a Reply Cancel ReplyYour email address will not be published.CommentName* Email* Website Notify me of follow-up comments by email. Notify me of new posts by email. Δ This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.
Peter Hartley October 17, 2021 James – How the blinkin’ ‘eck did you get Prince Albert to wear that mask? I happen to know he’s been dead since 1861! And by the law of averages four negative tests is bound to lead to a positive test for the fifth. And you probably asked far too MANY questions. You should just do exactly what you’re told. Two excellent pieces of humorous narrative poetry, these, that give us all the option of believing both tales as actual fact or fantasy, so that we don’t need to be too depressed by the subject matter of the second being the scattering of somebody’s ashes. They both read well as either, and both have excellent punch lines. Reply
James A. Tweedie October 17, 2021 Peter, My middle name is Albert (hence the James A. Tweedie) and the phrase “Prince Albert in a can” in the U.S. was both a shorthand for the product pictured (sans the mask which I added) as well as the punchline to one of the lamest jokes ever misconceived. (As a child I actually owned and used a can identical to that pictured to carry fresh-caught earthworms—packed in moist soil—to use as fishing bait when steam fishing with my family in the Sierras each summer). While the poem is written lightly and could be construed as fantasy it is, I assure you, autobiographical (although, thankfully, I am no longer in a can). Reply
Joseph S. Salemi October 17, 2021 Do you mean this silly joke, which I recall from the 1950s? Customer: Do you have Prince Albert in a can? Tobacconist: Yes, we do. Customer: Well, why don’t you let him out?
Mike Bryant October 17, 2021 Joe, I remember my older brother using that as a phone prank in the ‘50s…
C.B. Anderson October 17, 2021 My mother told me that she and her friends used to pull that prank, probably in the early 1940s. When I lived in Arizona, sometimes P.A. was the only tobacco you could find, so I smoked it — hard times, indeed.
jd October 17, 2021 I loved them both Mr. Tweedie, beginning with the title of the first which drew me right in. The juxtaposition of the vax woes with a bygone era is unusual and fresh. No doubt many of us can relate to the second poem as well. Reply
James A. Tweedie October 17, 2021 Thank you, jd. I was honored to be included with Paul’s family as they celebrated his life and said their goodbyes in the manner described in the poem. I wrote the poem for his wife who, along with Paul, I had known during my 17 years in Hawaii. Paul was a psychiatrist/medical doctor (who left his Manhattan practice to serve the government and people of Micronesia. He was a pioneer in the use of lithium to treat bipolar disorder as well as a sailor and author of books related to early British voyages of exploration in the Pacific (look him up on Amazon—his book on one of Cook’s voyages based on his journal is still a good seller. His two on Palau are also good reads). Reply
Paul Freeman October 17, 2021 Humour is the best medicine – and so’s light-hearted verse. Hope you’re not feeling too grim, James. Apparently being vaccinated cushions the blow. I may be a bit dumb, but are the Prince Albert mentions in reference to Albert contracting typhoid while out and about? Reply
James A. Tweedie October 17, 2021 Paul, thanks. I am fine and yes I believe the vaccinations greatly moderated my response to the virus which I thought at first was just a common cold but then grew to feel more like a typical flu. And, “No,” the reference to Prince Albert was intended only as a metaphor for my self-confinement. Reply
Susan Jarvis Bryant October 17, 2021 James, it’s great to hear you’ve bounced back and your writing skills are still as strong as ever. You certainly weren’t a fool to travel to a dear friend’s funeral… you have that wonderful memory portrayed in a beautiful poem – a priceless gift. I love the celebratory nature of “Dad’s Stories”. Paul W. Dale was obviously a much loved, highly respected and very interesting gentleman. Your lovely poem says so. Reply
James A. Tweedie October 17, 2021 Thank you, Susan. I am grateful for your ever-affirmative comments. Reply
Sally Cook October 17, 2021 Dear James – Thanks for bringing back a childhood memory of mine. The minute I read the words “Prince Aobert, I thought of my father – an eccentric man and a heavy smoker. Sometimes it almost seemed as if he had forgotten he had children; other times his children were sure of it. But once he remembered us, he became over-solicitous, making up little projects for us to do. As I said, he was a smoker, and a heavy one. One such project I recall was a favorite of ours – being seated at a table with a little machine for rolling cigarettes, some papers and a can of Prince Albert pipe tobacco. It became a game; trying to see who could roll the most cigarettes for daddy ! Pall Malls simply weren’t strong enough to satisfy his jaded tastes. Reply
Joseph S. Salemi October 17, 2021 Sally, I remember those little rolling machines too. Most smokers would roll a bunch at home, and them place them into their metal cigarette cases. But some guys would carry the small machine with them wherever they went, and would take it out to roll a cigarette anyplace. Many smokers preferred the stronger pipe tobacco (like Prince Albert, or Half and Half, or Cherry Blend) for their cigarettes. American commercial brands of cigarettes frequently used a weaker grade of tobacco to keep the price down. This was not true in the early twentieth century, however, when really strong Turkish and Egyptian cigarettes (like Melachrino) were sold (with cork or straw tips). But they were expensive. There was always a wonderfully rich scent of different tobaccos back in the 1940s and 50s. Now the Gesundheit Nazis have put an end to that. Reply
Sally Cook October 18, 2021 Joe, when my father was a boy they gave out tiny intricately colored miniature oriental rugs with a susbstantial cigarette purchase. My father had a whole stack, which I now have. Rolling cigarettes for him was always great fun; a game which, if it had a name would probably have beeen called something like “Helping the old man out. After all, he had other things to do, like lying in a reclining chair on the porch with a beer he shared with his cat, whom he had trained to lap the stuff from a saucer.
James A. Tweedie October 17, 2021 Sally, Thanks for the comment. If nothing else, a poem should trigger an experiential response to the subject it addresses and the manner in which that subject is addressed–either as affirming the reader’s own experience or diverging from it. Just as different people may respond differently to the experience of attending the same funeral or their experience with tobacco (for example, I very much enjoy the sweet/pungent/biting aroma of cut and cured tobacco in a smoke shop–with Cherry Blend being the preferred choice of one of my pipe smoking graduate school roommates. But the smell of tobacco smoke has always produced the exact opposite response. The ersatz smokers of my generation didn’t require a machine, just a pack of Zig-Zags twisted at each end. Reply
Sally Cook October 18, 2021 Oh, James, isn’t it fun to look back on simpler times? Times when tobacco was actually tobacco and not a mix of chemicals and floor sweepings? Near where we live, there is a reservation where you can buy such stuff at a greatly reduced price because there is NO TAX. But the tobacco police are all about. I recall going to the doctor and a nurse asked me if I smoked . I replied that I had tried it in high school but lost interest. When I got a copy of my medical records they stated that I “claimed” I was not a smoker. I was furious and made them change it. Guess they were only “claiming” yet another statistic, to be used for who knows what nefarious purpose. By the way, did I neglect to say your poems were tremendously enjoyable? When I saw that prince Albert can I became overwhelmed with nostalgia.
Jeff Eardley October 17, 2021 Mr. Tweedie. I thoroughly enjoyed reading these and I hope you are in full recovery mode. “Dad’s Stories” is particularly poignant for all of us of the 50’s generation who have lost fathers. Best wishes to you and yours. Reply
James A. Tweedie October 17, 2021 Thank you, Jeff. I am doing well with no symptoms of anything but the various chronic ailments I had previously! Your comment suggests to me the possibility that some Baby Boomer equivalent of J. M. Barrie could create a Neverland where all the lost fathers go to experience their own diversions and adventures as, like Peter Pan, they spend eternity chasing after their own shadows! And all too soon we will become the fathers who will have been lost to our children. Until then, all the best! Reply
Norma Okun October 17, 2021 Wow wonderful way to tell about the virus. Unexpectedly funny. The second poem about losing a relative who lived a happy and very long life. Well done. Reply
David Watt October 18, 2021 James, your narrative sonnets artfully lighten serious subjects through the addition of humor. “Prince Albert in a Can” brings back memories of my grandfather’s constant pipe smoking, and the distinctive fragrance following in his wake. Thanks for two entertaining reads. Reply
Margaret Coats October 18, 2021 James, the real question for you is whether you can smell the fragrant tobacco there in your can. If you are able to, you will be okay when they let you out. My own tobacco memory is receiving a pipe and proper pipe-tamping-and-cleaning tool as a gift when I passed my three-hour oral exam on anything in English and American literature. I had qualified to be a professor, and thus was given the proper professorial paraphernalia. The tobacco was not Prince Albert, but an exotic blend that smelled too good to burn! Keep sniffing! Reply
James A. Tweedie October 19, 2021 LOL Margaret, No, I’m afraid that–as I mentioned in one of my comments–my can of Prince Albert was used for carrying damp soil and live earthworms for fishing bait. Instead of enjoying the fragrance of professorial-quality cut and cured pipe tobacco, I was surrounded by the musty, earthy, loamy smell of worms and dirt. As you can imagine, it was good to get out and smell fresh air again. When I was ordained as a pastor I did not receive a pipe, etc. Instead I received a halo which, like most things made of metals other than gold and platinum, requires constant polishing. It also slips down on one side which makes me look somewhat rakish. Reply
Margaret Coats October 20, 2021 James, I can certainly laugh at that! But do keep up your halo-polishing and straightening. We all need it, and when pastors think they can do without it, that is when the congregation goes to hell along with them. One saintly pastor of mine said that other priests laughed at him for going to Confession, and where are we now with that attitude among the clergy? No wonder we have a rampant plague with loss of taste and smell as one major symptom! Your Prince Albert poem is more significantly odiferous than you may have thought! Reply
