An old folk tale

There is an old Russian folk tale about a wedding party heading from one village to the next. Beset by hungry packs of wolves one famine struck Winter they thought to placate them by throwing out a passenger every so often so that the wolves would devour them instead of attacking the sleigh.

One by one, each passenger was thrown out, killed and eaten by the massive wolf pack until there were only the drivers left.

The two drivers survived, but the villagers, having seen the drivers throw the last of the wedding party to the ravening wolf pack, forever after shunned the drivers for their behaviour, and no matter where they went, the story of their ruthless callousness followed them.

This old folk tale was presented as a news item in 1911 and has since passed into the axiom “Thrown to the wolves”. The latest iteration of which is yet another ‘grooming’ scandal in the dear old ‘Aunty Beeb’. This comes as no surprise, as it has long been rumoured that a high proportion of people who gravitate into the entertainment business “Like ’em young”. In a bid to keep the party going, every so often, like in the folk tale, one of their number will be thrown to the wolf pack of public outrage.

The only difference being that the accused is heterosexual this time. With an enterprising (and ‘crack addicted’ ) seventeen year old girl(?) selling him porn pics. Which I don’t think is as big a scandal as Schofield grooming a fifteen year old boy. If it is a girl who sold the pictures.

It’s funny you know because girls in their early to mid teens are often more sexually precocious than boys. Or at least they used to be. Anyone getting their dander up about it should be reminded of Bill Wyman of the Rolling Stones and his then fourteen year old girlfriend Mandy Smith. Or Samantha Fox of page 3 fame.

But this was in the days before social media and the whole gender thing. As an aside; in my very short tenure as a roadie, you rapidly got to know the crowd of under age girls hanging around, trying to look over 17 or 18. Fake ID, tight dresses, deep cleavage and skirts so short they were more like pelmets.

Although given that I remember what we older boys got up to with girls two years our junior back in the day when we were sixteen / seventeen, I don’t see the problem. The girls were willing and eager, and so were we. I think I even remember one of our deputy head girls at school becoming a trophy wife the moment she hit eighteen to a wealthy man well into his fourth decade. Out of the school gates and pregnant before her A-level results came in. Last I heard (over twenty five years ago) she was on her second marriage after widowhood with two strapping sons and a large country house.

In the early 20th century they had a term for this kind of relationship; a May to December marriage where civil war veterans got married to much younger women. The last of whom married her older partner in 1936 when she was 17 and died in 2012 aged 101.

In the words of that old rapscallion Mark Twain “age doesn’t matter if you don’t mind it.” Although personally I think a line should be firmly drawn somewhere so kids can have their childhood until the tyranny of hormones kicks in at puberty in the early to mid teens. Until then the grown ups should keep it firmly in their own undergarments Nabokov be damned..

To close; there’s an old joke about a ninety year old man about to marry a nineteen year old girl. As he is about to enter the church, a younger friend sidles up and diplomatically says; “You know, she’s only nineteen. What will happen to the weaker partner if one of you gets badly ill while having sex?”

The older man stopped for a moment, scratched his chin thoughtfully and replied; “Well, I have given the matter considerable thought and I’m inclined to be philosophical about it.” He pauses for a moment and then says ” I just hope she’s strong enough.”

Now you can throw me to the wolves. Just hope they don’t get food poisoning.

Post updated after Australasian contributor Ripper pointed it out that the gender of the ‘victim’ was uncertain. In these ‘enlightened’ times I really should have known better. Serves me right. But it did take me for a very happy half hour negotiating one of memory lanes shadier little side turnings.