Roger 310, pigeon fancier, cordwainer and amateur dentist, was the last of his line.
Originally descended from Martijn Fortinbras (fl 1610) who appeared in Shakespeare's 'Hamlet', the Forten family settled in Hertford, Hereford and Hampshire and found work as hurricane chasers. Roger's more famous uncle Donald Forten was the eponymous inventor of the .410 shotgun, but died (without issue) of lead shot poisoning after being hoist by his own petard.
Roger, only son of Horton and Hortense Forten of 3, the Quivers, Surbiton, joined the Queen's own Fusiliers and was court-martialled in 1915 for improper relations with Guinevere the Goat, then working as Regimental Mascot, in her pre-Broadway years. He was reduced in rank to .310 and was subsequently killed by an errant German landmine in the battle of Midway, 1942. Today all that remains of him is a memorial horse trough in Carshalton cunningly fashioned from his pewter teapot collection, a sad tale indeed.
Took Ben home from school and kept up a constant babble the whole way, even Ben told me to shut up but I couldn't hear over the background noise so took it as encouragement.
In the park the sun had been replaced by a rather cold sea fog (or frith, haar, or whatever it's called nowadays) and we could hear the ferries hooting at the ships in the harbour.
When the JBs arrived we played football and had the usual Ben-Bob spat and I hid on the climbing rock to avoid confrontation. Nothing ever lasts for long with us and we polished off all the biscuits and did "What does the fox say, bneep, bneep" while jumping off the tables.
We got extra bonus Legotime afterwards and swapped football cards, shuffled Lego satellite dishes around the floor a la shove-Ha'penny, and had a farting competition.
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