English Original
Bill would tell us stories of his work, holidays, and his biggest adventure: sailing across the Irish Sea to the Isle of Man in stormy weather. He spoke of being a sleeping child lifted onto his father's shoulders to see a German Zeppelin fly overhead during the Great War, and of working as a painter and decorator in the Westlands during the Great Strike of 1926.
"I heard some fuss down in the town, but I let 'em get on with it—daft buggers."
Bill dismissed the whole matter of industrial relations: "Honest day's work, fer an honest day's pay," he intoned solemnly, pronouncing the 'h' in 'honest'—much to the secret amusement of my brothers and me.
Bill seemed to know everything. Later, as a teenager, I joked with my father about Bill's encyclopedic knowledge. One summer, we took him to a country pub. We sat outside where a railway line ran alongside the beer garden at the bottom of a deep cutting. When a train rumbled through, interrupting our conversation, Bill checked his watch.
"That's the 6:20 from Crewe," he said, holding an unfiltered Park Drive cigarette in his brown-stained fingers. He glanced at his watch again. "He's ten minutes late."
My father and I exchanged smiles, laughing later after Bill had shuffled off home and his green gate had closed.
Bill also knew sporting figures and had a particular penchant for recounting his encounters with local football players like Gordon Banks, Jimmy Greenhoff, or Denis Smith of Stoke City.
"I saw Denis down Stoke the other day when I was going to the market," he'd begin. "'Denis!' I shouted. He saw me from across the street. 'How you doing, Bill?' he shouted back. 'You want to sharpen up on defending against crosses from the left,' I told him. 'That goal on Saturday wouldn't 'ave 'appened! Mark my words.' 'Right you are, Bill!' he said."
Bill had advice for everyone—sought or not—but he was such a natural gentleman that he was impossible to resist. You'd find yourself nodding sagely, following the gestures of his animated index finger, captivated by his raised eyebrows and the thorough showmanship of Bill Smith righting the world's wrongs.
中文翻译
比尔常给我们讲他工作、度假的故事，还有他最了不起的冒险：在狂风暴雨中横渡爱尔兰海前往马恩岛。他讲述自己还是个熟睡的孩子时，如何被父亲扛上肩头，目睹一战期间德国齐柏林飞艇从头顶飞过；也说起1926年大罢工期间，他如何在西部地区继续做油漆工和装饰工。
“我听到镇子里有些闹腾，但我随他们去——一群傻瓜。”
比尔对劳资关系这档子事不屑一顾：“老老实实干一天活，拿一天工钱，”他郑重其事地吟诵道，还特意发准了‘老实’里的‘h’音——惹得我和兄弟们暗自好笑。
比尔似乎无所不知。后来，当我十几岁时，常和父亲拿比尔百科全书般的知识开玩笑。一个夏天，我们带他去一家乡村酒馆。我们坐在外面，啤酒花园旁是一条铁路，深嵌在路堑底部。当火车轰鸣而过，打断我们的谈话时，比尔看了看表。
“那是6点20分从克鲁开来的车，”他说着，用染着褐色烟渍的手指夹着一支无过滤嘴的Park Drive香烟。他又瞥了一眼表。“晚点十分钟。”
我和父亲相视一笑，等比尔蹒跚走回家、绿色院门关上后，我们才放声大笑。
比尔也认识体育界人物，尤其喜欢讲述他与当地足球运动员的偶遇，比如戈登·班克斯、吉米·格林霍夫，或是斯托克城队的丹尼斯·史密斯。
“前几天我去市场时，在斯托克碰见了丹尼斯，”他总是这样开头。“‘丹尼斯！’我喊道。他从街对面看到了我。‘比尔，你好吗？’他喊回来。‘你得加强防守左边路传中，’我告诉他，‘星期六那个进球就不会发生！记住我的话。’‘你说得对，比尔！’他说。”
比尔给所有人提建议——不管别人想不想听——但他天生一副绅士派头，让人无法抗拒。你会发现自己睿智地点着头，目光追随着他生动挥舞的食指，完全沉浸在他扬起的眉毛和比尔·史密斯纠正世间不公的十足表演技巧之中。