QUAINT WILLS.

Manawatu Herald, Volume XLVIII, Issue 2991, 28 January 1926, Page 4

QUAINT WILLS.

POPULAR IN FICTION

A TATTOOED WILL

It is not in fiction alone that tyrannical (or long-suffering) fathers cut spendthrift sons off with a shilling, though one suspects that such cases happen more often in novels than in real life. One angry testator (says a writer in the Sydney Sun) not only left a legatee a shilling, but added the injunction that lie should lay it out in the purchase of a rope with which to hang himself. Stranger still was the will of a stockbroker of Milan mentioned in a cable message recently. It ran as follows: —“I leave to my son the pleasure of earning his living. For 25 years ho has supposed that this pleasure was reserved solely for me, but ho was wrong. I leave to my valet the suits of which he has systematically robbed me, also the fur coat that he has worn in my absence. 1 leave my chauffeur tho motor car that he has almost ruined. Ho can have the satisfaction of completing what ho has already so well begun.” After mentioning these legacies this remarkable stockbroker added: “Already I have personally distributed my fortune to charities, to avoid disputes amongst my heirs.” Scientists may argue about tho extent to which the modern Italians are descended from the ancient Romans, but some of the stern Roman fathers of the days when Rome ruled the world may well have disinherited their scapegrace sons in much the same terms. SCRAWLED ON DUNGEON WALLS. Wills, in tho true sense, are a comparatively modern invention. Yet it is hard to see how popular types of fiction and of drama would do without them, while numbers of desorving lawyers are largely maintained by them. Primitive man had no use for wills. He could not mako a will in writing because he could not write. Nor was there any need for a testamentary disposition of his few possessions, for custom decided the way in which they should be parted amongst his relatives. With increasing sophistication came tho practice of making wills. In the later days of the Empire Republic and in the earlier days of the Empire mention in rich men’s wills was an object of keen competition. Legacy hunting became a regular profession amongst needy parasites, who toadied to rich old iellows in the hope of being named as heirs to a good slice of their fortunes. Yet, even to-day, there is a certain dislike of making wills. Many persons feel that there is something unlucky, some sort of association with death, about making a will. Even lawyers whose business is to make wills for others sometimes die intestate themselves.

In a good old type ol melodrama there was always a will, but up till the last act it seemed as if the proverb that where there’s a will there is a way was going to fail. Either the villain stole the will and foolishly forgot to burn it, or it was hidden away till the faithful retainer dug it out. One way or another it was sure to turn up iii the last act to the confusion of vice and the triumph of virtue. Wills used to play a groat part in fiction, too. They were mislaid with great regularity. Sometimes the action began with a will in which the hero was cut off with a shilling, but it was more apt to end with the discovery of tho will. Yet, in spite of this lavish use of wills, truth lias once again proved' queerer than fiction. Whether it he in their nature, in their form, or in the material on which they are written, there are real wills which have been far stranger than the imaginings of the writers of novels and of the dramas. Rider Haggard struck a fantastic vein in “Mr Meeson’s Will,” in which the will, from which the book takes its title, was tattooed on a girl’s back. She and the wicked publisher with a fortune of £2,000,000, which he wished to leave to the nephew whom lie had cut off without a shilling, were shipwrecked oil Kerguelen Land with nothing to write on. So an obliging sailor tattooed tho will on the girl’s skin, using ink from a cuttlefish and a sharp fishbone as a needle. It was duly signed and witnessed in tatattooing, the testator touching the fishbone but leaving the actual tattooing to tho skilled operator .

Eventually the will was admitted to probate. And, of course, the- nephew married the “will.” Luckily for the lady Mr Meeson’s will was only seven words long. It could have been shorter, however, for a will has been written in three words. That will, however, did not dispose of £2.000,000. Par-fetched as the tattooed will may seem at first sight, there is a good historic precedent for the idea of conveying a message by writing on the skin. Tlie basic notion of tattooing goes back over 2000 years, to that lonian tyrant of whom Herodotus tells us. Detained by Darius, the Persian King, lie wished to send a secret message to his friends in lonia so he had it tattooed on the shaved head of a slave. Then he waited till the slave’s hair had grown again, and sent him to lonia with the message that they should shave his head. In fact, as well as in fiction, men have written wills with their own blood on chance scraps of paper or rag, or have scrawled them on the walls of their dungeons, on medals or identification discs, or anything that came handy.

The smallest amongst the millions of wills in the Begistry at Somerset House, London, is that of a seaman named Skinner, who was lost in the Indefatigable, in 1910. It consists of about 40 words, very neatly engraved on his seaman’s identity disc, which is not quite 1$ inches in diameter. The engraving is so fine that it can be read only with a magnifying glass, but tho will was admitted to probate. Several soldiers’ wills have been written on identity discs. In the case of a soldier or sailor on active service, however, it is not absolutely necessary that the will should be in writing. In these cases, and in these alone, English law admits the validity of a verbal will.

Eggshells do not sound a likely material on which to make wills, yet there is a. recent case of a will having been written on an eggshell. The eggshell had been cafefully blown, and then the testator, a sailor, had written on it with an indelible pencil: “17 , 1925: Everything I possess. —J.B.”

The month is not given, and only tho initials of the name. That the will was written on an eggshell was no bar to its acceptance, but difficulties arose because it was not witnessed and was not signed in full. Curiously enough the world’s record for shortness is held by a written, not a verbal, will, it consisted of the words: “Everything to mother,” but was signed and witnessed in due form, and was admitted to probate. As a contrast to-this comes the world’s longest will, lately admitted to probate in Loudon. This will, that of Erederica Evelyn Stillwell Cook, makes quite a respectable book. It consists of 1066 probate folios of 90 word's each, or 95,940 words. Attempts have been mad© to tell tho history of the world in fewer words than that. The average modern novel is rather shorter. Before this the record was held by a will containing a mere trifle of 400 folios.

Mrs Cook’s will is for the most part practically a detailed inventory of her possessions. Much the greater part of it is in her own handwriting. , One of the queerest stories connected with wills is that told of George Crossley, the attorney transported to New South Wales who acted as Governor Bligh's legal adviser. It is said that Crossley and others

forged the will of a man who had just died. They set a pen in his dead hand and wrote tho will with it. That they might bo able to swear with truth that there was life in the testator’s body when the will was made they caught a flv and put it in his mouth. 1 SHAKESPEARE’S BEDSTEAD.

There are historic wills about which a doubt still clings. What did Shakespeare mean when lie left to bis wife his second-best bedstead ? Some wills which have figured largely in history seem, like most of tli« last speeches of famous men. to be matters of invention. Such is the alleged “will” of Peter the Great.

It is alleged that Peter left a document laying down for bis successors the lines on which they should proceed for the aggrandisement of the Russian Empire. In this he is supposed to have urged thorn never to rest until they had occupied Constantinople. As a matter of fact, Peter’s real will was never completed. A plunge into icy water to save some soldiers whose boat had been wrecked brought on a fever, from which he died . Just before the end ho scrawled, in a failing hand, the words: —“Give everything to ” There he broke off, leaving tho sentence forever unfinished and tho name of his intended successor forever unknown.