Pomfrey

Good afternoon Sir Guestling back on the page.
In my ramblings up until now you will have read about my valet, confidant and all round gentleman's gentleman, Pomfrey or to give him his full name Yanish Mountlebano Pomfreyanitato, yes quite a mouthful! 
I met him many years ago in India or Calcutta to be more precise. I was there on a brief visit pending a possible permanent posting, which never did materialise. 
Whilst there, I had been invited to a ball held at a local Maharishi's palace, there were still a few around, although this one and I forget his name, was actually a minster in the Indian government. It was a grand affair with the local great and good attending plus a few of us diplomatic types to add the piquant colonial nostalgia. Indians of the time for all their hard won independence, still had a vague yearning for the past British Raj. 
Well I had had a few snifters before arriving and whilst my tolerance for alcohol is pretty formidable, that evening for some reason, I felt a little worse for wear. Perhaps it was the weather, hot and humid with the sniff of the monsoon season around the corner. Anyway, I drank a few more flutes of champers and was getting quite light headed and feeling slightly unwell. I rashly decided to get some air and to escape from the clutches of some old harridan who had been spouting some interminable drivel at me for what seemed like hours, I have no clue as to the gist of her diatribe but the combination or her droning and the drink sent me hurriedly looking for an exit.
I found a quiet spot under a juniper and sitting on the handy bench provided tried to catch my breath and stop my spinning head!
Not feeling any better I thought a walk my be the very thing to clear my head. I had no idea which direction to go in and just took off.
I must of left the estate and quite quickly found myself wandering through the outskirts of the city limits. As I turned the corner on what can only be described as a dirt track, a group of rather thuggish looking oiks spotted me and were soon confronting a rather drunk and unwell Guestling. Even in my stupor I knew they meant me harm. Now a Thorn never backs down and I was quite good with the old Marquise of Queensberry rules, light on my feet with a good right hook, but I was outnumbered and not at my best.So I took a bit of a pasting was relieved of any valuables and left half dead in the dust. 
When I eventually regained some form of consciousness, I discovered I was laying on a small cot, looking up I could see a straw roof with a hole and the stars peaking through.
I tried to sit up and a thousand small firecrackers seemed to explode in my head, a moan escaped my lips, a hand with a damp cloth in it gently pushed my head back down and a voice spoke in perfect English with a curious lilt to it 
Please sir try not to move, you are hurt and in no condition to rise
How long I lay there I was not sure as I drifted in and out of wakefulness. Eventually I fully revived, with a dry taste in my mouth and a still, if diminished, throbbing in my head.
Are you feeling better sir? I was handed a glass of water and helped to sit, once accomplished my benefactor stepped back
I sipped the proffered liquid and looked up, my host, was now standing in the middle of his simple mud and straw hut, an impossibly tall, slim man, with a beaming set of white teeth showing through a jet black luxuriant full set of whiskers.
He was dressed in a simple white knee length tunic with a dark waistcoat and sandals on his surprisingly small feet.
He explained having found me trying to crawl along the road, injured and covered in blood and dust, he brought me back to his abode and now had tended to my needs for nearly two days.
He introduced himself as Yanish Mountlebano Pomfreyanitato but told me I should call him Pomfrey. He further went on to inform that he was born of a Spanish father and an Indian mother both of whom had died in a tragic house fire when he was only seven. The Jesuit monks had taken him in and seen to his education, eventually winning a scholarship to University in Cambridge where he perfected his English and came away with a first degree in philosophy. Unfortunately when he returned to India, the Jesuit school had closed and nobody it seemed wanted to employ a 6' 7" Spanish/Indian man with a first in philosophy who now spoke like an English gentleman, albeit with a slight mix of his parents accents! He had since got by doing odd jobs and occasionally acting as an interpreter as he spoke three languages fluently and had a smattering of several others. 
He then produced my evening suit on a hangar perfectly pressed and although like me battered and slightly worse for wear, it was clean and still wearable. He grinned
I did what I could with it but I fear it is ruined.
Bloody hell I exclaimed what you've done is a miracle, my good chap!
Well I can tell you Guesty was taken with this unusual fellow who exuded calm efficiency and a an abundance of good natured common sense, not to mention his ability to repair and clean my suit. I had a sudden impulse and I immediately offered him the position of becoming my valet, he accepted with alacrity, and told me he thought it was destiny. I wasn't quite sure how the Thorn income could afford his services but he told me he perfectly understood and not to worry too much about it, he was sure providence would provide.
And so it has proved, Pomfrey has been with me for nearly 38 years, longer than the good Lady Guestling herself and has proved to be loyal and invaluable, with a practical ingenuity that sometimes defies belief and resources.
I can't tell you the number of scrapes and mishaps he has got me out of or how resourceful he has been. I once asked him how he learnt to become so knowledgeable? He shrugged and with that radiant smile of his said that he just picked things up along the way 
Once I just casually remarked if he would not like to find a Mrs Pomfrey?
His enigmatic reply was
Oh no sir that sort of thing holds no attraction for me!
Well I left it at that, I know when not to pry into a chaps private area.