THE SCENE:

Somewhere in England during World War II. Some American troops are stationed at a British army camp while waiting to be deployed to the continent. Their orders could come at any time, so they couldn't be given leave, but in the meantime, they had nothing to do, so they were ordered to attend a series of lectures on British army ordnance. These lectures were mainly just to fill time, and a side-effect of this general inactivity was immense boredom

One of these lectures was on the parts, disassembly, nomenclature, and maintenance of the British Enfield rifle. The lecture was being delivered by an old career British Army sergeant. After field-stripping the rifle, describing each part in detail, and discussing its proper care and maintenance, the old sergeant came to the remaining part, the stock.

"And this," he intoned, "is the stock of the British Enfield rifle. It is generally made of h'oak, h'ash, or 'ickory. And it is often made of—"

A hand went up in the back. The old sergeant recognized this particular young Yank because over the past few days, he had shown himself to be a bit of a smart-ass, verging on insubordination and general disrespect.

"A question?" said the sergeant, glowering.

"Yes," said the young Yank. "When you say 'h'oak, h'ash, or 'ickory,' don't you really mean 'oak, ash, or hickory?'"

The old sergeant's eyebrows Veed into a frown and his ample mustache bristled.

"Young man," the old sergeant said, "'h'oak, h'ash, or 'ickory,' is what I said, and 'h'oak, h'ash, or 'ickory,' is what I meant! To continue, if I may. The stock of the British Enfield rifle is also frequently made of a fourth wood called lignum vitae, or h'ironwood. Lignum vitae is very 'ard and h'oily, therefore it was h'often used as planking in ships and as piles for the piers—   And by the way, for the benefit of the young h'American who asked, when I say 'piles for the piers' I am not referring to 'emorrhoids for the hhhh'aristocracy!!"

Don Firth

[Collected, in the mid-1950s over a couple of beers in the Blue Moon tavern, from fencing buddy, brilliant raconteur, and good friend, Chuck Canady, who had a million of 'em.

I mean, when it comes down to it, jokes ARE folklore.]