Jacobus Simons

Binks recollected by Jonathan Simons

Of all the characters that figured in the interminable stories that Aunty Margaret used to tell the one that intrigued me most was 'Binks'. It was not just the curiosity of his name itself but the remarkable frequency with which, according to these tales, he broke with all norms of civilised behaviour. I hasten to add that this is only hearsay and his surviving family may well be able to set the record straight. The Simons family in London seemed to be constantly at war, with shifting allegiances and enemities between the members of the 'firm', particulary the brothers Tom, Bern and Binks. Others like Margaret got caught up in the cross-fire. Binks was christened Francis, a good family name, but his brothers very impressed by the contents of his nappies started to call him 'Stinks'. Margaret, the poor child's older cousin, saw the horror of the prospect of this nickname persisting into adulthood and prevailed upon the others to call him 'Binks' instead. Fortunately for Binks the idea appealed, cockney rhyming slang perhaps, but maybe the damage had already been done. As an adult Binks was full of swagger and bravado but always getting into dreadful scrapes that I only half understood: a larger than life personality who would not be out of place as the chief interest in some fictional family saga. Unfortunately I am short on detail as to his actual crimes, but I recall Margaret complaining that on a visit to her house at Harberton Road Binks had taken against the draught-proofing and had returned the next day to fix it, resulting in the house being 'hermetically sealed' and with Margaret unable to open any windows. The image above is from a piece of cine film tken before the war. Binks was proud of his motor-cars. I think it occurred to me to liken him to Mr Toad in Wind in the Willows, but he looks more like Al Capone. In the 60's he had a Jaguar and drove everywhere at breakneck speed, faster if ever Margaret was obliged to accept a lift. I only met Binks once, as I recall. He had volunteered to give Margaret and I a lift to Waterloo station. Perhaps I was to acompany her back to the Island. Margaret had accepted the lift on the strict condition that Binks would spare my life and not exceed the speed limit. On one of Margaret's visits to the Island, when I was in my teens, I set my reel-to-reel recorder up in the lounge and recorded several hours of comings and goings and random conversations. Throughout it all Margaret's stories continued unbroken like the drone accompanying a medieval jig. I hope one day to have them transcribed and so that we then get more detail on the man they called 'Binks'.

Binks

Of all the characters that figured in the interminable stories that Aunty Margaret used to tell the one that intrigued me most was 'Binks'. It was not just the curiosity of his name itself but the remarkable frequency with which, according to these tales, he broke with all norms of civilised behaviour. I hasten to add that this is only hearsay and his surviving family may well be able to set the record straight. The Simons family in London seemed to be constantly at war, with shifting allegiances and enemities between the members of the 'firm', particulary the brothers Tom, Bern and Binks. Others like Margaret got caught up in the cross-fire.

Binks was christened Francis, a good family name, but his brothers very impressed by the contents of his nappies started to call him 'Stinks'. Margaret, the poor child's older cousin, saw the horror of the prospect of this nickname persisting into adulthood and prevailed upon the others to call him 'Binks' instead. Fortunately for Binks the idea appealed, cockney rhyming slang perhaps, but maybe the damage had already been done.

As an adult Binks was full of swagger and bravado but always getting into dreadful scrapes that I only half understood: a larger than life personality who would not be out of place as the chief interest in some fictional family saga. Unfortunately I am short on detail as to his actual crimes, but I recall Margaret complaining that on a visit to her house at Harberton Road Binks had taken against the draught-proofing and had returned the next day to fix it, resulting in the house being 'hermetically sealed' and with Margaret unable to open any windows.

The image above is from a piece of cine film tken before the war. Binks was proud of his motor-cars. I think it occurred to me to liken him to Mr Toad in Wind in the Willows, but he looks more like Al Capone. In the 60's he had a Jaguar and drove everywhere at breakneck speed, faster if ever Margaret was obliged to accept a lift. I only met Binks once, as I recall. He had volunteered to give Margaret and I a lift to Waterloo station. Perhaps I was to acompany her back to the Island. Margaret had accepted the lift on the strict condition that Binks would spare my life and not exceed the speed limit.

On one of Margaret's visits to the Island, when I was in my teens, I set my reel-to-reel recorder up in the lounge and recorded several hours of comings and goings and random conversations. Throughout it all Margaret's stories continued unbroken like the drone accompanying a medieval jig. I hope one day to have them transcribed and so that we then get more detail on the man they called 'Binks'.

7/6/2018 J.Simons