That word took me back to when I was a kid.
Mr Fotheringham ran our local corner store and he had a habit of saying it whenever you purchased anything.
It didn’t matter if it was an all-day sucker or a fifty-dollar order Mr Fotheringham always greeted you with a ‘Splendid.’
He was a jolly fellow and nothing was ever any bother to him. He was the first person in our area to have a land-line put in enabling us to phone him directly.
For a jolly chap he hadn’t had a happy life. His son Alfred had been born with a very noticeable birthmark on his face and it was the talk of the town how the little boy was going to fare in life with the dark red mark across his face.
In some ways Mr Fotheringham’s concerns were answered when the shop burnt down one night and Alfred died in the inferno.
The disaster gutted Mr Fotheringham and even though he rebuilt his shop he was never the same again.
It wasn’t Mr Fotheringham’s face telling me change had occurred it was that I never heard him again say the word splendid.