The physicist had worked out the angle necessary to knock the lids off the tin cans by throwing them against the wall. She was developing a good pitching arm and a new quantum theory.

The mathematician had stacked the unopened cans into a surprising solution to the pressing problem; his desiccated corpse was propped calmly against a wall, and this was inscribed on the floor in blood:

Theorem: If I can't open these cans, I'll die.

Proof: assume the opposite...
- - R. Ainsley in 'Bluff your way in Maths, 1988'

How the hell do I know why there were Nazis? I can't work the can opener!
- - Woody Allen

The crispy Victoria summer of 1946 lies sharp-edged within my mind, for Jarnal and I went camping then at the edge of a tidal creek on the Saanich Peninsula. What we learned there has left indelible pits upon my very being, as is the wont of most soul-shocking events in the life of a ten-year-old, relating like an endless chain well past college years, piercing this old age pre-death period now dubiously enjoyed in repose and reflection.

Ah, the can opener!

The point is that we had forgotten to take one along. Oh, we brought our little 22 rifle and a box of rounds so as to shoot a few rabbits for dinner, but wound up plugging only an old stump in target practice. And my father never thought to warn us of our lack, leaving us briskly as he did with our packs of blankets and food, the old '31 Technocracy Gray Plymouth purring back to civilization as soon as its two-boy burden could be dumped. And it thusly follows, as rain does sunshine that we were about to...

It was a can of Swift's Premium Beef Stew that we placed on the fire that evening, though Jarnal later claimed it to be Campbell's Vegetable Soup; or possibly Aylmer's. There was soon never-no-matter: While we quietly awaited the heating of dinner our little camp-world exploded with all the movietime drama that could be conceived in those days of black and white. KABOOM! went the fire. BALOOM-SPLAT! as gobs of food hit oaken tree trunks, branches and two little fellows with no time to duck flying debris. You will quickly understand the trauma involved, and realize that there was not any item within the vicinity that lie untouched by the otherwise tasty fallout.

Lesson 1:
One does not heat a liquid in a close container.

Lesson 2:
One does not go camping without a can opener at hand.

Sometime later, having recovered and scraped what we could from the blankets and such, we settled down in the dusk on boughs properly laid as we'd been taught in Cub Scout camp. Hours later I awoke to find my bed adrift, and called to my aghast partner. Somehow the creek had risen to engulf our campsite. Three in the morning therefore became moving day for two really dumb saturated unhappy campers.

Lesson 3:
Ocean tides caused by the gravitational effect of Moon and Sun relay the effect to adjoining waters. Or water seeks its own common level.

It is always unwise to sleep on the banks of a tidal creek. Especially without a can opener.

Daddy later pointed out: "Boys, you shoulda used your hunting knives. And at least one of you has a Boy Scout knife which has a can opener attachment."

Yeah. And if figs could fly, one would fly up your nose.

It has been pointed out repeatedly by others that I might be expected to know better, for cans and can openers had played an integral part in my life. Indeed without them I may not have had one. Life that is. Born and bred in a wild place called Wingdam, a place of few amenities, one found neither cows nor milk delivery. So for the first few years Mom took her sharp-bladed opener, punched twin holes through the tops of Pacific Evaporated Milk while bending the implement sidewise to form a spout on each side. My little sister, Marg, and I loved the double-rich liquid. In fact so delighted had we and our cat, Mike, become with this delicacy that we insisted upon it over that fresh frothy creamy milk which was delivered to our table in later times. Ah...such were the memories.

Canning was a way of life for us of the poorer denominations, and thus the can opener became our icon of grail. The bladed variety of opener stayed long with us, for it also included a corkscrew and bottle opener, which was a like necessity for opening those homemade flasks of Hire's Root Beer that we periodically raised from icy well waters of a blazing summer day.

I read somewhere that Napoleon - of a mind that his army should travel on it's stomach - made a cry to the world's inventors for a new food preservation method - coupled with a promised reward of 12,000 Francs. Fortunately a good can opener had been invented some centuries before that. It was called le bayonet, and at the time served other rippingly useful purposes undoubtedly biding time until canning came into common use for the military which has cursed the very invention ever since, it seems.

Nicholas Appert claimed Napoleon's money for a jarring solution to the problem. "Sealers are the answer," he said for no good reason, the idea of sterilization having some decades to run before discovery. I reckon he overlooked the fact that glass breaks and few of his corked bottles ever reached the fighting front intact, so Napoleon met his Waterloo because his British enemies kept it secret when compatriot Peter Durand invented the tin can, though it was Ezra Warner, a Connecticut Yankee, who fifty years later invented a way to open them without a handy bayonet.

Or so I've heard.

The delights and frustrations of this indispensable implement have been with us ever since. My grandest reverie is of a University of Victoria fine arts party I held for many of my bohemian pals in the spring of 1970. You know the sort of thing it was: all short fancy bottles of wine and liquors intermixed with some of the better imaginative designer and home-grown refreshments found within West Coast Hippydom, a dash or two of far out language and a whole lot of "you-knows" and "cool man's" and "groovy." Hey Jude played repeatedly while LSD colors abounded. And little cans of gourmet material: anchovies, artichoke hearts, sardines and smoked oysters. Cheese - if you please.

"Hey Man, you got a can opener to get inta this?" Tamara was frustrated so I rustled through a kitchen drawer to no avail.

"Hey, Tamara. Voila! I got one up here in the cupboard!" Together we unboxed an unused electric job I had received as a present years earlier. We plugged it in and she got the knack.

"Hey, cool man! Hey guys, looka this whirr and whirr and it's around and around and around and it's open. Far out man!"

That little stucco cottage virtually bubbled and boiled with kids grabbing the new merry-go-round toy, awing and ooing like they'd witnessed the Second Coming of Timothy Leary. Before the end of the evening every can lay open, some even went out to buy more - contents seemed of little consequence in that melee of flying bodies. Psychedelic Soup! No matter that the can may have come with its very own key opener. We obsessively seized upon it.

"Crazy Man!"

"Far out!"

The electric model did not last, and most of the others bit the dust long ago. I bought one of those side-winders once, and it seemed just the thing, for it took off the rim as well as the top of the can - like a canning machine will do - which should make it more hygienic. Alas its professionalism did not long stand up. Though I see this type advertised a lot: Magic Can Opener: Your price: $9.99. It's probably a lot hardier than mine.

Naturally, I did some deep research for this piece. Here's what Brian Probets of England reported: "I have to say that I have never, to my shame, ever taken a great deal of interest in tin openers. These are usually to be found, so I am told, in the kitchen, a place that I do not often frequent. Now if the subject were Brandy balloons, then...."

I interjected: "The first ones we had, Brian, came with a corkscrew that swung into the handle and a spur to the rear of the blade for opening bottles. Right?"

"That's the one!" he finally admitted. "Very effective too... trouble was the edge of the tin after one had opened it - quite lethal!"

And from Chris Robertson, presently of Australia:

Your topic of can openers has been festering away with me. Everytime I examine what has boiled down and is ready to be scraped up, what I see leaves me disappointed with the quality and quantity. I feel like I have walked through life, so far, blind to can openers. Sure they have always come in handy but for me they have been very utilitarian and I have not expended much energy thinking about them. I see them as a robot-like machine performing a robot-like service.

As long as the can 'got' opened one way or another, the thought of the can contents always seems to have taken precedence over the opener tool...which, in a few cases, has been an axe.

I have concluded a kitchen inspection here at No.9 Marlow Road. I have counted three can openers in the kitchen. One is an electric one, which I brought back from Noonkanbah, W.A. It sits on the counter over by the coffee maker and if one remembers, I guess, one uses it ... I do sometimes. It is a nice white model made by Philips with a knife sharpening option, although I have never sharpened anything using it. Naturally, it also has the obligatory bottle opener, built right into the front of it, and again, I have never opened a bottle using that.

Many cans, particularly dog food, have those little pull tab rings that you pull on to remove the whole lid.

We do have two stainless steel, basic, no frills can openers. I personally find these hard to use because the handle has so little 'meat' to squeeze on. The thin round handle and the flat 'other side' is not very ergonomically friendly in my books. They tend to twist and slip in my hand but because they are usually close at hand in the kitchen, they get used frequently.

Depending on the size of the can circumference, the opening job may take up to a minute or even two, particularly if a clean cut isn't achieved the first time around. My frustrations mount when the can has several clean cuts interspersed with solid metal parts, still holding the lid firmly in place, the contents so close, but yet so far.

I have had a close look at one of these hand held models and thought I would pass along to you what it says. The following is engraved on the flat part of the handle...
"EKCO Miracle Can Opener 885 -

Hook gear under can rim - squeeze handles firmly - turn key clockwise - keep blade clean - sat. performance guaranteed or mfg. will replace."

Now, there is one of those wonderful down-home guarantees, like the Zippo lighter or Craftsman tools. I think I have seen EKCO products in Canada. As a side issue, today I have confirmed that the majority of Australians buy tinned food and refer to these containers as 'tins'. However, no one refers to the opening device as a tin opener but rather a can opener.

That is about the extent of my can opener file. I have asked others for their opinions and findings, but this question has evolved into more of a discussion about you and why !!!!

Don't worry, I defend your undertakings vigorously, but I have wound up promising them a final copy.

You shall indeed have your copy Chris. And Brian too. As for the raison d'être may I refer the reader who has reached this point back to the initial beginning of the article.

I have but one working can opener left to my household. At least fifty years old, it is a Hy Squire and Sons of West Midlands, England - key winder with a slot in the broad handle for opening bottles.

We need no other.

If Jarnal Singh and I had possessed this opener on that ancient campout, we would not have been in the soup, stew - or vice versa. And I wouldn't have been bothering folks with this topic.

Now....about that tide....

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