London 1923

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England 1921 - A summer holiday at Staines

Germany 1921

London 1922

London 1923

London 1923, continued

London 1924

London 1924, continued

London 1923

I think we liked all our professors, but the one who taught us Physics found it difficult to keep us in order. At the end of the last lecture but one of the session, he explained that the last lecture would consist of an experiment, the apparatus for which was laid out already on the 30 foot bench in front of him. It was an experiment to prove that during gaseous explosions the flame front travelled at different speeds with different proportions of gases in the explosive mixture. The different gas mixtures were caused to flow into two long glass tubes about four inches in diameter and simultaneously fired by a spark from a magneto. It would be possible to see the blue flames travelling faster and faster, one lagging behind the other, until they reached the end and lightly exploded. The ends of the tubes were sheathed in lead foil in case of accident. At the next lecture it all came so to pass, except that when the two explosions occurred, as from a double-barrelled sporting gun, two London pigeons took off from the tubes and started flying round the lecture theatre. This was a hilarious success for the end of the session, but the professor was not amused, in fact he categorically refused to sign up the culprit, which meant that he would have to take an additional whole year to sit for his degree and I was the culprit.

How I worked at Physics that next term, but nothing I could say or do would make him relent. His case was made much stronger when I had to be absent for two months in a nursing home to have a cartilage removed from my right knee as a result of a rugger injury. I had been a fool, but there was no need for Fate to play me such a dirty trick and I just could not see any way of getting my degree - unless I murdered the professor and, I admit, I felt like doing it. Then Fate changed her mind and several funny things happened, which I must carefully link up document by document as they came into my hands.

My surgeon was a charming fellow and we used to have long interesting chats on scientific subjects and on one occasion he told me that he hated operating in the country by paraffin lamps, candlelight or gaslight and using chloroform. because the anaethetist was always the first person to become unconscious. He explained that was due to the chloroform, which does not burn but changes itself in contact with a naked flame to phosgene, the german poison gas of the First World War. I could hardly believe it and on his next visit he brought me a copy of the Lancet, describing a recent case and giving all the symptoms. Document 1.

I had an intimate friend in my year called Alec Pool and one afternoon I met him in the Flaxman Gallery staggering about and completely unaware of who I was. He was behaving like a drunk. but did not smell of drink, so I assisted him over to the casualty ward of the hospital opposite, where I found friends on duty with whom I left him. He recovered completely, memory and all, in about three days, but they never found out what was the matter with him. It intrigued both Alec and I and we got a copy of his case history on hospital notepaper by the simple expedient of asking our friends for it. Document 2.

Towards the end of the term I was having coffee with Alec one morning when he asked me if he could crib one of my Physics results, because he had done the work, but lost the piece of paper with the results on when he was taken ill. I replied that he certainly could, if I had done the experiment in question. He informed me that it was "The Measurement of the Vapour Density of Chloroform." On examining my notebook, I not only found the results that Alec wanted but, pasted onto the left hand page the roneoed instructions that we received on how to carry out the experiment in question. In the text were the words "A bunsen burner should be placed near the neck of the Dumas flask to ensure that the issuing chloroform vapour is destroyed." Underneath was the roneoed signature of the professor. Eureka and Document 3.

Alec had been poisoned by phosgene gas as a result of following the professor's instructions. I asked for still a further interview with the professor and he started off just the same, adding that my hopes were now minus after being absent for two months for my operation. I gave him the three documents to read and even when he had read them he said nothing. I was obliged to mutter something about professional incompetence and heavy damages in a very low tone, but loud enough for him to hear. Eventually, in the goodness of his heart he decided that I had done my best and worked hard enough to make amends and he would sign me up. The word you have got on the tip of your tongue is a nasty one - but what would you have done with those three documents?

London 1923

One Saturday afternoon I was driving my sister across Hammersmith Broadway on my way to play rugby at Perivale, and she was in my sidecar. In the middle of the Broadway a clothcapped lout, who was jay-walking, had to slow up for me to pass and raised a clenched fist at my sister. I turned to remind him of the forgetfulness of his father in not marrying his mother, when my sister shouted "Look out." I turned back to see someone about four feet in front of my sidecar. I yanked the forks over to the right as hard as I could and missed him but ......

My thoughts and impressions of the next two seconds may take at least two minutes to describe. First the man, starting at the bottom. He was wearing sandals, brown corduroy trousers and a flared black velvet jacket. A large wide flapping ribbon was round his neck as a tie and his pale face was crowned by a wide-brimmed flapping black hat. He might have been an anarchist, but that was unlikely as he was carrying a violin case. With great presence of mind he raised his precious case out of harm's way, but not quite far enough and the nose of the sidecar assisted the upward thrust and the case sailed up in a perfect parabola. By the time it had reached top dead centre, all my father's chats about Stradivarius and their value had passed through my head. I could only wait for it to fall on its side in the middle of Hammersmith Broadway and spring open. One of the two beer bottles - empties - were smashed but none of the two pounds of onions were scratched. A policeman joined us and it having been ascertained that apart from the empty quart bottle, there were no casualties, I handed over threepence and we shook hands. I ought to have gone to jail for that one but I suppose the fright was my allotted punishment.