London 1923, continued

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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

At one point in my university career I was enamoured of one of my fellow students - a very attractive blond Dutch girl and I invited her to a the-dansant at the Trocadero. We had agreed to meet at 4.00 p.m. on the corner of Windmill Street and Shaftesbury Avenue, where I arrived in good time, perhaps at ten to four. The crowds were milling past and, at about ten past four, somebody, I think it must have been of the feminine gender, said to me "Hold this, dearie and was gone. I found a white ordinary unaddressed business envelope in my hand and was about to stuff it in my pocket, when two men stood by me, one either side, one taking the envelope and the other my arm. I was invited to go with them and after protesting and being shown their Metropolitan police warrants, found myself in Vine Street Police Station. I naturally asked why and was informed that all in good time. I asked to phone my father, which request was granted. I told my father where I was and he did not ask why ? he just said "You can b?.y well stay there." The desk sergeant then sent a policeman out to fetch the policeman on point duty at the Windmill Street - Shaftesbury Avenue intersection and phoned the police surgeon, asking him if he would mind "dropping round because I've got a customer for you." After about ten minutes the policeman turned up with the point duty man, who identified me with the words, "Yes, that's him. He was standing there for about twenty minutes, obviously waiting for a woman." These London bobbies were very observant. My feelings were very mixed and although I had the wind-up, I was also feeling belligerant. I decided if my father would not help me (and of course he would have done in an emergency) I would try a very good friend of his - and mine. As cheekily as I could manage, I politely asked the sergeant if I could make another phone call and my request was again granted. I nonchalantly picked up the phone and asked for Victoria 1212 - Scotland Yard. That sergeant's face told me I had at least scored one point. I asked for Chief Inspector Dick Hawkins, at that time one of the Big Five. I told him that I was in trouble at one of his "shops" and would he come along.

In the meantime, the police surgeon had arrived and by putting it on his tongue, pronounced the contents of the envelope to be heroin. Uncle Dick arrived and I told him my story, after which he had a word with the surgeon and the others. It was agreed that the woman realised she was being followed and parked the heroin on the first "mug" she saw. That of course was a libel and not evidence, but they let me go. I have often wondered what would have happened to me, if I had not known Uncle Dick. The real libel came later when I learned from my father what Uncle Dick had told the desk sergeant and the detectives about me and which really got me off the hook. Some-thing about knowing me and my family for several years, my prediliction for beer, girls and rugger and not having sufficient brains to get mixed up with drugs.

London 1923

I was on the Rag Committee at University College and had a hand in preparing the exemplary operation orders we had worked out for the recovery of Phineas, the College's mascot, which had been stolen from outside Catesby's linoleum shop in Tottenham Court Road, by our deadly enemies, King's College in the Strand. They expected and hoped for the raid to get it back and had their spies in our College to find out what was cooking.

At a given hour three of Messrs Schoolbred's furniture moving vans, horsedrawn, with a man with a long grey beard and a baize apron on the box of each holding the reins, drove into the courtyard of King's during lecture time and disgorged, in true Trojan Horse fashion, all the members of the rugger, cricket, hockey and boxing clubs and any other stalwarts willing to lend a hand. How much soot, flour and rotten tomatoes changed hands I do not know, but there were three broken limbs and a handful of collarbones, that needed repair and victory was complete and Phineas taken home by taxi. The London Press gave us an excellent write-up.

At this same time the Home Office was worried about the increasing nuisance being caused in the London streets by ex-servicemen's bands, and the scuffles that took place with the police when they moved them on for impeding the traffic.

Three of us on the Rag Committee got an invitation to meet the local police superintendat and inspector and a high-up from Scotland Yard in the saloon bar of the Orange Tree in Cower Street. Pints having been ordered, the high-up explained his problem to us. We agreed to their wishes and we ordered more pints to seal the bargain. The glorious Rag Club died slowly and with dignity. How different now.

London 1923

In our year at College we had a Chinese, called Chang. He was fat, round-faced and blue-blooded. He did not have however, the reputed genius of his race and above the neck poor Chang was solid teak. He just hung around us, always smiling, like a cross between a goldfish and a spaniel. I liked Chang because I have an affection for all dumb animals, I suppose. The depth of his foolishness can be gathered from the fact that he undertook a task that Hercules would have at once realised was impossible - he tried to borrow money from me. They used to do everything but roll out the red carpet for Chang at the Embassy, but apparently there had been another revolution that month and Chang's folks were on the wrong side of the fence this time. But I was fond of Chang and I gave his problem some thought in the bath one morning. It was the last week of the term before the long vacation and when I next saw Chang I asked him if he played Mah Jongg. This is equivalent to asking a five year old in this country if he can play snakes and ladders. I propounded my scheme to him, and after a lot of mutterings about what his ancestors would think about it and my telling him what I thought about his ancestors, he agreed.

I took a two month's lease of a flat in Dover Street, payable one month in advance. This was due to the misfortune of the previous tenant having to spend that time as a guest of His Majesty for continuously practising her profession on the pavements of nearby Piccadilly. Having purchased a Mah Jongg set at Hamley's, borrowed an unusual set of red velvet curtains from my mother on which we stuck some dragons bought in Petticoat Lane and finally purchased some what is now called interior decorator's pieces in oriental style in the Caledonian Market (the dim lighting was already available) we put in our advertisements in the Evening News, Evening Standard and the green-papered Westminster Gazette, which was still running then. It ran something like this:-

"Mah-Jongg Lessona, High born Chinese Mandarin requests the honour of giving lessons to equally high born English ladies in parties of four. Afternoon at xx Dover Street. Telephone Mayfair ...."

Within a fortnight, poor Chang was working overtime, mornings as well and the police were moving on Chauffeured Rolls and Daimlers. We had got in at the bottom of a steeply rising market, as Mah Jongg swept through London society. We had to get an assistant for Chang, who was a Chinese friend of his though not so high born and he thought it was a hell of a joke. I pulled out after I had paid the expenses end netted my share of ?200, going off with my parents on holiday and who had thought I had been regularly attending at the Science Museum Library.

Chang did not get his degree of course and he went back to China. For several years I received Christmas cards from him, with the spelling getting worse and worse. Poor dear Chang, I wonder if you are still grinning?