Geneva 1928

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Geneva 1924

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Geneva 1927

Geneva 1928

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During the winter months in Geneva, I used to spend Saturday afternoon in a bridge school in either the Cafe de la Couronne or the Cafe du Nord. I had been back home on leave and did not know that particular Saturday, where they were going to play. My tram from my pension stopped outside the former first and, as it was raining hard, I got off there, entered, deposited my coat, hat and umbrella in the hat stand, sat down at an empty table and ordered a coffee. Within a quarter of an hour it was clear that I had picked the wrong cafe, so I paid, put on my coat and hat and proceeded to the door with my umbrella, intending to walk round the corner to the Cafe du Nord, as it had stopped raining. As I put my hand on the door handle, a perfect stranger addressed me from behind, enquiring whether I had not perhaps taken his umbrella in exchange for my own. I had. Moreover, mine was not new and his was not old. With many "Mille pardons" and raising of hats, with a slight bow from me and what I thought was a slight smirk from him, I left to join my bridge friends.

During the afternoon, a friend phoned me at the cafe from the pension where we both lived. He had not dared to join the bridge afternoon because it was raining so hard and he had left his umbrella at the Cafe du Nord. If I was coming back to dinner would I be so kind as to ask Jules, the waiter, for it and bring it back with me after the bridge session was over. I said I Would.

When we had finished, I collected Albert's umbrella and caught a No. 6 tram outside to go back to the pension. I sat in a corner near the conductor and at the very next stop there entered and sat in the opposite corner to me the gentleman whose umbrella I had unfortunately taken earlier in the afternoon. The tram was badly lit and I did not at first recognise him, but then I could not help noticing the rythmic stares he was throwing first at me, then at the conductor, then at the two umbrellas I was grasping in front of me. How long this went on, I do not know, but eventually the conductor even seemed to cotton on to something. Eventually I got off at least three stops before my pension, and as I stood up to do so, he leaned across and in his horrible Genevese accent said "Les affaires sont Bien allees, quiad meme" - "So business was good after all." I scuttled off into the pouring rain without putting up either of my umbrellas, so anxious was I to get away from my tormentor.