My trip to the land of the Pharaohs—Giants and dwarfs on a P.&O. liner—We are ordered into Plymouth—Submarines—An exciting experience—Destroyers to the rescue—The dwarfs and the lifebelts—Sports at sea—My contortionist is taken ill—Anxious days—Kindness of the Maharajah of Jodhpur—Arrival at Port Said—Cairo—I engage another contortionist—Pelted with money—Pigs at Port Said—Captured Turkish pontoons at Cairo—Turkish prisoners playing tennis—Interned enemy ships at Alexandria—Wounded soldiers—At the Pyramids—Ammunition from India—On the way home—Across France in war-time—The Channel passage—Elaborate precautions—Submarine nets—Paris in war-time—Madrid in war-time.

Towards the end of May, 1915, as I was feeling a bit “hipped” and run down, I decided to take a short sea voyage to Egypt, a land I had always wished to see.

I had heard that there were numbers of wounded there, as well as a large number of unwounded soldiers, and I decided, therefore, to take my company with me; arguing that if by so doing I was able to clear working expenses so much the better, and that in any case I should be sure of appreciative audiences amongst the convalescents and the less seriously injured.

My company at this time consisted of six persons: myself, three dwarfs, a giant, and a contortionist. Two of the dwarfs, Signor and Madame Gondin, were reputed to be the smallest man and wife in the world, and their appearance in Egypt, and on board ship going out, created no end of interest and excitement. We embarked at Tilbury on May 29th, 1915, on the P.&O. steamship Malwa. We were not a big crowd at first, but some of us—this does not apply, of course, to my humble self—were very distinguished. There was, for instance, Lady Peirse, wife of Admiral Sir R. Peirse, in charge of the Mediterranean Station. Lady Peirse took great interest in a charitable entertainment we got up on board, and later on, when we arrived at Port Said, her ladyship invited me to take tea with her and Sir Richard Peirse at their hotel.

Mr. Justice Bucknill was another notable on board. But the most striking and interesting personality of all was that of the youthful-looking Maharajah of Jodhpur, who came straight to the ship from Buckingham Palace, where he had been dining with the King. He was travelling in great state with a splendid suite, yet he was most affable and unaffected, entering with zest into whatever sport or entertainment was going.

The Maharajah had already raised some thirty-five thousand troops in his dominions, and remarking on this I ventured to say: “Well, your Highness, you have certainly done your bit.” His reply was: “Bit be d——d! I’m going back to raise some more.” His state, I may mention, is larger than any of the smaller European countries, and somewhat bigger than Saxony and Bavaria combined, while even in peace time the Maharajah maintains a force of eight thousand infantry and cavalry with one hundred and twenty heavy guns.

The original intention, or at least so we were given to understand, was for the Malwa to proceed direct to Gibraltar. But there was evidently something more on the board than we passengers knew of, for soon after leaving the Thames we were stopped by a patrol boat and told to alter our direction, and this was repeated every four or five miles, so that we steered an altogether zigzag course.

Eventually we were ordered into Plymouth, where we took on board some 250 bluejackets. These did duty during the voyage in various parts of the ship; and especially aft, where was mounted a big 4.7 naval gun, obviously for use in case of our being chased by submarines.

That this was no idle precaution we had good reason to know, for on resuming our voyage, and when we were about four hours out from Plymouth, a destroyer came racing up at so terrific a speed that she actually collided with us before she could turn, slightly denting her side. Her captain shouted an order to us to put back into port immediately, as there were submarines about; and this, of course, was immediately done. At the same time all passengers were ordered to don lifebelts.

There was considerable excitement, although not so much as one might suppose. The chief aim and object of practically everybody seemed to be to try and get a glimpse of the submarine or submarines, but in this we were unsuccessful, although several passengers declared afterwards that they saw a periscope. I myself saw nothing, although I was ready with my camera, and keeping an eager lookout. I did, however, succeed in getting a good picture of the collision between the destroyer and our ship; but this was afterwards abstracted from my cabin—whether by the authorities, or by some individual who took a fancy to it for his own private collection, I do not know.

Harking back to the lifebelts, I had almost forgotten to say that the members of my company, owing to their diverse size, underwent probably the worst experiences of anybody on board in connection with these always trying and clumsy contrivances. The contortionist contorted as he had never done before. The giant could not find one to fit him, and was rushing about the decks, imploring the stewards, with tears in his eyes, to get him “an extra outside size in lifebelts.” The dwarfs, on the other hand, were unable to find any small enough, and were likewise wildly excited in consequence. In the end Signor and Madame Gondin solved the difficulty by sharing one between them. It accommodated them both, although it was rather a tight fit, and I could not help reflecting that if we were destined to go to the bottom the little couple would at all events do so as securely united in death as they are—I hope and trust—in their lives. The giant solved his difficulty by wearing a couple of belts which he lashed together, one of these being the property of one of the dwarfs.

Well, the destroyer escorted us back to Plymouth, where we remained for a while; and when we resumed our voyage we had an escort of two torpedo-boats, one on each side of us, and a destroyer leading the way. These kept with us till darkness set in, when, of course, as we steamed with all lights out, there was little to be feared from submarines.

The rest of the voyage was uneventful, except that when we were nearing “Gib.” a lot of talk arose about the submarine peril, and one evening after dinner the engines stopped suddenly without warning, and for several minutes the steamer remained motionless.

The passengers looked at each other in an anxious manner, wondering what was the matter. Presently one of them, a portly, pompous person, advanced to the captain.

“What seems to be the trouble, captain?” he inquired.

“Too much fog,” answered that worthy curtly.

“But,” persisted the other, “I can see the stars overhead quite plainly.”

“Maybe you can,” came the grim reply. “But unless the boilers burst, or a German submarine pops up, we aren’t going that way.”

At Gibraltar we stayed rather longer than usual, in order to unship the big stern gun, which was wanted for the next homeward-bound steamer. Between Gibraltar and Malta we gave an entertainment, assisted by volunteers from amongst the passengers, the proceeds being divided equally between the mine-sweepers and the Music-hall Benevolent Fund. There were also sports, the blindfold boxing for prizes amongst members of the crew being especially funny. Afterwards the prizes were presented by Lady Peirse, and my two male dwarfs gave an exhibition of trick wrestling, which was greatly appreciated.

This particular dwarf of mine was quite a smart little fellow, and once, during a voyage to South Africa, he got the better of my giant in a rather ingenious fashion. He bet the big man a sovereign that he could reach further than he (the giant) could, each to stand bolt upright with his back to the wall, and to use an arm and hand only, and not to bend or sway any part of the body out of the perpendicular. The stakes having been duly wagered, the dwarf took up his prescribed position, back to the wall, and, reaching down, made a mark with a piece of chalk close to the floor on the wainscoting. This of course the giant could not do without bending, and the dwarf, therefore, won his bet.

The only drawback to a very pleasant trip was that my contortionist developed a bad attack of appendicitis, whether owing to his unwonted exertions in connection with the lifebelt or not I am unable to say. We were all greatly upset, and the captain and the ship’s doctor both recommended his being put off at Malta, in order that he might go into hospital there, and be operated upon. But the poor chap, with tears in his eyes, begged us to take him with us: “Mr. Carlton,” he said, “I’ve been with you so long; let me stay on now till the end.”

So eventually we yielded to his entreaties, but when we were about three days from Port Said he became very much worse, and the ship’s surgeon, after consulting with another doctor who chanced to be on board, advised an immediate operation. As this, however, would have meant that he could not possibly have been taken ashore at Port Said, but would have been obliged to go on to Australia, and as furthermore an operation on board ship in anything but the calmest weather is always an exceedingly risky business, the patient himself negatived this proposition.

When at length we arrived at Port Said the poor fellow was hovering between life and death, but we managed to get him down the side, and eventually to Cairo, where he was at once admitted to hospital. Here he was promptly and skilfully operated on, and in the end, I am thankful to say, he completely recovered. I should like to add that the people on the boat, from the captain downward, were most kind and sympathetic. There happened to be two nurses on board going out to Cairo, and these rendered invaluable help to the sufferer. His Highness the Maharajah of Jodhpur, too, expressed genuine concern for him, and before we quitted the boat at Port Said he slipped a ten-pound note into his hand, to help him during his convalescence.

By rights, on disembarking at Port Said, I ought to have proceeded to Alexandria, where I was to open under a contract previously entered into with Signor Dalbagni, the proprietor of the Jardin Rosette Music-hall there. But I decided that I should not be justified in quitting the sick man until I had seen him safely into the hospital at Cairo, and to that place accordingly I went.

Now Signor Dalbagni, besides owning the Jardin Rosette at Alexandria and another music-hall at Port Said, is also the proprietor of the Kursaal at Cairo, and as luck would have it he happened to be at the latter place when I arrived; so, having left the patient in good hands, and feeling relieved of my responsibility in that direction, I set off for the Kursaal to interview him. I was in somewhat of a quandary, for I had contracted to give a complete show with a full company at all three of his halls, beginning with the one at Alexandria, and now, of course, I was minus my contortionist, and how to get another in Egypt I had not the remotest idea.

Besides, it struck me as just possible that Signor Dalbagni might take advantage of my misfortune to try and dock me of part of my agreed remuneration, as the Germans and Austrians had done under somewhat similar circumstances, and this I had firmly made up my mind I was not going to put up with. It was, therefore, with somewhat mixed feelings that I presented myself before him. To say that he was surprised to see me is stating the case very mildly. “Good God!” he exclaimed. “Why, what are you doing here in Cairo? Didn’t you know that you are to open to-morrow night in Alexandria? The bills are up all over the city.”

I told him I knew that, but that I had to come to Cairo, and I explained the circumstances fully to him. “I shall have to do without the services of one of my men,” I said in conclusion, “but that need not necessarily affect my show adversely, and I shall expect the same money as if he were present. I came out here principally for a change, and for my health’s sake, as you know; and if there is going to be any question of docking me, I would rather pack up my traps and return to England by the next boat.”

“No! No, Mr. Carlton. I would not do a thing like that,” was his reply. “But,” he added, “cannot you find a substitute to take the sick man’s place?”

“Why, certainly!” I replied. “Nothing easier! I’ll set about engaging one at once, and communicate with you later on in the day.”

Now, I may remark right here that in saying this I was far from expressing my real feelings. In fact I was affecting a confidence I was far from experiencing. I had not the remotest idea whereabouts in Cairo I was going to engage a contortionist, nor had I, of course, any knowledge of the city, never having set foot in it before. But I had a knowledge of showmanship, and this I relied upon to stand me in good stead in the emergency.

The first thing I did was to go and get a drink—a good stiff brandy-and-soda. Then I put on my considering cap, and lit a cigar. As a result of my cogitations, I started to get into conversation with the barman; a likely-looking, well-set-up young fellow. He told me he was a Roumanian by birth, and that he had formerly travelled with a circus in India.

“You’re my man,” I exclaimed to myself.

Then, aloud to him: “Do you like the bar business?”

“No, I don’t,” he replied.

“Then why not chuck it,” I said, “and come with me? I’m in the show business. Will you?”

“What shall I have to do?” he asked.

“Oh, nothing much. Just come on the stage and pretend you’re mesmerised, fall off a chair, and simple things like that. I’ll explain it all in the train later on. What wages are you getting here?”

He mentioned a sum.

“I’ll pay you double that,” I said.

“All right,” he replied, “I’ll come.”

“Good!” I cried. “We start for Alexandria to-morrow morning at seven o’clock. Be sure and be at the station in time.”

“But,” he objected, somewhat taken aback at my precipitancy, “I can’t do that. I’ve got to give a week’s notice here.”

“Pay a week’s money in lieu of the notice,” I said. “I’ll give you five pounds right now if you’ll agree.”

“Right ho!” he cried, “I’m agreeable.” And I drew up the contract there and then in the bar, and he signed it. Then I went back to Signor Dalbagni, and told him that I had met and engaged an old acquaintance of mine, a circus performer just back from India, that he was twice as good a man as the other was, and that I had to pay him twice as big a salary (as a matter of fact it was about half), and so on, and so on.

Dalbagni was quite pleased, and so was I, although I had to lay awake pretty well all night rearranging my show in my own mind, and spend all day rehearsing him in the train on the journey up. However, everything went off all right even in Alexandria, and during the fifteen days we played there I was able to teach my new man a lot, so that he was fairly efficient when we opened at our next hall.

In fact I was greatly pleased with the success of the venture throughout, a success which was largely due to the patronage accorded me by our officers and soldiers. They were always in the jolliest spirits imaginable, and up to all sorts of larks. When performing at Cairo, for example, in the course of my patter I introduced an old gag of mine as follows: “Oh! Isn’t he marvellous? Let’s throw some money at him.”

This I did for three evenings running. On the fourth night, when I again repeated the words, a lot of young officers in the stalls suddenly started showering handfuls of small coins at me. I was rather taken aback, for although I have often used the gag before in all sorts of places, nobody up till then had ever taken me seriously. However, I thought that as they had thrown the money on the stage, I might as well have it; so directly the curtain rang down, I ran on, and gathered up all I could find, to the number of between two and three hundred pieces. I was quite pleased with myself, and grateful to the officers too; until I discovered that the coins were milliÈmes, the smallest piece of Egyptian money, and worth no more than about one-tenth of a penny apiece. Of course it was meant for a joke, and as such I took it. The coins were handy for distributing to beggars, of which there are a goodly assortment in Cairo.

There is no need for dustbins in Port Said. The pigs do all the scavenging, and very effectually. I remember that on one occasion, very late at night, or rather early in the morning, I was sitting on the verandah of my hotel, enjoying a final “peg” before turning in, when about fifty of these animals came trooping up the street. They rooted into every doorway, scurried up every close and alley, and out again, devouring every scrap of garbage.

This, I was told, was their regular nightly custom. There is nobody to mind them, but hunger makes them do their work thoroughly. The city is divided into districts, each with its own platoon of pigs, and no porker from one district dare trespass on the domain of its neighbours. Personally I am rather partial to pork, but I barred it as an article of diet during the remainder of my stay in Egypt.

Going to Cairo by train we passed the place where the Turks tried to get across the Suez Canal the previous February. The old trenches were still there. Our soldiers captured intact four of their pontoons, and these are now on view in the Zoological Gardens at Cairo. I went to look at them. They are beautifully made, of aluminium, and wonderfully strong and well finished. In them the Turkish invading army carried their water supply over the Desert of Sinai, and they afterwards used them, or attempted to used them, as boats, in order to bridge the Canal.

We stayed some time at Cairo, going about the different camps, and giving our entertainment. There were an enormous number of wounded here, some very bad cases, but all quite merry and bright. Sometimes we gave our performance in the hospital wards, and sometimes to the convalescents in the grounds, and everywhere our efforts to amuse met with the heartiest applause.

Going to Alexandria I was greatly struck by the wonderful system of irrigation. It is quite modern hereabouts, I was told, but the result is that what was barren sand a few years ago is now covered with cotton fields. The natives draw the water from the river by means of small screw pumps, which they keep incessantly turning by hand. The combined resultant noise is terrific, resembling a series of motor explosions magnified a million-fold.

At Alexandria were some 150 to 200 interned ships, big and little, that once flew the German or Austrian flags. It was a wonderful sight to see them all lying there in long serried lines, and gave one a fine idea of the all-powerfulness of the British Navy. We also saw here, for the first time, a number of Turkish prisoners. They were behind barbed wire playing tennis. I don’t exactly know why, but Turks at tennis struck me as being distinctly funny.

Alexandria was then the main base for the Dardanelles, and wounded men were everywhere about. We went the round of the various hospital camps, often performing in tents by candlelight, and walking across the desert in the dark in between whiles, challenged every few yards by armed sentries. It was rather a tiring, nerve-trying experience.

I forgot to say that while we were at Port Said we gave a special matinÉe to the convalescents in the Theatre Khedival. The house was packed from floor to roof, and most of the audience attended clad in pyjamas. It was amusing to see them walking through the main streets in this airy attire. As I was watching them a Greek came along with an ice-cream barrow, and I told him to dish out his creams to the pyjama-clad Tommies until I told him to stop. He cleared his stock in no time. I never realised till then what an appetite for ice-cream the British soldier can acquire in a hot climate, and when recovering from wounds.

Of course we went to have a look at the Pyramids, and with my usual luck I managed to lose my brand-new hat down a deep excavation there. However, it was retrieved by an Arab boy, who was lowered by a rope from above. A ticklish proceeding, but he didn’t seem to mind it a bit.

Arriving back at Port Said we found the Germanic there discharging. She was doing duty as an Australian trooper. Another little object-lesson in the silent might of our Navy. Near her was the P.&O. steamship Khyber, unloading five million rounds of ammunition for the Dardanelles operations. She had, I was told, another five million rounds on board, destined for Marseilles. All this was made in India by native labour.

We left Port Said on July 22nd, a day late owing to the time occupied in unloading the ammunition. On the way back we organised another charity entertainment, the proceeds this time being divided between the French Red Cross and the M.H.A.B. Fund. “Tipperary” was rendered, first in English, and then in French by two Parisian members of an opera troupe who were on board, and everybody enjoyed themselves hugely.

At Marseilles I left the ship and travelled overland to Boulogne. We were, of course, out of the war area proper, and nothing much out of the common happened, barring sundry delays and side-trackings, due to troop trains proceeding to the front. At Boulogne I had to have my passport visÉd for the last time; it was nearly filled up and covered now with signatures and seals. Also we had to submit to a very strict search, and any suspects, known as “special cases,” were taken aside and examined separately. The main object of these precautions was to prevent gold from being taken out of the country. No more than eight sovereigns, or the equivalent in French gold currency, was allowed to be taken by any one passenger; the balance had to be in paper money.

This, as I have already said, was in 1915. A year later, in the summer of 1916, I was again in France, this time for a stay of three months, during which time I was appearing at the Folies BergÈre, Revue, Olympia, and the Alhambra, Paris.

Contrary to what I had been led to expect, I found the city quite gay and the citizens leading practically a normal life; no restrictions as to lighting, treating, or anything of that sort, and all the time I was there I never saw a single searchlight.

This was all the stranger to me, because, of course, the war was very close. Just outside Paris, at St. Cloud, one could hear the guns quite plainly.

There were lots of French soldiers there, and a sprinkling of English ones as well. The “poilus” I found were rather jealous of our “Tommies,” chiefly because the latter were better fed and better paid. Seeing an aeroplane flying overhead, they would say: “There goes some more buttered toast and ham and eggs for Tommy’s breakfast.” From this it must not be inferred, however, that they bore us any ill-will.

From Paris I went to Madrid, where I was engaged to play at the Circo Parish for twenty nights. The return fares for myself and company, five people, amounted to £64, and the journey meant two full days and nights in the train.

On my arrival I found an ominously strong German element in the city, and a large amount of pro-German feeling prevalent. Germans and Spanish pro-Germans walked about everywhere sporting the Hun colours, but I did not see one British flag worn.

This perhaps ought to have warned me as to the reception I might expect to receive, especially as when I was dressing for my show I could hear the German artistes in adjoining dressing-rooms chewing their beloved gutturals. Some inkling of what was in store for me did, I admit, cross my mind just then. But I have ever been an optimist, and I started in at the Sunday matinÉe hoping for the best.

Hardly had I commenced my performance, however, when I got the “bird” properly. Not just the ordinary “bird,” but about three thousand people hissing, howling, shouting, shrieking, and stamping. I had never heard anything like it in my life before. The news had apparently got spread abroad that I was English, and the Germans, reinforced by the Spanish pro-Germans, had turned up in force.

Furthermore, the majority of the Spaniards apparently would not believe that my conjuring show was a burlesque one. Many of them thought I was fooling them. This does not speak highly for the Spanish sense of humour, and perhaps explains why the Spanish music-hall stage contains scarcely a single comedian.

Well, I did not like giving in easily, and I determined to go on again for the evening performance. But things were even worse then. The din was terrific. I could not hear myself speak. Nevertheless I went through my performance in what was practically dumb show, and when I came off I decided that my Spanish engagement was at an end. I accordingly asked the manager to release me, which he did, paying me one day’s salary only; and after three days’ sightseeing I returned to Paris, where I put in another engagement at the Alhambra, in order to fill in my time before returning to England.

When I was in Paris the celebrated Italian sculptor Sabati presented me with a splendid statuette of myself in my make-up. I had this copied in plaster of Paris and Mr. Reynolds, of the famous waxworks and museum in Liverpool, begged me to give him one for his show. Imagine my surprise when I walked into the waxworks next day to find myself in a glass case with a tablet underneath, “Carlton, the World’s Famous Comic Conjuror,” on my left being Charles Peace and on my right Crippen!

I did not find Madrid a particularly interesting city. The people there seem to me to be either very rich or very poor. There does not appear to be any middle class.

On the last day of my stay there I was sitting in the smoke-room of the Palace Hotel with a friend of mine who was running a company at the Teatro Princesca, when a messenger came that the King of Spain intended to be present that night. We immediately motored to the theatre, and found about fourscore of detectives there. There were eight or nine behind the scenes, a lot more up on the roof, others behind the royal box, and scattered about among the audience, while outside there was a regiment of soldiers stationed.

They told me that a bomb might be thrown at any moment, so I got on the opposite side of the theatre, as far away as possible from the box, where the King sat with his English wife, our Princess Ena. It was then that I reflected that, spite of all my troubles, I would rather be “Carlton” than the King of Spain.

And now, in conclusion, here are a few odd stories that I could not possibly work in anywhere else—as in all my tricks it will be seen that I take the public into my confidence. Here they are—the stories, I mean.

The majority of performers in this country live in “digs” or apartments. In America it is just the opposite, all travelling performers live in hotels. On the occasion of my last voyage back from the States there were a lot of American “pro.’s” coming over who were very anxious to know the ropes here. They were looking forward to cosy “digs,” with a comfortable sitting-room and a nice fire, instead of the artificial steam heat, so they asked me to tell them of some good rooms in London. I told them I knew some tip-top ones. They thanked me, and I wrote down the address in their book, “10, Downing Street.” When they arrived at Euston Station they got all their “props” on to a taxi and immediately went to the address I had given them. I have kept out of their way since, so exactly what happened I do not know, but I heard that they duly drove up and asked for apartments. I wonder whether Lloyd George was at home?

I was once in the smoke-room of a very fashionable hotel in the Provinces, where the sporting fraternity meet. The subject of conversation turned to running, and a smart Yank who was present, together with some of his compatriots, offered to bet £50 that he would run a mile in 4 minutes 20 seconds on the road. As the record is 4 minutes 22 seconds, he was promptly accommodated, and the money put up, the event to come off the following morning between two agreed mile posts on a straight road in the country. Everybody turned up with their cars and bicycles, and off he went, and he was some runner, believe me, for to the consternation and surprise of everybody, he did it in 4 minutes 19 seconds, thereby beating the world’s record. The money was promptly paid over and we never saw the Yank again, but I found out afterwards that he and his pals had gone out the night before in the dark and shifted one of the milestones about two hundred yards nearer to the other.

Dick Ford, an American comedian, was a great practical joker. He always took particular delight in annoying Irish policemen. I remember once in Kansas City he went up to an officer on point duty and asked him the hour about twenty times a day. The policeman stood it until Friday, and then, when he asked him for about the twenty-first time, “What is the time, officer?” the policeman hit him on the head with his club, and said, “It has just struck one,” adding, “and sure it’s a damned good thing it isn’t twelve!”

The public does not generally know that the manager of a provincial music-hall on the big tours is not really a manager at all. These “managers” do not even know what their programme is until it is sent through from the head office in London on Wednesday or Thursday in the previous week, neither do they know the salary of the artistes until they receive the salary list, generally on Friday mornings. But on Monday they watch the show, and have to report to the head office in Town what they think of the acts, and what they value them at; so when a certain manager of a music-hall in the Provinces came to me on the Monday morning during rehearsal, and said, “Hullo, Carlton. How are you? Now, let me see, what is your salary this week?” I replied, “I am only getting £150 this week, but of course it is a very old contract.” So, being—in his own estimation—a very clever chap, when he made his report out he valued my performance at £150 per week. He wanted to let those in Town know what a good judge he was, but when he paid me less than half on Saturday night, he told me they had written to him from the head office telling him what a rotten judge he was. He wanted to know what I meant by saying my salary was £150 a week. Of course, I said I was only joking. I have worked this many times, and it has not done me any harm.

I remember once the Manchester bookmaker, George Gunnup, coming to London to look after the box office for the late Dick Burge at The Ring, Blackfriars. He always used to rave about London cured fish, and told me one day in great confidence that he had found a shop down the New Cut where a pal of his smoked haddocks in real oak sawdust. They were marvellous, he said, and he promised me a bag of his pal’s fish to try. At this time he and his wife were staying with Marie Lloyd on her house-boat at Thames Ditton. One day he ’phoned up to my house at New Malden. I was away working four shows a night at the time at Poplar and Ilford. My wife’s mother—a dear old lady over eighty years of age—answered the telephone. He said he had a lovely bag of fish for me, and would she mind being on the platform at Malden station at twelve o’clock at night when he passed through in the train on his way to Thames Ditton? She of course was there—though she generally goes to bed at seven o’clock—waiting for the lovely bag of wonderful smoked haddocks. As the electric train drew in George Gunnup handed her the bag of fish with his compliments. Dick Burge, Sam Mayo, and a lot of the lads were in the same compartment. When she got home and opened the bag it contained a rabbit skin, a pair of old boots, and a couple of bananas. Of course George Gunnup did not know anything about it. He had bought the fish, and told them at The Ring that it was for Carlton. Dick Burge and Sam Mayo, I believe, rang the changes on me, but I, of course, was not there, so the joke fell flat. The old lady took it in good part, but George Gunnup never forgave Sam Mayo and Dick Burge.

I have now come to the end of my story. I hope you have been amused by these rambling recollections of a strolling player and trust that we shall meet again. You as my audience, and myself, as always, yours to entertain.

“Carlton”