IN EGYPT IN WAR-TIME
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_”
SIXTH EDITION (10,000 COPIES) IN 15 DAYS.
CHILDREN OF THE DEAD END
THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A NAVVY. By PATRICK MACGILL, the new Writer whose
work is being compared with that of Rudyard Kipling and George Borrow.
Price 6/- net. Inland Postage, 5d. extra. Fifth Edition.
MANCHESTER GDN. “A grand book.”
GLOBE “A living story.”
STANDARD “A notable book.”
SATURDAY REVIEW “An achievement.”
BOOKMAN “Something unique.”
OUTLOOK “A Remarkable book.”
BYSTANDER “A human document.”
COUNTRY LIFE “A human document.”
TRUTH “Intensely interesting.”
EV. STANDARD “A thrilling achievement.”
D. TELEGRAPH “Will have a lasting value.”
PALL MALL GAZ. “Nothing can withstand it.”
SPHERE “The book has genius in it.”
ENGLISH REVIEW “A wonderful piece of work.”
GRAPHIC “An enthralling slice of life.”
ATHENÆUM “We welcome such books as this.”
HERBERT JENKINS, LTD., 3 York Street, St. James’s, S.W. 1.
FIFTH EDITION.
THE RAT-PIT
By PATRICK MACGILL, Author of “Children of the Dead End.” Crown 8vo,
6/-. Inland Postage 5d. extra.
_THE CRITICS SAY_:
NEW STATESMAN “A work of Art.”
ATHENÆUM “A powerful novel.”
TATLER “A wonderful writer.”
DAILY TELEGRAPH “A poignant piece of work.”
STANDARD “A book impossible to ignore....”
GLOBE “I would not have missed reading
it for much.”
NATION “The _Rat-Pit_ takes a place of its own in
contemporary literature.”
DAILY NEWS “It is a book like the _Rat-Pit_ which makes one so
impatient of the futility of the average novel.”
TRUTH “Norah Ryan is a real masterpiece. Dostoyevsky
might have created her. Mr. MACGILL has got
the real stuff in him. He will go far.”
HERBERT JENKINS, LTD., 3 York Street, St. James’s, S.W. 1.
THE GREAT PUSH
An Episode of the War by PATRICK MACGILL. Crown 8vo. 3/- net. Inland
Postage 6d. extra. 45th Thousand.
The London Irish distinguished themselves at Loos and Rifleman Patrick
MacGill was present during the whole operation. His story is a series
of vivid pictures of battle and the horrors left behind the charging
troops. Humour and tragedy go hand in hand in this latest work of
realism from the pen of the author of _Children of the Dead End_.
DAILY TELEGRAPH.--“The real thing.”
DAILY MAIL.--“It is a book to read.”
FIELD.--“This book is in its way unique.”
PUNCH.--“Nothing so absolutely absorbing and so awful as _The Great
Push_ has in the way of War literature crossed my path since August,
1914.... My advice to you, if War’s iron has not yet entered into your
soul, is to read this book at once. The rest had better read it too.”
HERBERT JENKINS, LTD., 3 York Street, St. James’s, S.W. 1.
THE AMATEUR ARMY
Experiences of a Soldier in the Making. By PATRICK MACGILL. Author of
“Children of the Dead End.” “The Rat-Pit.” With Portrait. Crown 8vo.
1/6 net. Inland Postage 3d. extra.
FIRST REVIEWS
PALL MALL GAZETTE. “An attractive little volume.”
GRAPHIC. “The author’s gripping style and Irish wit
make a most readable narrative.”
Mr. St. J. Adcock in “The best, vividest, and most entertaining
account I have read of the experiences of a
soldier in the making.”
DAILY TELEGRAPH. “Gives many vivid pictures of the incidents
and humours attending the transformation of
a citizen into a soldier.”
BYSTANDER. “His chapters are interesting and valuable
because you know they are true, and the
whole book is very well done.”
EVENING STANDARD. “Bristling with humour.... It is just the book
we should have expected from Mr. MacGill’s
easy mastery of realism.”
OBSERVER. “The man who gave us _Children of the Dead
End_ could hardly fail to interest us in a
life so strange.... It is continuously
interesting.”
GLOBE. “Mr. MacGill has a facile pen, and no little
humour ... this book will be of incalculable
use to the young and inexperienced soldier.
It will give him many a hearty laugh and
will introduce him to some finely-drawn camp
characters.”
HERBERT JENKINS, LTD., 3 York Street, St. James’s, S.W. 1.
Transcriber’s Notes
Punctuation, hyphenation, and spelling were made consistent when a
predominant preference was found in this book; otherwise they were not
changed.
Simple typographical errors were corrected; occasional unbalanced
quotation marks retained.
Ambiguous hyphens at the ends of lines were retained.
Page 133: “Pasedena” was printed that way.
Page 271: “nearly everybody made sure” was printed that way, with
“made”.