FEBRUARY 1910 sees me once more "on the road," once more with Jericho and once more with practically the same company. Cambridge was our starting point this time, and during the three days of our stay the "men" did everything in their power to give us a good time in every way. Plummer and I were again room-mates, and on our arrival found a note awaiting us, almost in the form of a Royal Command, to the effect that we were expected to dine with the writer, one MacCormick, a nephew of his, and a most excellent dinner it was too, conceived and executed in a lavish spirit, the sole note of parsimony struck being the restriction of choice in the matter of liqueurs to eight!

I had only once before been to Cambridge, some years ago, when my nephew, Rutland F. Cumberleye, was playing in the Varsity rugger team, when I had the same cheery welcome, but this was to be my first experience of play-acting to them, and a very pleasant one it proved. There was just a moment of wonder on my part as to whether our friendly relations were to be maintained in their integrity when the curtain went up on the Saturday night, discovering me at the piano prepared for song and story, and I was greeted by a stentorian voice from the stalls, proceeding, I believe, from Brown of Clare, asking: "How are you, old Sport?" I was much touched at this proof of a kindly anxiety as to my health tendered by an absolute stranger, and gratefully replied: "Very well indeed. How are you, young Blood?" – a little interchange of compliments which seemed to vastly amuse the rest of the audience. Whether this proved the signal for opening the floodgates of conversation, or whether it was the usual mode of procedure, I do not know, but there followed a stream of interrogations and remarks, during my stories, to all of which I replied, fortunately without losing the thread of my discourse, culminating in one of my auditors (who had evidently been present the evening before), on my commencing a certain story, very kindly and promptly announcing the point. I very sweetly recommended him to take a turn outside, as he had heard it, advice which was backed up by the rest of his confrères in the stalls, and this soiree conversationale then closed with honours easy.

This disposition to "rag" the performers has been, I am told, handed down as de rigeur from pre-historic days, and, if met in the good-humoured way in which it is meant, is quite an addition to the pleasure of the evening, but there have been cases where the artist has resented it, with disastrous results to the entire performance.

I addressed a letter to the editor of the Granta, on the subject, which was published on the following Saturday together with some sympathetic editorial remarks, and I heard later on a rumour to the effect that the "powers that be had seriously considered the advisability of putting the theatre out of bounds"; it has not been done, however, and would have been not only a serious mistake, but a great deprivation to undergraduates and play-actors anxious to make an exhaustive study of mutual characteristics.

Much depends upon the mood in which the victim of ragging may chance to be; there is naturally no time in which to think that personal remarks suddenly flung at you may be, in fact, generally are, the ebullition of youth and good-nature – in most cases that is – for there have been occasions when offence was meant and taken – and happy is he who, as in my instance, feels fit and well, recognises the procedure as the outcome of irresponsible frivolity, and is equal to the occasion; he is absolutely sure to command the sympathy and attention of the "raggers" for the remainder of the evening, but should anything have chanced to bring him to his work in a bad humour, and he indulge in the "retort discourteous," woe betide his possibility of a hearing!

After this amusing experience, I was curious to observe the behaviour of these light-hearted young bloods on leaving the theatre, and, as the part I was playing made its final exit in Act III., I was able to dress and patrol the opposite side of the street; I was at once struck with the fact that there were at least three sets of proctors and bull-dogs on duty, and pulling down my cap, and turning up the collar of my coat, I did my best to invite their attention by my suspicious loitering, but, to my great chagrin, to no purpose.

The crowd shortly streamed out of the theatre, and it was quite entertaining to watch lighted pipes being thrust into pockets and remnants of black cloth, simulating gowns, being assumed at sight of the authorities. I had the satisfaction of seeing one uproarious young gentleman proctorised, but his was not a case of too much theatre, as he came from the opposite direction, and was too elaborately dignified to attempt escape, and so robbed me of the treat I desired, that of seeing the bull-dogs give chase.

The number of tea-parties we crowded into the three days, as well as the cakes we were expected to demolish at each, was something astounding, and enabled one to realise why the permission given to all pastrycooks' assistants to eat as much as they like, is not so recklessly extravagant or hospitable as it sounds.

From Cambridge to Hastings we travelled in very roundabout manner through some six or seven counties in order not to leave a certain railway system which had promised us in return to furnish a special train some three weeks later on to enable us to catch a boat for Ireland after working on the Saturday night; this was reasonable enough, but as it had already been settled that we should not travel by that particular boat, and therefore not need the special train, the circuitous route was a superfluity of consideration.

What a totally different aspect such intensely "summer" towns as Hastings present in the winter! – nowhere to go, nothing to do, and very little to see, with the exception of a professor who made a shivery dive from the pier-head twice daily.

We were busy rehearsing one morning when two ladies came to inspect the seats they wished to book in the balcony; they took no notice of the company on the stage and discussed the matter of their seats at the tops of their voices until I remarked: "I do hope we are not disturbing you?" when they discovered us and fled, I fear without booking seats at all.

There was a most cosy little café here, run by two ladies and their mother, with whom I made great friends, and when the afternoon-tea customers had all departed we gathered round the fire and the dear old lady gave me her impression of Savoy operas, all of which she had seen and loved; to have been a Savoyard seems a universal passport to the esteem and consideration of Savoy devotees, and is by no means to be despised as a recommendation to their unvarying hospitality.

To Worthing on St Valentine's Day, where, having an Early Victorian desire to send one away I ransacked the town to find it, but without success. In my younger days I remember how we boys used to save up our pocket-money for weeks in order to buy expensive rubbish to send to our "loves"; and it was also useful as a declaration of a passion which might not hitherto have been suspected, and affords an indication of Early Victorian simplicity which would seem to have vanished with the pretty fashion itself. The modern youth has other ways of expressing devotion, and more often than not expects the "present" to come from the opposite direction. Another point of contrast may be noted between "then and now" in that while, in those days, we felt ourselves honoured in the proud possession of "a love," the modern swain is to be frequently heard alluding to his "best girl," an expression which bears the prima facie indication of a host of aspirants to the honour of his notice, a complete reversal of the customs of chivalry of which we need not feel inordinately proud.

Max O'Rell has written exhaustively and delightfully on this subject and it might not be an unprofitable procedure to include his essays in the curriculum of schools for the youth of both sexes.

I found several relations and many friends in Worthing who deplored the fact that, it being Lent, they were unable to give themselves the pleasure of going to the theatre. This struck me as most edifying behaviour, but my admiration of their sense of duty was rather chilled on finding out by judicious questioning that they were not prepared to forgo the pleasures of bridge and rinking. When I ventured to ask for an explanation of the difference, an argument ensued which ended in my rescuing a cousin from the fold of intolerance and providing him, at his own expense, with a pleasant evening in the proscribed area.

We were to suffer much more severely from the strict observance of Lent a little later on in Ireland, but that this is so is a fact so widely known and appreciated that it becomes your own fault if you court disaster by going there during this period. We, however, did so, and met with the same inconsistency as obtains in England, exemplified by the holding of a Point-to-Point race-meeting at which the whole countryside was present, priests included.

By way of breaking the journey from Worthing to Cork, we put in a week at Derby, another town which I had never previously visited, where our stay was considerably cheered by the hospitality of the officers of the Sherwood Foresters, at the depot. To one of them, by name Stackhouse, I was indebted for a charming excursion by motor car to Repton School, a stroll round the precincts of which made me long for my reincarnation as a schoolboy in residence, the sentiment being intensified by the reception of a cheery nod of salutation from "The Head," an old cricket opponent.

From Derby to Cork, starting on a Sunday morning, is a journey offering a great variety of scenes, expressions, pleasures and pains; occupying as it did from nine-thirty A.M. on Sunday until three-thirty P. M. on the Monday.

One of the bright spots was the excellent dinner provided by the management while waiting two hours for the boat at Holyhead, which we enjoyed in blissful ignorance of the rising wind which was shortly to make some of us feel we never wished to eat again.

The majority of us were so thankful to get into a train again at Kingstown that we followed a total stranger who resembled our manager, and having bestowed all our personal hand-luggage about the carriage, and ourselves in comfortable corners, were snatching a fitful dose when we arrived at Kingsbridge, where the ticket-collector drew our attention to the fact that we had commandeered a first saloon in place of the third-class we were entitled to, and insisted on our changing. This we absolutely refused to do until breakfast had been served; and we had our way, and our breakfast (some of us), and travelled in comfort to Limerick Junction, where we did have to move, to change, but as our belongings were too numerous to move in the time allowed for stopping they were permitted to remain where they were, thus furnishing the Irish situation of the luggage travelling first class, and the owners thereof third.

I was told that I should find the Irish theatrical landladies most genial and obliging, and so indeed they are, but unless my experiences were unfortunate I should say that a great part of their geniality is assumed for the purpose of concealing shortcomings in the necessities, not to say luxuries, of life and, incidentally, to prevent austere inquiries into the cleanliness, or otherwise, of their rooms and belongings.

Our landlady in Cork was an example, for when, having spilt a jugful of hot water on the floor of my bedroom, necessitating a great deal of mopping up, I told her I had no idea how pretty the pattern of the oilcloth was, she was offended almost beyond pacification, and for two days went about looking like a terrier who has been discarded for a pom, until I set matters right by an audaciously inspired encomium on her cooking. I only did this under protest, Plummer begging me to do so because "she really had a sweet nature"! The morning bath never furnished more than sufficient hot water for one, and a music-hall star, who was also staying in the house and had found this out, used to be called at seven to bathe and go back to bed, as Plummer declared, on purpose to annoy us. The landlady said the majority of her lodgers took their morning bath during the afternoon, but, in cross-examination, we elicited the fact that the afternoon was the time they selected for breakfast.

The members of the Cork City Club would be very bad to beat for hospitality anywhere, I fancy; there were luncheons and supper-parties galore, and one would-be host suggested a breakfast-party, but seven-thirty was too early for us.

We found auction bridge in full swing here, and Browning, as the author of a book on the subject, was reputed as a shining light, some of the glory of which refracted on me, but I rather dented my halo by playing as "no trumps" a hand in which I had been left with the call of "two hearts"; the truth being that, at the next table to ours, five men were engaged in a game which seemed to demand loud shouting, and peals of laughter, called I believe "Spoilfive."

One of our "principal hosts" – and very well he played the part – named Wallis, very kindly drove me out to Carrignavar for my first experience of a Point-to-Point meeting in Ireland, where I met more charming people, including the officers of the Royal Welsh Fusiliers, who held the meeting, and fortified the refreshment tent to stand the hospitable siege of all comers. I do not remember ever before meeting at one time so many present and ex-M.F.H.'s, and the whole thing went with a swing and evident enjoyment of the sport which was most refreshing.

Tips abounded of course, and I had a bet on the race, but failed to find a winner, but Plummer, who was unable to come out, had commissioned me to back the favourite in the second race for half-a-sovereign for him, which I entirely forgot to do; it won, and of course I had to pay, but, fortunately, it was only an even-money chance so did not make matters much worse, especially after deducting my winning commission.

My friend Wallis had great hopes of winning the open race with a horse of his, called Good Settler, but about three fences from home, when he looked to have quite a good winning chance, he suddenly awoke to the meaning of his name, and proceeded to illustrate it in the bog, leaving us to our share of the responsibility with the bookmakers.

That horses are very human, and understand more than some of us imagine, was proved to me in another instance when in Dublin; there was a theatrical company which included among its members a horse, which was being boxed for Cork, wearing the most indignant expression imaginable, and on inquiry I found that the railway company had demanded a fee of sixpence per mile for his conveyance; this appearing to a manager excessive, he had appealed in vain for a reduction of the charge, but a solution of the difficulty was found in booking him at a cheaper rate as "fish," a definition of horseflesh which he evidently very strongly resented.

I had a good story from Major Lynch, for the truth of which he and others vouched, apropos of one of the illegal race-meetings which used to be so popular over here. A man was out with the hounds and took a toss, pursued his loose horse for some two miles, and finally arrived at one of the said meetings, to find that his horse had been caught, christened, entered for a race which was just about to start, and for which he was a hot favourite; his "owner" was up, racing colours and all, and only relinquished his mount on payment of ten shillings, the real owner even then having a narrow escape of being roughly handled by the crowd, which saw itself done out of a supposedly "good thing"!

He was also responsible for a version, which was new to me, of the definition of an Irish "bull" given by a peasant who was asked for his idea, and after much thought evolved the following:– "Well, sorr, av ye go into a meadow where there's fourteen cows lyin' down, an' one av thim cows is shstandin' up – that cow'll be the bull!"

We had persuaded one of the ladies of our company to form a menage à trois with us in Cork – I need hardly say of a perfectly harmless character, or I should certainly not have alluded to it – subject to a week's notice on her part when she considered it desirable to terminate the contract, and it was an inestimable boon to Plummer and myself to have such a charming mess-president and supervisor of general comforts. Her presence was also an admirable corrective to the almost inevitable slackness of good manners which assails the touring actor who perforce must live a self-centred existence, and when, in addition, the C. O. proves herself such an absolute bon camarade as did ours, her beneficent influence can hardly be over-estimated. That the situation may, however, be productive of some bewilderment to strangers was brought to our notice in Dublin, where a severe attack of tonsillitis necessitated the calling in of a doctor; being "next for duty" I fetched him, and after his interview he returned to make his report. Plummer and I were at breakfast, and when he alluded to the patient as my wife, I of course undeceived him, whereupon he at once spoke of her as Mrs Plummer; being once more undeceived, he hardly seemed to know what to make of it, but he did not throw up his brief, and later on complimented both of us on our qualities as hospital nurses, which commendation we were proud to have endorsed by the patient.

He was discussing "throats" of all kinds with me one day and I told him a true story of a lady of my acquaintance who had a peculiar kind of flat-footed, shuffling walk which I found very difficult to keep step with; I ventured one day to ask her the reason of it and her answer struck me as most amusing, being that "she had had a bad attack of diphtheria when a child." Never having heard of diphtheria in the feet I expected the doctor to laugh as heartily as I had, but the humour failed to strike him, and he waited, with that disconcerting expression that seems to say "Well?" and I was forced to say "That's all," and laugh myself, but all undaunted I tried him again, this time with some success, with the story of the old lady who asked the policeman, "Where will I get the tram for Blackrock, sorr?" and received for answer, "If ye stay where ye are, ma'am, ye'll get it in the small of yer back!"

I had a somewhat Irish criticism in one of the influential Dublin journals on my "entertainment," which it described as "not in any way brilliant, but perhaps serves its purpose, as being only meant to be a trifle."

The mention of "trifle" recalls a most delightful supper-party given us by Mrs Gunn, the widow of my old friend, and D'Oyly Carte's partner, Michael Gunn, who has not long since retired from .the active management of the Dublin theatre, which she took over on her husband's death. Among other delicacies she produced a bottle of very ancient liqueur called Trappistine (her husband's cellar was famous among his friends), which we found appealed to us very strongly indeed. Mrs Gunn asked if I would carry a bottle of it to my wife, with her love, which I was naturally pleased to do, but never did present run so many risks of not reaching its destination as did that bottle. I could not get home for some weeks, and every Sunday I unpacked on arrival it stared me in the face and asked me to uncork it, which I certainly should have done but for Plummer's stern sense of honesty and firmly expressed intention not to touch a drop of it if I did; it eventually got safely home and was not appreciated!

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