THE MOST EXCLUSIVE DINNER IN LONDON.

Marlborough Express, Volume XLII, Issue 119, 21 May 1908, Page 6

THE MOST EXCLUSIVE DINNER IN LONDON.

WITH THE GUARD AT THE BANK OF ENGLAND.

On a day in June, 1780, a furious mob attacked the Bank of England in London. Fortunately for the country's credit, they did not manage to get inside the,great one-storied building so well-known to-day. For the matter of that, though, it has been altered a good deal in size and shape since that portentous day, and now, chiefly of Mr John Soane's design, it stands covering completely, grim and austere, an area of four acres, including a whole city parish. This attack by the mob upon the Bank of England had two immediate results. One was that Lord George Gordon died of jail fever at Newgate Prison, and the other that from that time a substantial guard of soldiers has been kept in the Bank every night of the year. This guard enters the Bank at five in the afternoon, and remains there for twelve hours. It has( one officer, and, unless'he have a guest, he dines alone at eight o'clock, in solitary and melancholy state in a, dim ma T hogany chamber. To sit at table with him is a peculiar privilege. Money or patronage will take Londoners in their hundreds nightly to the most famous and exclusive restaurants the world knows." At the Bank of England you can never meet more than one fellow-guest, and that one of necessity a man; More often you are the only friend of your host, while still more often the officer sits alone, bored and bad-tempered. Not long ago I met during the day an old friend of mine, a subaltern in the particular regiment of the 'Brigade of Guards then stationed at Wellington Barracks. We lunched together, and^before parting he beggedme to dine with him.

"Delighted. Where?" "At the Bank of England. Eight o'clock sharp. Main entrance. Don't be late. Good-bye." . I left him astonished but resolute. Then I remembered all about the guard at the Bank of England, and was pleased about my. invitation. I dressed myself carefully, and at about 7.50 gbt into a cab by the Temple. The driver, I could see, thought me mad when I asked him to take me to the Bank of England. The City was utterly deserted and there were only the omnibuses plying the streets between the West End and Liverpool Street. The man waited to see what would happen after I had paid him. I turned my back on him, however, and we have never met since. I knocked at the door opposite the Mansion House, and a policeman sidled up. He stood by to see that nothing was wrong. It was

DREADFULLY QUIET AND DARK, for the 900 clerks usually employed by the little old Lady of Threadneedle Street were all away home in the suburbs, eating their dinners with their wives and families. ' .

Presently I could faintly distinguish a clank of arms, and the door was suddenly opened for me to pass in. The policeman glided away to continue his lonely beat. I think it was a Bank servant in uniform who opened to me, but I forgot him instantly in the presence of an enormous Guardsman, who, with his bearskin, must have been close on seven feet in height. He appeared to my diminished ■ importance more like a building than a man. I explained my business—that I was dining with the officer of the guard. In response he silently piloted^me through dark and devious w_ays and across a courtyard, Italian in design, with things that looked like orange trees in tubs around.. It was very dark, and I have,since been into the Bank during the day without recognising the route I took. Soon another door was opened, and I was in- a little hall. A blaze of light came out from a beautifully" old room, panelled and furnished

entirely in dark mahogany. In it a table was laid for two, with snowy napery and fine old silver. My friend came out with the blaze of light and greeted me warmly. He was apparently already lonely. His bearskin and tunic lay on a chair, and he was clad in his uniform trousers and pyjama jacket. During dinner, which was very plain but very good, we were waited upon by an ancient and~ discreet servant with a pink face and white sideboard whiskers. It was the most comfortable dinner I have ever eaten. Not a sound from the world came to us. We might have been in the midst of a pi-airie. My friend explained all sorts of things' to me as we sipped a fine claret and finished off with a beautiful Bank porti • THE GUARD consisted of twenty men with subaltern, sergeant and corporal furnished by whatever . regiment of Guards happens for the time being to be at Wellington Barracks. Every night they march down Brigade Walk, arriving there at five o'clock. The twenty men furnish six sentry posts about the building, thus allowing four hours on for each man and eight off, for the guard leaves again at five in the morning. The officer has a comfortable bedroom leading off the din-ing-room, and a well-fitted bathroom. By his bedside are two electric Wills; one communicating with the sergeant of the guard and one with the corporal. The guard room is somewhere away in the dim darkness of the huge place. The men receive a shilling a piece extra pay for their night's work. The corporal! gets half a crown, and the sergeant1' five shillings.; The subaltern's emolument is a guinea, Which he never handles; for by the etiquette of the Brigade it is paid straight away to the funds of tKe Guards Home. He may invite two■''male' guests to share his solitude, and they must be clear of the Bank premises by 11 o'clock. The only excitement is when your host leaves you before nine to inspect the posts. He grumblingly puts on his tunic and bearskin, and you are alone foj- a little while in that quiet place to ponder upon the fate of that brilliant and unhappy young man, Lord George Gordon, cause of all the bother. Then he returns, and the whiskered servant shortly enters laying by his side on the table a blue sheet of paper and a blue envelope, with pen and ink. You look discreetly round the room while your host fills in the blue paper. Then a clanking without and the sergeant of the Guard, magnificent in his great bear T skin ,enters. Saluting, he stands, heels together, by the left hand of his superior. He is offered a glass of port, and drinks it with silent satisfaction. Taking the blue envelope in hand he disappears, and you are alone again till eleven, when you are turned out into the quiet streets-^ An impressive evening if a strange one. A splendid bit of mumming if unnecessary to-day.--L.P.