STORIES

New Zealand Times, Volume L, Issue 11423, 20 January 1923, Page 12

STORIES

V for. ALL MOODS v

FAMOUS CLOWN’S STORIES Whimsical Walker, the famous clown, has followed the. prevailing fashion and written liis reminiscences. His readers will not be disappointed. He has “delivered the goods” a 6 surely as he did on the stage at Drury, Lane artd elsewhere. He is seventy-one, but it is not many months ago that we saw him in the sawdust ring in London having some delightful back-chat with the ringmaster, and now we have “From Sawdust to Windsor Castle” (Stanley Paul). THE VISITING CARD. Walker was performing in Leeds at the time when Charles Peace was awaiting his execution. After the performance, Walker was introduced to a friend of the circus proprietor, Mr Adams: “ ‘Who was that funny cuss who had 6ome fits and performed on the high stilts?’ asked the friend. Mr Adams, pointing to me, said that I was the individual. ‘l’m very pleased,’ was the rejoinder. ‘You made me laugh.’ “He handed me his card, which 1 didn’t bother about, as cards were often forced Upon me, but thrust it into my pocket. That night I stuck it with others on the mantelpiece in my Toom and went to bed. In the morning I looked at the card, and something like a shudder went over me when my eyes fell on the inscription: ‘Marwood, Exe. eutioner.’ That very morning he executed Peace.” THE PRACTICAL JOKER. Walker does not cast off the motley when he leaves the stage. A great practical joker himself, he tells the story of one who beat him at the game, a jester named Dan Leeson. He cut open a mackerel, filled it with gunpowder, 6ewed it up again, and gave it to his landlady to fry. “Leeson reached the limit in an outrageous prank he played in a Liverpool theatre. Stuffing a piece of haddock in one of the sound holes of the double bass, he awaited the outcome. It wasn’t long before the haddock showed signs of its presence. Its offence was rank and smelt to heaven. The orchestra became conscious of its vile odour, and complaints reached the manager, but, of course, the cause was not suspected. A manager doesn’t as a rule consider the feelings of the orchestra, and pooh-poohed their grumblings. It was a different matter when the haddock become more lively; the stallites sniffed, and whispers began to be current that something was wrong with the drains of the theatre. The sanitary inspector was called in, and an investigation was made. The flooring was torn up, pipes opened, hut .nothing resulted beyond a long hill, which the proprietor received with a long face. Gradually the decompositiou_jof the haddock was completed, and the" nuisance ceased. Many months afterwards the secret oozed out.” THE SCOTTISH LANDLADY. . “Here'is an ’ Hlustration of the strange notions which some Scottish landladies have of English tastes and customs,” writes Walker. “When fulfilling an engagement in a well-known Scottish city I went out for a stroll one afternoon and purchased some watercress, which I thought would form a fitting accompaniment to the cold ham which I was to have for tea. I sent the watercress by messenger to my lodgings, which were not far distant, and when I returned I was amused and astonished to find the landlady had decorated every small, vase in the room and the china ornaments on the mantelpiece with the watercress. She evidently imagined it was a kind of fern!*’ RESOURCEFUL. Walker gives an account of a remarkable encounter in New York with a seedy-looking man who succeeded in borrowing two and a half dollars of him outside Barnum’s Circus, promising to repay him after the performance : •‘ ‘The performance was a matinee, and some time after it was over I was leaving the show when I saw my friend the borrower, who was waiting for me. ‘Another loan,’ I thought, but no. He pulled out a handful of silver and proffered me five dollars in return for my two and a half. ‘How on earth did you get that money?’ said I. ‘Well, with your two and a half dollars I bought some soap and flour and had them made into pills right away. They were warranted to cure any ailment under the 6un, you bet,’ said he, with a wink. ‘When the crowd came out of the circus I pitched in a likely spot, did a bit of patter, and sold the pills like buttered doughnuts.’

“We parted, years went on, and while I was at Drury Lane I was told that someone ' wanted to see me. I went to the stage door and saw a welldressed man, frock-coat, silk hat, and all the rest of it.' ‘You don’t remember me, I guess?” said he. ‘Well, you once lent me two dollars and a. half in New York, and that gave me a start. I .am Sequah.’ So I suppose I may boast that in a way I laid the foundation stone of the quack doctor’s fortune.” A PORTHOLE STORY. What happened on embarking for America:— “In the March following I returned to America. I went down to Prince’s Pier and boarded the boat, with everyone wishing me bon voyage. It then ; occurred to me I’d do something funny to mark the occasion, so I went down to my stateroom, opened the porthole, and squeezed my bead through it, making grimaoes at my friends as the steamer was just going out of the Mersey. To my horror I could not get my head hack! I don’t know exactly what I thought, hut among otiier things was that I might have to die with my head through the porthole. Perhaps the boat would nave to be cut in half to get my head out. I shouted, the bedroom steward arrived, and with a spoon he got my ears down, and somehow I squeezed myself back into the world.” A DOG STORY.

Here is a tall dog story told him by an officer who took one of Walker’s animals away with him: — “One day in India, accompanied by tile dog, I wandered quite a long distance from the cantonment and got lost in the jungle. For seven or eight hours I searched in vain for an outlet; I was not only dismayed, hut as I had had no food for some time previously I was also starving. At length I came to a clearing, where I gathered together some brushwood and lighted a fire. Famished as I was, I was ravenous for food, so I called the faithful dog to my knee, cut off his tail, and ate the tail for supper. When I had finished I noticed the poor animal looking at me piteously—it was

also famished—so I gave the dog the bone to pick!’ ” IN OLD DRURY. Among \S alker's recollections of Drury Lane—the street, not the theatre —is the following: “I was on speaking terms with an undertaker there, and he once invited me into his shop and brought out a bottle of whisky. I sat myself down on something covered with black cloth, and we hobnobbed together in friendly fashion. The undertaker was an enthusiastic theatre-goer. He knew a host of ‘stars’ by sight, and had acquaintance with a few of the lesser lights. We talked theatrical ‘shop.’ and I happened to ask the undertaker if he knew what had become of a certain actor whom I mentioned by name. ‘Yee,’ said the man composedly. ‘you’re a-sitting on him now!’ I jumped from the black-covered something and hurried away, leaving my whisky behind me. It was some few minutes before I recovered from the shock.”—John o’ London's Weekly.