Through Doss-House to Fame

Star (Christchurch), Issue 17782, 27 February 1926, Page 17

Through Doss-House to Fame

Stirring Adventures of W. H. Davies, Tramp and Poet.

TO .face ilie lean spectre of dreadful uncertainly every year, to live on something less than,eight shillings a week, to stint and sometimes nearly starve in order to huv books, and finally to pass through the doss-house to fame is a record given to few. Such a record belongs to a man who now subdues his wanderlust as much as possible and lives quietly contented in a little country town with a wife, Beauty Roy, his dog, and his books. He is -W. H. Davies, the supertramp poet, a genius whose life has been filled to the brim with a strange mixture of tragedy, suffering, happiness and success. This poet of joy has often lived in the valley of the shadows; but everywhere he has seen a glamour—in the meanest streets of the world, in the cheapest hostels, and in the houses of the great where his thorny path ultimately led him. Again and again fate thrust him down, lured him on with false hopes, traded on his fierce independence, but always he fought on, and now he has added another book to his successes—"JLater Day's" (Jonathan Cape). A Leap in the Dark. What Davies docs not know about the dregs of humanity could be written on a threepenny bit. The wanderlust and a self-confessed distaste of regular jobs have taught him more than the finest Varsity, have given him amazing independence and courage. Though, behind it all, he is as shy as a mouse. Back and forth across the Atlantic he has worked his way. It was in Ottawa where he lost a leg with no more fuss than a lizard loses its tail, lie -was trying to “beat his way" on a train, which means that he was trying to travel free in spite of the law that instituted tickets. The train had started, the supertramp's companion had already made a leap for it in the darkness. Davies followed, but his companion accidentally impeded him, and he half ran and was half dragged by' the rapidly-moving train Then he fell and lay for several minutes, “feeling,” he says, “a little shaken." He did not know what had happened until he attempted to stand and found that something prevented him from doing so. He had lost a foot. Help came presently,- and he was taken to the waiting-room to await a doctor. “I could see no other way of keeping a calm face before such a number of eyes,” he say's, “than by taking out my r pipe and smoking.” An amputation to the knee followed. In his wanderings he often found

that there was no honour among thieves. Fame, too, he found among | his fellow tramps; fame as tramps. Their names were picturesquely descriptive, among them being Gambling Fred, Red-Nosed Scotty, Boozy Bob, Never Sweat, The Snob and Drunken Dave! A Holiday in Prison. They all knew -where the best prisons were; and one of our supertramp’s humorous interludes concerns a town where the prisoners judged themselves. On this occasion one of Davies’s travelling partners put him up to an almost Gilbertian trick. They were in a small town in Michigan which had “an exceedingly pleasant jail.” Here Davies, Brum and Australian Red —three of the most expert tramps alive —interviewed the marshal and, according to custom, arranged to be arrested. The arrest was made and the men were taken to the sheriff’s house adjoining the jail. That gentleman received them with open arms, saying: “Welcome, boys—you want thirty days, and thirty days you shall have, no more or less; and you will be none the worse for it, I promise you, at the j end of the month! ” j As Davies tramped other lands, so he tramped England, writing and begging and singing. He joined one poor wretch who gave him advice on the art of singing in the street. “First of all.” he said, “you sing in too lusty a voice, as though you were well fed and in good health. Secondly, you are in too much of a hurry \to move on. . . . Try to sing in a weaker voice; dra\V out the easy low notes to a greater length, and cut the high notes short as though you had spasms in the side.” The “down-and-outs,” says our supertramp, are often sought and found as heirs to fortunes bv people who had no power to will otherwise or people whom death has taken suddenly. Then picture to yourself the excitement that reigned one morning when -a cab drove up to a beer-house, which was also a tramp’s lodging-house, and a “welldressed gentleman” inquired politely for a man named James Macquire. Hero of the Hour. Macquire was found and questioned. ! He agreed that he knew something - of a Mr Frederick Macquire, of Doggery Hall, and reluctantly gave the information that Mr Frederick was his ; uncle. He was told that he had been advertised for as next-of-kin. The landlord overheard all this, and when the visitor had shaken hands with the ragged man, the ill-clad one went to the bar. The landlord invited him to drink. The landlord lent him money, and was told that for what-

ever I receive from you, you shall have a receipt, and, although mothing is said about interest, the amount owing will be doubled, aye trebled; you may rest assured of that, for I never forget a kindness.” Poor lodgers were asked to drink Macquire\s health—free! It so happened. too, that at this time, two stonemasons decided to quit work and draw their money—a resolution that pleased Macquire, who confidently announced: — “Before your money is spent I shall have a couple of hundred pounds at my disposal.” The Heir Who Disappeared. An orgy of drinking followed—on the stonemasons’ money. Macquire, indeed, tested the generosity of all his companions. He intended not to forget them when he came into his estate. “What a fine fellow he is!” exclaimed one stonemason, next morning. “He has promised me and my p a l ” And he mentioned the rewards they were to receive for their kindnesses to the heir. A letter came addressed to James Macquire, Esq. It was from a lawyer, apparently, and was shown to the landlord, who lent more money and a best suit, for there was an appointment for Macquire to keep at the solicitor’s office. The landlord pointed out that his tenant could not go in rags. “How much am I in your debt.'' asked Macquire, finally. “Oh. about three pounds," came the answer. “We will •call it fifty pounds,” cried Macquire, and left the house followed by the faithful stone masons. But Macquire lost them in the market place and they returned to the bar to await him. They might have waited to this day, for Macquire never came back! Success at Last. In London the tramp-poet lived in various hostelries, including the Farmhouse at KeMnington. where single men can have a night’s lodging for sixpence at most. Sometimes he sold laces, buttons and other small things—or tried to sell them! And he saved what money he could get together to have his poems * printed—poems which for a long time nobody would buy. Then, at last, fame came to him. 1 He saw the golden ladder leading to the pinnacle of success, and in his recently published book he tells of his life after he had won recognition. He tells how he met famous people when he read poems at their houses for charity. Yet, all the while, he was still a shy man, so shy that on one occasion, instead of going into a certain big house where he was expected, he retreated and wrote an apology saying that he had lost his way.