This version attempts to mimic Datas' book. The paging and text follows
the book's layout as far as possible.
CHAPTER XI
ANECDOTES IN LIGHTER VEIN
ONE morning, very, very early, so early in fact
that the misty dawn still hung like a veil over
the piles of fruit and vegetables, dear old Arthur
Roberts and I found ourselves in Covent Garden
----I say "found" for heaven alone knows how we
got there. Dimly before us swam the figures of
two Garden porters----both one-armed men !
Inspiration never forsook Arthur Roberts, even
at such an hour.
"Watch me!" he said, and picked up a rotten
cabbage. He poised it a moment and then threw
it. It landed with a squelch right in the back of
the leading man. The one behind him burst into
a roar of laughter.
Then they started. The first one went for the
second one hammer and tongs, and the battle
raged over the cabbages, among the potatoes,
and in and out of the barrows and sacks. Some-
times they were down and sometimes up. First
191
192 DATAS: THE MEMORY MAN
one was on top and then the other, getting the
advantage, would thrust his knee in the pit of his
adversary's stomach, and take the upper "berth".
It was the funniest fight I have ever seen, and
the language with which it was accompanied
froze upon the chill morning air. At last they sat
back upon the cobbles, thoroughly exhausted in
body but their tongues still waging the combat.
Arthur then stepped up, and putting out his
hand like a parson, murmured :
"Desist, my brethren ! Desist ! It was I who
threw that cabbage." Then in a brisk voice :
"And here's a quid apiece for putting up such a
good scrap. I always wanted to see two one-
armed men fight. Now come and have a drink !"
We all had one together----no closing hours
then----and after that the two porters regularly
staged "fights" when they thought the audience
looked like being sufficiently appreciative.
Once when I appeared at the Old Paragon,
now the Empire, in the Mile End Road, some
slightly disconcerting questions were put to me.
The house was packed with Jews, many of whom
were in the old clothes trade, so, much as I like
Jews, I hesitated a second when someone asked
me:
"What year did the first Jew go into business
as an old clothes dealer ?"
MR. ARTHUR ROBERTS (Photograph)
ANECDOTES IN LIGHTER VEIN 193
"In 1727 B.C., when Joseph's brethren ex-
changed his coat of many colours," I replied. It
was the only possible answer, thought of on the
spur of the moment, and it "got" them. They
roared.
"Why was Joseph cast into the pit ?" came the
next question.
"Because there was no room in the gallery, and
the chucker-out got busy," I replied. After that
I was safe from any hurt feelings, no matter
how many questions were asked about the
Jews.
Still I had an even more embarrassing half-
hour once at Coblance in 1919, when I appeared
before a packed audience of American soldiers.
America had only been in the war a few months,
and most Englishmen were a little sore at the
way in which she had jumped in at the last
minute after profiteering out of it for so many
years. I was one of them.
One American soldier jumped up and asked
me to name all the stars and stripes and the
States they represented. I did so.
"Is that the lot ?" he demanded truculently.
"No," I replied a little nettled. "One star is
misssing----the Mons Star!"
That answer did not go too well as you may
imagine, but its effect was redeemed a little when
194 DATAS: THE MEMORY MAN
a very brisk-looking ex-clerk from Chicago
demanded: "When was beef the highest ?"
"When the cow jumped over the moon," I an-
swered. This calmed the audience a little, but
the effect was spoiled by the man who asked:
"Who won the war?"
I could not resist it: "The American
Y.M.C.A.," I replied.
That "spilt the beans" with a vengeance, but
the storm was calmed a bit by an old Cambridge
man who said:
"I'll give you one: Which is the wettest race-
course in England ?"
"Putney to Mortlake," I replied.
"What was Adam and Eve's telephone num-
ber?" he asked.
"281 Apple," I replied.
"Who is the only man to whom the King must
take off his hat ?" he countered.
"The barber," I answered, and then he almost
stumped me with a little-known question :
"When did Charlie Peace win the light-weight
championship of the Chinese Navy?"
"His real name was John Ward, I replied.
"He was a picture-frame maker by trade, and
he was in the last batch of convicts to be trans-
ported to Botany Bay in 1854. He was sent to
Gibraltar in 1886 to work on the fortifications,
ANECDOTES IN LIGHTER VEIN 195
and while he was there a Chinese ship was
brought into the harbour accused of having
opium and other contraband on board. The
crew were placed under arrest, but suddenly a
dozen of them made a bolt for it. An officer
shouted: `Stop them !'
"Charlie Peace, who was working by the road,
leaped forward, knocked six or eight of them
down with his shovel and his fists, and killed
some of them, among them Ah Fong Long, of
Hong Kong, the light-weight champion of the
Chinese Navy. Peace was pardoned for this,
released, and made a warder, but he returned to
London and lived at Evelina Road, Nunhead,
after which he murdered Mr. Dyson at Banner
Cross, Sheffield, and was caught by Police Con-
stable Robinson, No. 202, R Division Metro-
politan Police, Blackheath, at Gifford House,
St. John's Park, Blackheath, on October 9th
1878.
"On the way to Leeds Assizes he jumped out
of the train at Shireoaks, on the borders of
Nottinghamshire, and rolled down the embank-
ment, but was caught and taken to Leeds, where
he was hanged at Armley Gaol on February 20th,
1879. He took No. 5 in boots, and Marwood
was the executioner."
This lengthy and detailed answer, which I
196 DATAS: THE MEMORY MAN
have, in fact, condensed, rather flabbergasted
my questioner.
In 1902, the same year in which I met Crip-
pen, I was introduced to Marie Lloyd, and began
a friendship which lasted till her death. She was
the most generous, noble-hearted woman I have
known. I doubt if the full story of her charity
and sympathy will ever be told, for she did good
by stealth. That she gave away practically all
she earned is well known, especially to down
and out professionals, and she could never resist
children.
At the same time she had a hot temper, as the
German conductor, who had been rude to her,
found to his sorrow when she pulled up her
sleeves and went for him. That was at Hull in
1904. I pity him if she had really got going, but
some of us who were standing in the wings inter-
vened and pulled them apart. She made him
apologise, however, and then they made it up
over a bottle of champagne which she sent out
for.
Then it came to her knowledge that George
Ware, her old agent, was ill and in poverty, so
she didn't rest until she had found him, paid the
rent of his lodgings in Kennington Road and
given him enough money to keep him in comfort
while he looked for work.
ANECDOTES IN LIGHTER VEIN 197
There were a good many London cabmen who
refused to take the fare from her. They con-
sidered it an honour to drive her.
Another genial soul whom we all loved-
although he had a puckish wit----was Dan Leno.
One's friendship with him was full of surprises
and practical jokes. Once when we met he held
out his hand and cried cheerily :
"Hello; Datas, laddie, give us your fin and
come and have one !"
I gripped his hand----and found it held a rotten
egg!
Dan's real name was George Galvin, and he
was born where the Palace Theatre now stands,
on December 21st, 1861. He first appeared at
the age of six at the old Cosmatheca Theatre in
Carlisle Street, off Edgware Road, where he
wore a pair of his mother's red silk stockings as
tights.
He, like Marie Lloyd, was amazingly generous,
with a generosity which seems to be unknown
nowadays, and often in the evening at the Palace
he would send his man out to the stage door dur-
ing the intervals to see if there were any down
and out "pros" hanging about. They never went
away empty-handed.
Once I met him in Peckham High Street, out-
side a poulterer's shop, where dozens of eggs
198 DATAS: THE MEMORY MAN
were displayed. He looked at them and sud-
denly exclaimed: "I'll lay you a fiver that I can
put a hundred of those eggs into a sack and
ride a hundred yards with them on my back on
a bicycle, and not break one."
The bet was taken. He walked up to the shop-
man, had a hundred eggs put carefully into a
sack, borrowed a messenger boy's bicycle and
solemnly rode a hundred yards down the street.
Not an egg was broken when he got down !
He collected the money while a crowd of
down and outs who had gathered round looked
on. Impulsively he turned to them and said:
"Here you are. Share it out among yourselves.
John Corlett, a very king of Bohemia in the
good old Edwardian days, was another amusing
and intensely human character. Genial, jovial,
and immensely wealthy, he was the owner and
editor of the "Pink 'Un", and one of the most
famous men in the sporting crowd of that day.
Often I have known him come up to the Palace
Theatre, ask me all the names of the Derby
winners since 1800, stand me a couple of drinks,
and then go into Shaftesbury Avenue, walk to
the head of a long line of hansom cabs, get in the
first, and order all the rest to follow him !
Off he would go like a grand duke in his white
hat, grey frock coat, spotless cravat and horse-
MARIE LLOYD (Photograph)
ANECDOTES IN LIGHTER VEIN 199
shoe pin, followed by twenty or twenty-five han-
soms, solemnly tooting along in a long string
behind. He would stop at every public-house
between St. Martin's Lane and Northumberland
Avenue, have a drink in each and stand all the
cabbies a round, then go on to Charing Cross,
there to catch the train for his estate in Kent.
First, though, he would drive along the
Embankment to see if he could find any poor
wretch asleep on the benches. When he saw one
his cabby got down and took a sovereign across to
the homeless one.
Corlett was a mighty gourmet and often ate
one of the enormous lark, oyster and beefsteak
pies for which the Cheshire Cheese is famous.
Four ordinary men would find one pie between
them enough. This substantial meal was washed
down with a bottle of claret or burgundy, or a
quart of old ale and then a bottle of 1851 port.
The famous Fred Archer was the jockey he
followed, and it was said that he made a fortune
by consistently backing the horses he rode.
It was John Corlett who gave me my first
Press notice. That was after a big dinner at the
Beaufort Club, at which a man asked me :
"When did it take four days to win the Chester
Cup?"
"It took five," I answered. "The owner,
200 DATAS: THE MEMORY MAN
trainer, and jockey were, all named Day, the
horse was Peep o' Day, and the day it was run
on was May 28th, 1848!"
Corlett once told me a story of Max Malini, a
funny little Continental star of the halls, whose
quaint English was quite as amusing as his stage
tricks. Max was commanded to appear at Sand-
ringham, and, overwhelmed with the honour,
dived into Romano's to repair his tissues and
seek inspiration. Some of Corlett's satellites met
him in the bar, and promptly proceeded to
instruct him in the etiquette of Courts.
"Don't forget to fall on your knees, Max, as
soon as the King enters," said one. "And address
him always as `Your Exalted and Benignant
Majesty,"' added another.
"Always walk backwards----wear riding
breeches and black silk stockings, and an Inver-
ness cape----use a touch of patchouli----speak in a
refined voice."
These and a score of other ridiculous sugges-
tions were fired at him, all of which he carefully
noted down with a running fire of such remarks
as: "Ver goot ! Yis ! Yis ! I no forget. Valk back-
vards, eh ! Goot I remember zat, I tink. Pat-
chouli, yes----not too strong, eh !"
Next morning Max departed on his royal
errand and the company at "Romano's" awaited
BRANSBY WILLIAMS (Photograph)
ANECDOTES IN LIGHTER VEIN 201
his return with the greatest interest. The follow-
ing day at lunch time in walked Max, regarded
them all with one sweeping, scornful glance, and
then remarked with acid dignity :
"Ah, you tink me von big fool, eh ! Valk back-
vards----patchouli ! Exalted and benizzant ! Bah !
I spit at you ! Me, Max Malini. I know ver well
how to speak wit kings. He jus' com' to me
after I have perform and say: `Ver goot, Mees-
taire Malini; ver goot indeet,' an' I answer :
`Much opliged to you; Royal Mister !'
"Then the King he laff an' say: `Haf a
schmoke,' an' I take a cigar an' say: `You bet----
I keep zis wit my others keengs' cigars vot I haf
gollect,' an' he laff again and say: `Vell, here's
anudder, an' don't keep zat ! Schmoke it !----so !"'
Another racing character who was full of good
stories was Daniels, who was a great jockey in
his day and won the Grand National on Game-
cock in 1887. Later in life he kept "The Sun"
at Wolverhampton. I wandered in there one day
got up in the traditional off-stage garb of the
music-hall artist of the time----long rabbit-skin
coat, tall hat, and a cigar as long as your arm.
Daniels, who was behind the bar, looked at me
with awe. He thought I was the mayor of a
neighbouring town at least. We began to talk.
"I'm going over the road to see that chap
202 DATAS: THE MEMORY MAN
Datas, the Memory Man, to-night, sir," he said.
"Tell me he can answer any question of memory
you put to him. I don't believe it, do you ?"
"Of course not," I replied. "The fellow's a
spoofer ! All these music-hall chaps are like
that. I should go over and catch him out with
one or two good stiff racing questions."
That night when I appeared on the stage, the
whole front row of the stalls was full of enormous,
red-faced, white shirt-fronted men with cigars,
and in the midst of them sat Daniels. He had
obviously raked up all his bookmaking and rac-
ing friends for the occasion. One or two of the
usual historical questions were fired at me, and
then a stentorian voice roared :
"When did Good Friday fall on a Tuesday ?"
"On Tuesday, December the 20th, 1899
which was Boxing Day," I replied. "The horse
fell at a fence in the Thornycroft Steeplechase at
Wolverhampton, broke his leg and was shot on
the course."
Loud cheers followed this, and then I was
bombarded with demands to name all the Derby
winners since the race began, all the winning
jockeys, how many races Fred Archer won, and
a dozen other questions.
I managed to answer them all, and that even-
ing went into Daniels' public-house to see the
ANECDOTES IN LIGHTER VEIN 203
effect. Daniels and most of his friends were there
but not one of them recognised me.
"Well, what did you think of Datas ?" I asked.
"Smart fellow," said Daniels. "Answered
every one I asked him. But I wish I could get
him in this bar. I'd flummox him !"
"How's that ?" I asked.
"See that row of pitchers," Daniels exclaimed
pointing to a long line of coloured caricatures
above the bar. "They're all the jockeys who've
won the National since it started. I'll bet he
could not run that list off from left to right.
Derby winners is easy, but very few folks know
the National winners."
"Who is the first on the left ?" I asked.
He told me, and I ran off the complete list of
names from start to finish, although they were
all in shadow, and obviously could not have been
read from where I was standing.
For one stupefied moment they gazed at me
and then Daniels burst oat with: "Strike me !
If you ain't the old man himself. I thought you
was a gentleman in that fur coat, not a music-
hall cove ! 'Ave a drink ?" I did.
But, to return to my old friend again, no one
can go back to those days without thinking of
him as the man who typified the music-hall
spirit of the time----not only of that time but
204 DATAS: THE MEMORY MAN
of all time so long as the English music-hall
tradition shall survive----Arthur Roberts.
Luckily he is alive to-day, but unfortunately
we do not see enough of him. He began his
professional life in a little sixpenny "ding-dong"
called Poppy Lords in Marylebone, where he
got eightpence a night and a cup of coffee ! I
wonder what our dandified golfing stars would
say to such an offer to-day !
Arthur did five or six songs a night for this
munificent sum, and carried his "props" and
make-up in a carpet bag. Poppy Lords was one
of the real old-fashioned places where they had
a "chairman". He was a lordly and imposing
personage, with an enormous buttonhole in his
coat, an enormous cigar in his mouth, and a still
more enormous whisky and soda in front of him.
He sat at a table in front of the stage, and an-
nounced the various turns in a voice of thunder.
If a turn did not turn up, the chairman got up
and sang songs until the turn arrived.
Harry Fox, Billy Bint, and Bob Courtnay were
the giants among chairmen. It was the height
of fame and honour for a young man to be
allowed to sit at table with any of them and
"find the drinks". About a dozen could be
accommodated at one of these tables, and each
was packed every night. It was an expensive
ANECDOTES IN LIGHTER VEIN 205
honour-at least five shillings, or a "cartwheel",
as we called it----but it was worth it. The shafts
of "wit" and lurid repartee which the chairman
discharged at disorderly or critical members of
the audience were an education----not exactly
Etonian in character but marvellously inspiring.
Chuckers-out----great, hairy ex-soldiers and
ex-policemen, ex-burglars, too, I should imagine
from their faces----were employed at all these
places. They would throw out anyone with or
without the slightest encouragement. The big-
ger the man the better the deed.
The Pavilion, the Palace, the Oxford, all the
big music-halls, in fact, employed them. We
artists had to pay them five shillings a week to
ensure a quiet hearing during our turns.
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