A Chapter from "RECOLLECTIONS OF A SAVAGE" by E A Ward
| The House Dinners at the Savage Club, held each Saturday night, are famous
to this day, but thirty-odd years ago the habitues mustered in stronger force
and certainly the entertainment was carried further into the small hours
of the Sabbath than is the custom in these days. Dinner was followed by supper,
a renowned concoction of tripe and onions, and perhaps a buck rabbit, and
not infrequently a fresh musical evening would be launched. At some of these
belated gatherings I have heard brilliant performances from the very best
artistes which the Club could boast.
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| So it was on this evening preceding the expedition to Reading, and several
members of the proposed party agreed that, in order not to ovesleep themselves
and so miss the train, it would be better to make a night of it and then
proceed leisurely to Paddington in plenty of time for the ten-thirty. As
most of them relied mainly on a solitary suit of clothes there was no change
either necessary or in most cases possible. That Saturday night I retired
early, feeling that much might be expected of me in the morning, and I was
not to be disappointed.
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| The scene on the platform at Paddington will palpitate in my memory as
long as I live. After a restful night, and clad in country clothes, I arrived
in good time and found Britten already there. Even by himself he would be
difficult to explain to crowd of conventional people. In those days white
socks and unlaced shoes were unfashionable, and his clothes, besides being
horribly shabby, were thoroughly original - concertina trousers, and a queer
arrangement of collar and tie, the latter looking like nothing on earth so
much as a dirty white sock crumpled round a frayed old collar.
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| The next arrival was Mr Odell, whose costume was entirely out of keeping
with the season and occasion. He wore a great coat of strong, bright green
colour, with many lapels like a watchman of olden times; in fact he informed
me that on his way to Paddington the street urchins had run after him, calling
out: "Spring, spring, gentle spring". He was followed by a gentleman in a
tall hat, short jacket and bright yellow boots. This was a surprise for me,
but Britten assured me that though Mr Fletcher was a commercial traveller
he was also keenly interested in art, and, as I was shortly to learn, his
inclusion in the party had a practical bearing.
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| When we were face to face with the ticket office I saw no sign that any
member of the party had provided himself with the necessary funds for the
railway fare. I consulted Britten on this point, and he swiftly informed
me that Mr Fletcher had anticipated this difficulty and had insisted upon
contributing five pounds towards the day's expenses.
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| Among the next arrivals was BERNARD EVANS, a brother-artist of very great
distinction but equally remarkable appearance; his disregard of convention
was almost wilful, his costume consisting of a great sombrero with crown
and brim of ample proportions, linen reminiscent of the Friday before, and
his shirt fastened at the neck by a white brooch with a brass rim to it.
No collar was necessary, as his hair and beard festooned his shoulders and
chest. Although it was summer time he wore an overcoat, which was wise after
all, seeing that he dispensed with any jacket underneath it.
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| No sooner had the railway tickets been purchased out of Mr Fletcher's
fiver than the entire party made a bee-line for the Refreshment Room: admittance
to which in those glorious old days you were entitled upon production of
your railway ticket. Rum and milk, with cigars all round, seemed the order
of the day, which, having started so well, appeared likely to finish where
it had begun, and I had great difficulty in getting them away from the bar.
As it was they missed the first train, but "there was no hurry, any old train
would do," and having caught the next train we arrived at Reading, where
we made our way to the nearest hostelry to charter a conveyance to Wyfold
Court (1).
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| Britten enquired from the landlord whether Mr Hermon Hodge had sent a
carriage. "Dog-cart met the last train, sir". "Dog-cart be damned", said
Britten "we want a coach". Eventually a great, old-fashioned barouche on
C-springs, with a pair of horses, was drawn up at the door, and at last the
party were detached from the bar and bundled in, some inside, others on the
box, and away we went.
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| After a few miles, our Jehu was ordered to break the journey at a rather
attractive wayside in, "The Bird in Hand". This proved so pleasant a place
that our progress was considerably delayed, and I was obliged to protest
that our party was getting rather rosy in character, and that we should never
be in time for lunch at Wyfold Court. In they all bundled again, and we arrived
at length at our destination, an imposing place like a miniature House of
Commons.
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| The footman at the door informed us: "Family are just finishing lunch,
sir", and our party was shown into a spacious cloakroom, where some of them
proceeded to be funny with fishing-rods in the wash-hand basins; so Britten
and I left them to make the best of their way to the dining-room as soon
as they were ready. As we wandered down the great corridor I saw the panels
decorated by my friend Britten, and they certainly were most impressive,
both in line, conception and arrangement.
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| Arriving at the dining-room we were ushered, to my dismay, into as smart
a house-party as I ever saw assembled round a table. Our host rose immediately,
and greeted Britten most cordially, saying he was sorry he could not delay
lunch for us. In a short time we were made quite at home and started our
meal with no thought of those rascals we had left behind, skylarking, in
the cloakroom.
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| We had nearly finished our lunch when the great door slowly opened, and
in came BERNARD EVANS, just a little dazed with the light of the huge window.
He presented an appearance very similar to the man who plays an unimportant
instrument in an itinerant band, and can easily be spared to do duty as the
collector.
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| He wandered in aimlessly, utterly out of the picture, and the only person
not struck dumb by the apparition was Britten, who, engrossed in animated
conversation with his neighbour, had to have his attention drawn to the fact
this his host was gazing in utter astonishment at the advent of so strange
a figure. Britten hurriedly said: "Oh, this is a friend of mine, Mr Bernard
Evans - Mr Hermon Hodge".
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| A chair was found for the new arrival, and we had barely settled down
after the obvious shock to the nerves of our host, when once more the door
was opened, and in hurried the commercial gent, all smiles, full of assurance,
and rubbing his hands. He was duly presented to our host, who was reddening
a little and pulling at his moustache in evident bewilderment and wonder
at the queer assortment of uninvited people, for whom room had to be found
at an already crowded table. And so they continued to wander in, singly,
until it was obvious that the only emotion filling the mind of our host was
anxiety as to whether the procession would ever cease.
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| The end came with the entrance of Mr Odell. No furtive opening of the
door this time. It was a case of both gates flung wide, and in he sailed,
black sombrero at a jaunty angle, green coat with cape lapels and all.
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| I feared Mr Hermon Hodge would have a fit. He rose from his seat in unfeigned
astonishment, never having seen the like of this on any stage, but Britten
in the most casual way said: "Oh, this is Mr Odell", and such a sensation
was caused by his entrance that no difficulty was experienced in finding
him a seat, for most of the men guests had risen as the "King" came in. The
King of Bohemia, but still the "King" - a seedy sombrero for a crown, and
the ragged cloak of night watchman in place of ermine and crimson; but it
was for all to see that, however disguised, the star turn had arrived.
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| Mr Hermon Hodge made it his special care that Mr Odell should be served
with lunch, but though pressed to partake of a variety of cold dishes, Odell
refused them all, and said: "I should prefer some soup". At three o'clock
in the afternoon this had to be specially prepared, and delayed luncheon
almost into tea-time.
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| When we were told tea was served in the drawing-room Mr Odell averred
that "he was an old man, and preferred whisky and water and a cigar" after
which he fell into a deep sleep.
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| The rest of us had rather a jumpy time with the ladies in the drawing-room,
where I remember the conversation, oddly enough, drifted into a discussion
between our hostess and Mr BERNARD EVANS as to the different qualities of
various washing soaps. He cited Mrs Evans as an authority in support of Brown
Windsor, and this saved him, as appearances were decidedly against his personal
acquaintance with any variety of that commodity.
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| Our host now suggested a walk through the park with a view to inspecting
his racing stud. The male members of the house party were evidently sporting
and did not betray the slightest interest in the conversational powers exercised
by the Savages.
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Excerpted from a copy of the book in the Savage Club Archives
(1) Wyfold Court was built by Sir Charles Barry's pupil George Somers Clarke in the 1870s.