Peggy Archer I knew from Swindon, although she didn’t come from Swindon. She was posted there by the WAF. When she gave all that up she asked if she could come and stay with me in the flat in Paddington. We shared for a while, then I got a boyfriend called Jimmy De’Lemaire, the chap I met at the Nelson on my first day in London. He was very much in love with me. He knew I had some money. Jimmy came to live with us, so we had to move to a larger flat. Actually we sort of took Peggy with us when we first moved to Sloane Square. We lived in a block of flats just opposite Peter Jones but we got kicked out when my money started dwindling and that’s when I met Tony Birch.
Tony always thought the Chelsea Set was a load of rubbish. When I met him I was a young lady who’d just had an inheritance from my mother. I must have been 21. The money had been put away for me but it didn’t last. I’d bought lots of new clothes and things… shopping in Regents Street. I had everything. I gave the assistant ten-shilling tips, which was a week’s wages to her. Her name was Miss Green and she used to let me have clothes without coupons. I was beautifully dressed but my money had gone.
All my friends used to go to a pub called the Mitre and Tony had a garage round the corner and an assistant called Fred who I knew. He asked Fred to introduce me the next time I was in. Fred, who was a stupid boy shouted, “She’s here! She’s here!” Tony blushed and went silly. Fred said, “This is Sheila… no, Veronica Hugo.” I’d gone back to my maiden name. I never used Tooth at all. He asked me if I would like a drink but I was with my friend so I thanked him. I said, “That’s very kind of you but I’ve just bought a drink for my friend Sally on the other side of the bar.” He said, “Another time then.” Apparently he’d fallen in love with me and he’d told Fred he wanted to meet me. All that ‘she’s here, she’s here’ business was enough to put anyone off.
The second time I was with my friends again so he offered to take me to dinner in the evening. He said he’d booked a table at the Café Royale in Piccadilly and he’d call for me at seven. In the middle of dinner he got up and went out. When he came back he had a red carnation. He said, “This is for you. I’ve fallen in love with you. Is there anything I can do?” I said, “Maybe quite a lot!” I’d just run out of money. I didn’t want him to hand me cash but I had to get a job immediately. A couple of days later I fell ill and had to go to hospital so I forgot all about Tony. He didn’t forget about me. He came to see me. He said, “What on earth are you going to do now? You can’t get a job, you’re ill.” Tony had a big flat in St Lou Mansions with two student girls living there… Charlotte and Joan. He had plenty of room for me so he suggested I move in to keep house for him until I was well enough to go to work. I said, “That sounds very nice.” He said, “I don’t like that place your living in.” He said he’d seen my place and already told the landlady he’d be looking after me.
The next day he went over and got all my things. He got Charlotte and Joan to pack for me. He even offered to pay anything owing. When I came out of hospital the room was set up especially for me. We fell in love… became lovers… you know. We met with the people who later became the Chelsea set every day on the King’s Road, then we’d go off to the Nelson for drinks, then a barbecue and meet up again later in the evening. Maybe I’d spend the evening with Tony and cook dinner for the two girls. It was a lovely time and a good group of people. We were together for years and years and I became the focus of the group. I found myself attracted to the bohemian types and sadly I thought the people I’d left in Swindon were daft.
I had no idea that Tony was married.
Every Saturday he would go away, he told me he was part of a bomb disposal group so he had to go away and undo bombs but it was really to see his wife. I remember saying to him, “Oh do be careful,” you see I believed him. I was left alone in St Lou Mansions, which was quite a big place. The Chelsea Set would all come over for Sunday Lunch. I would cook half a shoulder of lamb, 10lb of potatoes and end up cooking for the whole bloody lot of them. Eating round the kitchen table. By four o’clock we’d finish our cider, clear up and put everything away and have everything packed up by the time Tony got back. He’d always say, “Have you had a nice weekend dear?” “Oh yes, quiet,” I’d say.
I remember the first of the buzz bombs… the first V-2 came very near us and landed on the Chelsea Hospital. I was with Major Smith, Tony Birch and the girls, when all of a sudden the curtains rose up to the ceiling and dropped again. It was the blast from the V-2, which exploded 100 yards away without a sound. We had to go into the corridor where there wasn’t any glass. The night of the incendiary bombs was the worst of all. I came in to find a fireman coming in through the attic roof. The whole of London was on Fire. I remember crouching in the corridor praying that if only the bombs would stop I would never do anything dishonest or bad again. I remember taking a taxi through Belgravia the next morning, going past all the bombed out houses. I remember a blue dress hanging on its hook three floors up and blowing in the wind. The house was gone but somehow the dress was still there, it stayed there for months and months waving like flag.
During the time I was there we used to go to pub called the Nag’s Head in Knightsbridge run by a man we used to call ‘Dear Boy’. When it was closing time he would say, “Now come on boys and girls, time to go home.” There was a taxi driver who drank there on his nights off. He still had his car but he wasn’t working. He used to take us home. So one night… one Sunday night actually a lot of people decided to come back to my place for drinks. We took some beer and most of us got into the cab with the remainder following on behind. We were all in the kitchen when I decided to wash my hair. So I took all my clothes off and I was bending over the sink when Tony came in. He said, “What the hell are you doing? Disgusting behaviour. Get some clothes on at once.” I was upset. I started screaming and crying, “If I can’t do what I want in my own home, I’m fed up.” He tried to push me into the bedroom and onto the bed… there was so much noise that the porter came up. I ran out of the door with Tony calling after me. I ran in the nude all through the streets down Cheney Walk to the river followed by all my friends, the porter, the taxi driver and the rest.
I ran across the road, down to the river, down the steps and jumped in. There seemed to be a terrible current and it drew me away out into the middle of the river and I thought I was going to die. I was terrified. They were all standing at the bank and I was shouting, “Help! Help!” They were all dressed so they couldn’t jump in but nobody made much of an effort. A boat came along. They pulled me up and hauled me back to the steps with me hanging onto the side. A huge crowd had gathered on the embankment in Chelsea. They had no idea I was nude so when I climbed out there was an enormous gasp. I was completely nude and all muddy and dirty. Claire, who was to a certain extent sharing a flat with us, took off her dressing gown and put it around me and one of the men took off his jacket and put it over her and we all ran back to the flat. I’ve no idea why we weren’t arrested. Things generally calmed down a bit and I got in the bath but I didn’t get clean, it’s a very dirty river. It took me three days to get my hair clean. It wasn’t very clever at all.
I met this chap, he wasn’t one of the Chelsea set but he lived in Chelsea. He invited us for a drink in a large house, which he said he had all to himself. It was five stories next to the Ritz Skating Rink, which was later, the Ritz Cinema… it was pulled down years ago. He was a strange man… he had a funny hand or something. I was asking myself should I stay here all alone. I really needed somewhere of my own as I was still in St Lou Mansions in a flat belonging to Lady Chatwin Stapleton, Lady in Waiting to the old Queen Mary… the wife of Tony Birch’s aunt. Most of my friends had nowhere to live although there was always somewhere to stay. We were very promiscuous. The Chelsea Set soon got to hear of this big house with all its empty rooms and they all moved in.
We shared much of what we had. One of the cleverest managed to convince the owner to sell him the place for £52. He gave the rooms to the Chelsea Set for 5 bob a week. At least 15 people lived there most of the time. When you went through the side door there was a bath with a lid over it… not for washing… it was filled with stolen butter. It had one cold tap, no facilities. It became known as Squalor Court. There were milk bottles filled with pee on the windowsills and the staircase. I stayed one night but in the morning I had to go home and wash my hair. I suppose it was OK. How they really managed I don’t know but they all looked fine in the daytime. It was in Church Street near the Cadogan Arms on the Kings Road. Squalor Court was in a very smart area.
I don’t think I ever knew where the money really came from… they were dropouts from good families, the whole lot of them… the things that went on there. Bobby had inherited £30,000 before I met him… he was living in Squalor Court where it all went… he had nothing left by the time he met me. I saw Quentin Crisp round there most days and he repulsed me. I remember how he’d come flapping down the King’s Road in his filthy orange trousers and cheap sandals. We’d sometimes drink in the same pub. John Hurt played him perfectly. He got the walk and the mannerisms just right. I changed my opinion when he’d made some money with The Naked Civil Servant. I suppose I understood him a bit more.
I used to drink together with Joan Green quite a lot. She knew I was living with Tony Birch… Sir Anthony, you know… I never thought anything was going on between them. Tony told me he was going out. I didn’t think anything of it… I thought business or something… I don’t know. I went to the Nag’s Head and was introduced to Tony Jones who was a friend of Joan Green. He seemed quite taken with me and asked if I’d come to dinner. I thought, “Why not?” I nearly did. I hadn’t answered the question when who should come through the door but Tony Birch and Joan Green. They walked straight past me into the back bar, both looking rather embarrassed, as I’d caught them at it. I’d thought he had a business arrangement but they were obviously having an affair. I left Marjorie with Tony Jones and I went through the back. Tony said, “What would you like to drink?” I said, “A pint of cider, please.” When he gave it to me I poured it all over Joan’s head. Then I rushed out of the pub, leaving everybody without saying goodbye. I forgot all about Tony Jones and Marjorie. There was a taxi passing, I hailed it, got in and went home.
Well, I’d forgotten all about it but two days later I met Tony and Peter Bailey who was sort of half living with Marjorie Gardener… although he still had his room in Albany Street… he more or less stayed with Marjorie most of the time… I met them and they asked had I seen the morning paper, which I hadn’t. They said, “You better look, Marjorie’s been murdered.” I said, “Don’t talk nonsense, in real life people don’t get murdered.” I was shocked, of course. They said, “It’s true.” It was a stop press on the front page, “Marjorie Gardener age 32 found murdered in a Notting Hill Gate hotel.” I said, “Good God! How awful. I wonder how that happened?”
For the next few days the police in Notting Hill Gate kept asking to see me. When they caught up with me I told them I didn’t know anything about it. I said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I’d forgotten, due to my jealousy over Joan Green being with Tony, that I’d introduced them.
Well, on the third visit to see Detective Inspector Spooner he pointed out Marjorie’s coat and hat in the police station. I said, “Of Course it’s Marjorie’s.” Suddenly it clicked. They asked me if I remembered anything… a young man or anything. I said, “Oh yes! I introduced her to a young man wearing white trousers and a cricketing shirt… Tony Jones.” I poured it all out to Detective Inspector Spooner. They told me his name wasn’t Jones, it was Neville Heath. I’d never heard of Neville Heath. I asked how on earth that helps you… “Why did you want to see me all that much?” They had wanted to know how she met him. I told him that I introduced them but I didn’t really know him. I didn’t really know anything so I couldn’t help.
They were looking for me to identify the body. They saw me in Piccadilly but I disappeared down into a club. Thank God they didn’t catch me. I didn’t want to see her, it would have been most upsetting. They said one minute you were there and the next moment you were gone. They had to get somebody else and I’m glad they did. I don’t want to see anything like that. It was ridiculous chasing me up to Notting Hill Station every time to make statement when I didn’t know anything about it at all. All I remembered is that he told her he was going to take her to Copenhagen. We all went up to the Nag’s Head that morning. The press were all there… I suppose they all knew I’d introduced them but I didn’t know him. I didn’t even know his name. They said Peter did it. Peter Bailey! I said, “Don’t be ridiculous, he couldn’t hurt a fly. Ridiculous!”
Peter Bailey was an extraordinary man… he was so beautiful. It was all over the papers for weeks after that, “The murder of Marjorie Gardener.” The press said that she was a prostitute but that was wrong, she was a pervert. She liked sex with whips and things. It was her own fault, she took the whips along with her. I think now that she’d slept with him before, he knew what she was like. Everything had been alright. She’d mentioned him the next day after I left them in the pub, she said, “You know who I mean, the nice young man.” I still had my mind full of Tony Birch and Joan Green. She said he was gay anyway and he was going to take her to Copenhagen. Well he didn’t take her there, he took her to death, didn’t he? She was crazy about him that day. In a normal way he wouldn’t have done anything but he killed her with the whips. I explained the position to the police.
I’ve just remembered it was Peter Bailey who told me she liked whips and things like that and I knew she wasn’t a tart because she wouldn’t have had time to spend with us. The police got it all wrong. It did my reputation no good if she was a prostitute. But a pervert, well, these things happen in Chelsea.
You were very lucky.
I was… and I knew Haigh the Acid Bath Murderer as well. He was such a nice young man. I ran about hand in hand with him but we weren’t lovers. We just had a nice time together. He asked me to come and meet his Aunt at the Onslow Court Hotel, “She’ll buy you doubles gins.” I said, “How nice.” It wasn’t his aunt it was Mrs. Durand Deacon who he murdered… you know? I didn’t know what was going on at the time I thought she was a nice lady. We went out on the balcony where the porter brought out a chair. She bought me lots of gins. I didn’t know that the following week she was going to be reduced to nothing with acid. It was terrible. I read about it in the newspapers. I suppose he showed me his best side.
I don’t think I was worth murdering. I didn’t have any money.
I met a man and got a sort of job painting and decorating. Painting the outside of houses. I wore his big old jeans, my blonde hair falling all over the place. I actually quite liked it. He paid me 25 shillings a day. One day we’d just finished one and he said we were going up to Saville Row… number four. It was a theatrical dressmaking place owned by the daughter of the Russian ambassador to Great Britain. She was a mad woman. She had a dog called Mr Pooch. She became my best friend. We started painting the back walls. Anyway I fainted still suffering the after effects of bronchitis… I woke up to find a woman looking at me. She said, “What’s this beautiful girl doing wearing dungarees?”
They took me back into the office where straight away she asked me to be her secretary. She asked me my name and without thinking I said, “Veronica.” She just said, “Start on Monday.” She asked me if I was alright and I said I was so she told me to go home. She promised to sort out everything with my boss… really just the money for the day. I said, “Bye Paddy, I can’t do this any more it’s obviously too much for me.” I started work at number four Saville Row but when people asked what I did she just said she didn’t know… that I did whatever needed doing.
At the end of the first week I got my wages… four pounds seventeen and seven pence. She said, “Come for a drink after work with my client.” I thought it was odd. I realized afterwards why. We all went to the pub. She said “Can you buy a drink for us Sheila… Veronica?” I said, “Of course.” By the time the evening was over all my wages had gone and I never got it back… never. I had my bus fare home… nothing else. I went on working there for some time.
We made dresses for William Palmer’s sister and we did the Mountbatten wedding. We dressed lots of famous people but they still went bankrupt. They cooked sausages over an electric fire turned up on its stomach. The smell! We were rushing around with sprays to get rid of it before the fitting for Lady General Slim’s wife. She had sausage fat on the lining of the wedding dress. She never knew. I was sacked when they went bankrupt. It broke my heart but she kept in touch… you see she knew I had the studio.
She got round Tony. He agreed to her having a table in the studio so the girls came and worked there every day. I used to cook lunch for them. It was such fun. I had a tape recorder… we were always making up little plays… stories like this… terrific… then of course she moved her boyfriend in and they slept on the floor of the bathroom. She took over and it really became too much. Tony didn’t like it at all. The council decided they wanted the studio to be pulled down to make room for a block of flats. Tony sold the studio to the Council for £12,000, which even then was a paltry offer. They later sold it at a huge profit to Peter French.
We moved to a mews near Earls Court. It was a dangerous place, so I ended up in a separate flat, a horrible room in West Cromwell Road. I would sleep there and go and visit him in the mornings.
So Earls Court was considered dangerous?
Yes, I mean no. It was dangerous to me because if his wife came there was nowhere for me to hide. You had to go up the stairs and in to the flat, you couldn’t run away down the mews. You were stuck if she knocked at the door.
Did it ever happen?
Yes it did as a matter of fact. I wasn’t there but I was on my way. She was at the top of the steps talking to him. His associate Rex Bassett gave me a sign. I suddenly realised something was wrong so I turned round and went away again. I couldn’t live there. I used to go out most of the time with… oh God… Peter Bailey… the best looking man in the whole world. We went out drinking all day and it was through him that I met the man who had the painting and decorating business. Peter was very regal looking but he never did any work. He was a boyfriend on and off. He composed a poem for me:
If you were me and I was you
And in this world there were just we two
And you should say
If I thought you do it well
And having done it wouldn’t tell
I’d take my place in hell with you dear.
Anyway after the end of the dressmaking business I needed another job. Tony said, “Take something for two months and then we can go on holiday.” I got a suit and took the first thing I could find working as a supervisor for International Computers behind Sloane Square. It turned out to be lovely and lasted seven years. I was really pleased with myself. I thought nobody could stop me… I loved it so much. I only got the sack because I came back drunk. No, I didn’t get the sack; I resigned. I came back drunk and resigned. The reason was I was getting a bit poor and didn’t have any shoes and a friend had promised to buy me some. He met me at lunch on Monday but we never got to the shoe shop. As I remember it had been a very busy day at the office… statement time. He said we better have a drink before we get your shoes, then another and another. He just kept insisting more and more. I was so drunk I eventually bought a pair of awful shoes that didn’t fit and went back to work. I went back and my assistant was sitting in my place. I was so furious I went and resigned. Anyway the boss said, “I’m not accepting that but if you put it in writing I will.” Like a bloody fool I did. I marched back to my desk and wrote it all out. I didn’t get the sack I resigned. He accepted and life went on. The next morning I came in and said, “You don’t mean it do you?” But Margery my assistant had already been promoted and he couldn’t demote her so I had to leave.
It was a very sad time. I was living by then with Bobby and there was no such thing as the dole so we were very poor. All I had was the fifty pounds the company had given me as separation. It didn’t last long. I was in terrible trouble and it got worse when I became ill with bronchitis. Somehow I found myself another job in Regent’s Street. Tony’s office was in Piccadilly Circus. I didn’t have any money at all for lunch. It was cold and I was really ill. So I went to Tony and implored him to lend me enough money for something to eat. He wouldn’t give me a penny so I walked around looking at coffee stalls wanting to steal a doughnut but I couldn’t. It was the most desperate time of my life.
I’d fallen out with Tony Birch long before. He’d gone off as usual to see his wife, the phone rang and it was Fred. He said he’d had a telegram from Jane. Of course I asked who Jane was. He said, “It’s his wife of course.” You see he really didn’t know that I didn’t know. I was shattered. I didn’t want to take someone’s husband. I couldn’t have been less interested in all that. The telegram said, “Can’t meet you at the station. Car broken down.” I told Fred I had no way of passing the message on. I didn’t want to appear upset so I just put the phone down. I didn’t say anything to Fred but I thought, “Dear oh dear, what have I done now?” It was terrible I was living with a married man.
When Tony came back I attacked him with it. He said he didn’t want me to know as he and his wife were separated and he spent the weekend with his boys. All lies of course. I believed him and we still went on living together. I stayed with him. We moved over to a flat in St Lou Mansions, which was owned by the Lady in Waiting to the old Queen Mary. I suppose we were there for a couple of years until Tony bought the studio… until Jane found out about me. He even had the cheek to take me down there. I stayed at her house overnight… for the weekend... she was away. He was so convincing when he said he wasn’t staying with his wife that I didn’t mention it at all. I don’t know why I went. I suppose I shouldn’t have done.
Women sense things you know. She started divorce proceedings so she knew about us. We had a letter from a solicitor. When we were in the studio he told me he didn’t want the divorce to go through, not because he loved her or anything he just didn’t want to lose the access to his children. Being a nice person I understood that. He said, “Look I tell you what I’ll give you £200 go and buy yourself a suit, a couple of shirts and a pair of shoes, a handbag. Get yourself a job. I’ll give you the money to rent a room. We’ll still see each other you just won’t be living with me. It won’t change anything.” Months went by and I didn’t get the money. I was still in Chelsea clothes… bohemian stuff… nothing for an interview and I couldn’t get a job without it.
I said, “Don’t you think it’s about time you gave me the money?” He said, “Yes, I suppose I have left it a bit late. I’ll go to the bank and get it for you at lunchtime.” I went to the pub at lunchtime and met Joan Green… I’d forgiven her long ago. I realised it was lunchtime, I rang him and said, “I’m sorry Tony I’m just coming back to get your lunch. I’d forgotten the time.” When I got back I said, “Have you been to the bank?” He said, “No! I suppose you’ll tell my wife if I don’t give it to you?” I said, “What do you mean of course I bloody well will.” It was so silly, she knew anyway, she’d already started the divorce proceedings. The loft doors burst open and two plain clothed policemen came out. They said, “We arrest you for blackmail! Get your coat you’re coming to the police station.” I told them it was a big mistake, he offered me the money. They just wouldn’t listen to me.
I was taken off. It was all over the newspapers… everything, everything, everything. The police insisted on coming into the lavatory with me. I suppose they thought I might kill myself. Anyway it was terrible… my poor father. He sent Victor up to London. He said, “Just give her any help she wants, solicitors anything.” I had two of the best, James Birch and… no, it’s gone. I think I must have been about twenty-four.
I was in court the next morning. The judge decided it had to be taken to the Old Bailey. There I was on remand, the papers full of my photographs. I was quite a pretty girl then. There were photographs of me all over the bloody place. Tony didn’t realise it would go so far. He was sorry for what he’d done. He’d ruined my life. On the final night of the court case I stayed in the studio. I slept on the floor. He wouldn’t let me in bed and I paid for a taxi all the way to the Old Bailey. I’d lived with him for four years so I was dependent on him. He was a very nasty man but he wanted me back afterwards. He begged me. He told me he just sat and looked out of the window thinking of me all the time.
I couldn’t even think. I agreed with the entire jury saying, “Yes sir… OK. Yes sir.” The judge stopped everything, he said, “Just a moment please. Members of the jury do you want to hear any more of this nonsense.” They said, “We find her not guilty sir.” He said, “I didn’t ask you that. Do you want to hear any more of this nonsense.” He could see it was ridiculous; of course I wasn’t a blackmailer. He said, “Case dismissed and struck off the lists.” Tony came over and we had lunch in the pub together. It was ridiculous but I had nowhere to live so I returned to the studio for a while… I didn’t have anywhere else to go but that really was the end of that. It was a black mark against my life forever.
It was such a strange mixed up time that I married Gerald Rowe and Tony was very upset. There are still people who think I might have done it. I met a girl from Swindon… a high-class girl in Putney one day. I said, “Hello Muriel.” She said, “I’m glad you got away with that thing.” I said, "What on earth do you mean, I wasn’t guilty.” She said, “I meant to be kind.”
I’d got myself a job at Davis Turner, which is where I met Gerald. I think we met in the pub. It was a very quick wedding. He was absolutely hopeless. Hopeless in bed, hopeless at everything and well… he took me to meet his mother who was a charlady or something although Gerald was very posh himself. I said, “I hope you’re pleased we got married.” She was awful she just said, “I don’t care what he does.” I thought, “My God, what have I done?” I’d married right out of my class. It couldn’t be helped.
He was a portrait painter and trumpet flowers, which I don’t like. He wasn’t a real artist, he had no imagination but he could have made serious money as a copyist. He knew all the techniques of mixing the paint and brushwork and he did one old master copy that fooled everyone. The only difference was a small butterfly in the corner. I don’t think there was any suggestion of fraud. Gerald had no imagination. It was a disastrous marriage. It soon ended and there’s not much to say about that. He was a real rotter. He didn’t work at all. That’s when I came out of the Chelsea Set.
We got a flat over in Clapham Common. He was terrible and I was forced to leave. I took a room with a girlfriend called Averill who was some kind of model if you know what I mean. I ended up having an affair with George King who I knew was one of the set. I was in love with him and lived with him for quite a while. He was very much ordering about and everything. When we got kicked out, I asked him if he would help me find somewhere to live and he said, “That’s entirely your business.” He would have been quite unsuitable as a husband. That morning I bumped into Bobby Brearton and we fell in love. I didn’t see George again. I’ve no idea what happened to him.
Bobby lived near George Best and we stuck together for about four years. He was a public schoolboy, very handsome. We were like two peas in a pod… we adored each other. He’d had a £30,000 inheritance before I met him but it had all gone. He had nothing left at all. Every summer he would go away to Jersey and work in Butlins holiday camp leaving me on my own. The fourth year he went he expected to come back in the autumn and find me all bright and breezy waiting for him but that year I wasn’t. He had introduced me to Jack McNaughton who was a fellow actor with Leo Britt, my third husband. I went on one date with Jack but he was a non-entity and I was really quite a dish.
The night before he left Bobby introduced me to Jack McNaughton, another actor who knew Leo, although I didn’t know that at the time. I didn’t know Leo either but Jack rang me at the advertising agency to make a first date. He said, “I’m helping a friend of mine, a fellow actor, paint his flat and he would like to meet you.” I protested just enough. I said I looked terrible. I had a tatty old raincoat or something but he said it didn’t matter his friend wanted to meet me. He said to take a taxi after work to 60 Beaufort Street and not to pay, just ring the bell and they’d come down and sort it out. “You can have dinner and drinks.” So that was how I met him, in his own home.
That’s why I don’t like the girl that comes to see me. She’s so common she thinks people just meet in pubs, well that’s too bad. She said, “Did you chat him up or did he chat you up?” That hurt my feelings dreadfully. Talking and chatting people up, well I don’t do that sort of thing.