DOI issue:
September 3, 1887
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.17658#0103
Smtbmber 3, 1887.] PUNCH, OE THE LONDON CHAEIVAEI.
97
SOME NOTES AT STARMOUTH.
3 r m.—Arrive at Starmouth—the retired "Watering-place at
■which I propose to write the Nautical Drama that is to render me
famous and wealthy. Leave luggage at Station, and go in search of
Down by the Sea.
lodgings." Hofel out of the question—table d'hote quite fatal to
inspiration. On the Esplanade, noting likely places with critical
eye. Perhaps I am a little fastidious. What I should really like is
a little cottage ; two how-windows, clematis on porch, flagstaff, and
cannon (if it wouldn't go off) in front. I could achieve immortality
in a place like that. Sea-view, _ of course, indispensable. Must he
within sight of the ever-changing ocean, within hearing of "the
innumerable laughter of the waves"—I know what the phrase
means, though 1 shouldn't like to have to explain it, and the waves
just now are absolutely roaring.
3'15.—Still noting ; plenty of time, and Starmouth " all before me
where to choose." More than a mile of Esplanade, and several brass
plates and cards advertising "Apartments." Must be cautious—
not throw the handkerchief in a hurry. Haven't seen the ideal
place yet.
3'30.—Better make a "beginning. Try "Blenheim House" (allthe
houses here either bear ducal, naval, or frankly plebeian names, I
observe). Ring: startling effect—grey-mouldy old person, with
skeleton hands folded on woollen tippet, glides in a ghastly manner
down passage. They really ought to put up a warning to people
with nerves, as M. Van" Beers does at his Salon Parisien. Eeel as
if I had raised a ghost. Wonder if she waits on lodgers—if so, my
dinners will he rather like the banquet Gulliver had at Laputa.
" Has she rooms to let at once ?" " No ? " "Oh."' "Well out of
that.'
3'45.—"Warming to my work. Ring at door in "Amelia Terrace."
Maid appears—nice-looking girl, rather. Have you"—I begin—
when I see a boy at the ground-floor window. Don't object to boys,
as a class, but this particular hoy is pallid, with something round
his throat, and an indescribable air about him of conscious deadli-
ness, and pride in the unusual terror he inspires, which can only be
accounted for by recent Measles. Never under the same roof with
that boy! He eyes me balefully, and I stare back, fascinated.
" Have you," I begin agaia—(I am full of resource, thank goodness!)
" a Mrs. Walkeb— (first appropriate name that occurs to me)—
"staying here?" By a horrible coincidence, they have.' She has
taken the ground-floor—where that boy is 1 Awkward—very. . . .
I manage to gasp out, " Then will you please mention "that I
called ? " and retire before she can ask my name. Presence of mind,
again!
4 p.m.—Still geeking._ Not so fastidious as I was. Have given up
the cottage, and clematis, and flagstaff. Only place answering that
description belongs—or so I inferred, from his language—to a retired
sea-captain, whom I disturbed in his nap to inquire whether he let
lodgings. As it happened, he didn't. Then (as I very nearly went
back and told him) what right had he to sport a brass plate ? How-
ever, 1 got some good racy dialogue for the Nautical Drama out
of him.
4'15.—More failures. Starmouth busy digesting, which it does
Publicly in bow-windows. I must not be so particular. I will do
without balconies—even how-windows—but I cannot, I will not, sit
on horsehair furniture.
4-20.—After all, so long as I get a sea-view, what matters P I can
he nautical and dramatic on any kind of chair. And " Collingwood
House," too—what a name for me ! I will go in. Rejected again—
nothing till Thursday fortnight! I am beginning to feel like an un-
popular man at a dance. I regard the people wallowing at the
windows with a growing hate; they_ are the elect—but that is no
reason why they should parade it in that ostentatious way—bad
taste! . . . Can't get any rooms along these terraces—I subdue
my pride, and try a hack-street.
4-30.—Nature too strong for me—I must face the sea. Surely
there must be some cards I have overlooked 1 . . . Thought so!
staring me in the face all the time! Ring— ghost effect again—same
old grey lady! She asks me, in hollow tones, what I want. I ask
her whether I left my umbrella here (full of resource!) "No!"
" Oh! " Back-street again after that.
4-40.—Even the back-streets will have none of me! I grow
morbid. Remember words of song, entreating vague somethings
(perhaps stars) " to smile on their vagabond hoy "—no one smiles on
me. And /to have vapoured about " throwing the handkerchief."
Fool—fool! . . . They are more sympathetic in the back-streets,
though. " Starmouth is very full!" They say, complacently, '' they
don't know if there's any place I could get into, not to Bay at once
—they really don't! "
5 p.m.—Back on the Esplanade again. Why, I certainly haven't
been here before. Ring. "While I am waiting for some one to
appear, face rises at window — the measly boy.' _ Confound these
terrace-houses, all alike! This time I don't wait—I bolt. They
will think I am a clown out for a holiday, but I can't help that.
515.—No, I must draw the line somewhere. At "Hatfield
House," (good address this) landlady appears with eruptive face,
powdered—effect_ not entirely happy—hut I waive that. She has
rooms—but the sitting-room is out at the end of a yard, and I am to
get to my bed room through the kitchen! Can't write an epoch-
making drama under those conditions.
5'30.—I am growing humbler—I would almost take a coal-cellar
now. Think I will go hack to Hatfield and recant .... I have.
"Very sorry—this moment let" . . . . "Oh!"
5'35.—At last! May choicest blessings light upon the head of
Plappee !—or rather of Mrs. Plappee, as her husband is out. She
has taken me in! Charming rooms—not actually facing the sea, but
with capital view of it round corner from bow-window. Plappee is
an optician—wonder whether it is weak eyes, or wifely duty,
that makes Mrs. P. wear blue spectacles ? Everything arranged—
terms most reasonable—now to recover luggage. Stop ; better ask
address—or 1 might never he able to find my optician again—like
Mrs. Barrett Browning and her lost Bower ! •' You 've only got to
use Plappek's name, Sir, anywhere, and it will -he all right," says
Mrs. P. with natural pride. Very convenient. For instance : Stern
Constable (tome). "Can't come in here, Sir." Myself. "Can't I,
though ? Flapper ! " And in I go ! Or I am in a sorape of some
sort: " Have you anything to say ? " asks the Inspector. I whisper
in his ear, " Plappee !" And they grovel and release me.
5'45.—Odd—but now I find myself wondering ungratefully,
whether I mightn't have done better than Plappee, after all. This
is human nature, I suppose—but discreditable. I am overjoyed—
really. I no longer hate people. I too am an initiate! But I can
pity poor devils who are houseless, I hope .... I order sundry
things : " Send them in to Plappee's." Luggage regained and sent
back—to Plappee's. I feel self-respect once more.
6 p.m.—Returning to Plappee's. And in this secure retreat my
Nautical drama is destined to see the light—if Plappee only knew !
I feel an affection already for this humble temporary home. Mrs. P.
meets me at the door. " So sorry, Sir—but you can't have the rooms,
after all.' Plappee had let 'em quite unbeknown to me! "
And this is Saturday! I am under a curse !
THE BALLET.
Lament by tlie Eev. S. D. Headlam.
What was it first my fancy fed,
My steps to the Alhamhra led,
And finally quite turned my head P
The Ballet!
What, when I studied it apart,
Struck me with force that made
me start,
As being a noble form of Art ?
The Ballet!
And what, when seen night after
night,
Inspired me with supreme delight,
And made me to the Pall-Mali
write ?
The Ballet I
But what, when kindled with its
fire,
I hoped my Bishop to inspire
Alas ! excited but his ire s
The Ballet!
And what, although the orthodox
1 wo places in an upper box
1 ottered him,—hut gave him
shocks ?
The Ballet!
Ah! what, though every nerve
I ve strained
To sec the dancers' battle gained,
Leaves me episcopally chained?
The Ballet! •
Last Fbtjits op the Session.—Pairs.
vol. xcni.
97
SOME NOTES AT STARMOUTH.
3 r m.—Arrive at Starmouth—the retired "Watering-place at
■which I propose to write the Nautical Drama that is to render me
famous and wealthy. Leave luggage at Station, and go in search of
Down by the Sea.
lodgings." Hofel out of the question—table d'hote quite fatal to
inspiration. On the Esplanade, noting likely places with critical
eye. Perhaps I am a little fastidious. What I should really like is
a little cottage ; two how-windows, clematis on porch, flagstaff, and
cannon (if it wouldn't go off) in front. I could achieve immortality
in a place like that. Sea-view, _ of course, indispensable. Must he
within sight of the ever-changing ocean, within hearing of "the
innumerable laughter of the waves"—I know what the phrase
means, though 1 shouldn't like to have to explain it, and the waves
just now are absolutely roaring.
3'15.—Still noting ; plenty of time, and Starmouth " all before me
where to choose." More than a mile of Esplanade, and several brass
plates and cards advertising "Apartments." Must be cautious—
not throw the handkerchief in a hurry. Haven't seen the ideal
place yet.
3'30.—Better make a "beginning. Try "Blenheim House" (allthe
houses here either bear ducal, naval, or frankly plebeian names, I
observe). Ring: startling effect—grey-mouldy old person, with
skeleton hands folded on woollen tippet, glides in a ghastly manner
down passage. They really ought to put up a warning to people
with nerves, as M. Van" Beers does at his Salon Parisien. Eeel as
if I had raised a ghost. Wonder if she waits on lodgers—if so, my
dinners will he rather like the banquet Gulliver had at Laputa.
" Has she rooms to let at once ?" " No ? " "Oh."' "Well out of
that.'
3'45.—"Warming to my work. Ring at door in "Amelia Terrace."
Maid appears—nice-looking girl, rather. Have you"—I begin—
when I see a boy at the ground-floor window. Don't object to boys,
as a class, but this particular hoy is pallid, with something round
his throat, and an indescribable air about him of conscious deadli-
ness, and pride in the unusual terror he inspires, which can only be
accounted for by recent Measles. Never under the same roof with
that boy! He eyes me balefully, and I stare back, fascinated.
" Have you," I begin agaia—(I am full of resource, thank goodness!)
" a Mrs. Walkeb— (first appropriate name that occurs to me)—
"staying here?" By a horrible coincidence, they have.' She has
taken the ground-floor—where that boy is 1 Awkward—very. . . .
I manage to gasp out, " Then will you please mention "that I
called ? " and retire before she can ask my name. Presence of mind,
again!
4 p.m.—Still geeking._ Not so fastidious as I was. Have given up
the cottage, and clematis, and flagstaff. Only place answering that
description belongs—or so I inferred, from his language—to a retired
sea-captain, whom I disturbed in his nap to inquire whether he let
lodgings. As it happened, he didn't. Then (as I very nearly went
back and told him) what right had he to sport a brass plate ? How-
ever, 1 got some good racy dialogue for the Nautical Drama out
of him.
4'15.—More failures. Starmouth busy digesting, which it does
Publicly in bow-windows. I must not be so particular. I will do
without balconies—even how-windows—but I cannot, I will not, sit
on horsehair furniture.
4-20.—After all, so long as I get a sea-view, what matters P I can
he nautical and dramatic on any kind of chair. And " Collingwood
House," too—what a name for me ! I will go in. Rejected again—
nothing till Thursday fortnight! I am beginning to feel like an un-
popular man at a dance. I regard the people wallowing at the
windows with a growing hate; they_ are the elect—but that is no
reason why they should parade it in that ostentatious way—bad
taste! . . . Can't get any rooms along these terraces—I subdue
my pride, and try a hack-street.
4-30.—Nature too strong for me—I must face the sea. Surely
there must be some cards I have overlooked 1 . . . Thought so!
staring me in the face all the time! Ring— ghost effect again—same
old grey lady! She asks me, in hollow tones, what I want. I ask
her whether I left my umbrella here (full of resource!) "No!"
" Oh! " Back-street again after that.
4-40.—Even the back-streets will have none of me! I grow
morbid. Remember words of song, entreating vague somethings
(perhaps stars) " to smile on their vagabond hoy "—no one smiles on
me. And /to have vapoured about " throwing the handkerchief."
Fool—fool! . . . They are more sympathetic in the back-streets,
though. " Starmouth is very full!" They say, complacently, '' they
don't know if there's any place I could get into, not to Bay at once
—they really don't! "
5 p.m.—Back on the Esplanade again. Why, I certainly haven't
been here before. Ring. "While I am waiting for some one to
appear, face rises at window — the measly boy.' _ Confound these
terrace-houses, all alike! This time I don't wait—I bolt. They
will think I am a clown out for a holiday, but I can't help that.
515.—No, I must draw the line somewhere. At "Hatfield
House," (good address this) landlady appears with eruptive face,
powdered—effect_ not entirely happy—hut I waive that. She has
rooms—but the sitting-room is out at the end of a yard, and I am to
get to my bed room through the kitchen! Can't write an epoch-
making drama under those conditions.
5'30.—I am growing humbler—I would almost take a coal-cellar
now. Think I will go hack to Hatfield and recant .... I have.
"Very sorry—this moment let" . . . . "Oh!"
5'35.—At last! May choicest blessings light upon the head of
Plappee !—or rather of Mrs. Plappee, as her husband is out. She
has taken me in! Charming rooms—not actually facing the sea, but
with capital view of it round corner from bow-window. Plappee is
an optician—wonder whether it is weak eyes, or wifely duty,
that makes Mrs. P. wear blue spectacles ? Everything arranged—
terms most reasonable—now to recover luggage. Stop ; better ask
address—or 1 might never he able to find my optician again—like
Mrs. Barrett Browning and her lost Bower ! •' You 've only got to
use Plappek's name, Sir, anywhere, and it will -he all right," says
Mrs. P. with natural pride. Very convenient. For instance : Stern
Constable (tome). "Can't come in here, Sir." Myself. "Can't I,
though ? Flapper ! " And in I go ! Or I am in a sorape of some
sort: " Have you anything to say ? " asks the Inspector. I whisper
in his ear, " Plappee !" And they grovel and release me.
5'45.—Odd—but now I find myself wondering ungratefully,
whether I mightn't have done better than Plappee, after all. This
is human nature, I suppose—but discreditable. I am overjoyed—
really. I no longer hate people. I too am an initiate! But I can
pity poor devils who are houseless, I hope .... I order sundry
things : " Send them in to Plappee's." Luggage regained and sent
back—to Plappee's. I feel self-respect once more.
6 p.m.—Returning to Plappee's. And in this secure retreat my
Nautical drama is destined to see the light—if Plappee only knew !
I feel an affection already for this humble temporary home. Mrs. P.
meets me at the door. " So sorry, Sir—but you can't have the rooms,
after all.' Plappee had let 'em quite unbeknown to me! "
And this is Saturday! I am under a curse !
THE BALLET.
Lament by tlie Eev. S. D. Headlam.
What was it first my fancy fed,
My steps to the Alhamhra led,
And finally quite turned my head P
The Ballet!
What, when I studied it apart,
Struck me with force that made
me start,
As being a noble form of Art ?
The Ballet!
And what, when seen night after
night,
Inspired me with supreme delight,
And made me to the Pall-Mali
write ?
The Ballet I
But what, when kindled with its
fire,
I hoped my Bishop to inspire
Alas ! excited but his ire s
The Ballet!
And what, although the orthodox
1 wo places in an upper box
1 ottered him,—hut gave him
shocks ?
The Ballet!
Ah! what, though every nerve
I ve strained
To sec the dancers' battle gained,
Leaves me episcopally chained?
The Ballet! •
Last Fbtjits op the Session.—Pairs.
vol. xcni.