Punch: Punch (101.1891)

64 PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. [August 8, 1891.

WITH THE B. M. A. AT BOURNEMOUTH.

In order to satisfy myself as to truth in conflicting- reports about
Bournemouth as a summer resort, I take express 12'30 from
Waterloo, and go straight away to my terminus, stopping-, if J
remember rightly, only twice on the road. First-rate run, through
lovely scenery, with the London and South-Western Pack ; found at
Waterloo, and, with the exception of a slight check of only three
, ... i , minutes at

South am p to n
Water — scent
generally lost
where water is, I
believe — and
- — ." another of a few
seconds at Broc-
kenhurst, ran
^SlP into our quarry
JhtS^ a^ Bournemouth
^■rC Station West, in
jjk just two hours
[j^Efllfl andahalf. [Sap-
py Thought.—
^jn- Lunch en route,
jffM between 12-30
1 and 3. Pullman
M! f cars attached to
:g~ggg_ some trains, not
•"* MI I ?3e^iKPjyi£§p§§^ all. Certainly

ffir m \ SlllllilflP^ recommend Pull-
itm« to \ - \ man, where pos-

W 'I P- \ sible; all com-

W/fj forts at hand for

m I m l eating and

W V ' drinking: like-

<^^^^^^s' ~-&Cz?aKss^> w^ge smoldng-

., w • n „ room, &c, &c]

"Welcome the Coming- Generally im-

" There, my dear Sir; there's your room, and I'm only der stood that
charmed to have your company." —Extract from Speech of Bournemouth is
the Hearty Hotel-Proprietor to Un-iUustrious Visitor. ^g Monte Carlo
or Nice, or Monaco, or Riviera of England. May be it is; if
so,_ Monte Carlo and the rest can't be so hot in summer as they are
painted, for Bournemouth just now is (I speak of the last week in
July) at a delightfully mean temperature,—if I may be allowed to
use the word "mean" without implying any sort of disrespect for
the Bournemouthers.

Bournemouth apparently crowded. Do not remember it on any
previous occasional visit, in autumn or spring, so crowded as at this
present moment. Odd!

"Not at all," explains flyman; "British Medical Association
here. All sorts of festivities. Hotels all crowded. Lodgings too."

I return to my apartment. Lovely view. Open window. Balmy
and refreshing breeze. Becoming aware of the fact that I have left
the door open, expecting return of Boots with waterproof wrapper,
I am turning to shut it, when "to me enters" as the old stage-
directions have it, a distinguished-looking gentleman, bearded and
tnoustacked, white-vested, and generally "in full fig."-— {Mem.—
Write to Notes and Queries, Uncle derivatur— "Full fig'?''] Avno
advances briskly but quietly towards me. My visitor has evidently
made some mistake in the number of his room. At least, I hope the
mistake isn't on my part, or on the urbane Manager's part, in
putting me up here. Smart visitor bows. I am about to explain
that he is in error, and that this is my room, when he deprecates any
remark by saying, "Delighted to meet you; my name is Capes.
The porter told me you wished to see me. I am sure, Sir, I am more
than delighted to see you /" and he proffers his hand, which I take
and shake heartily, at the same time wondering where on earth we
have met before, and why he should be so effusively joyful at seeing
me again. Suddenly, as I release his hand, I see where the mistake
is, and how it has arisen. A brilliant flash of memory recalls to my
mind that in an advertisement I have read how this hotel belongs to
Mr. Capes,—Mr. Norfolk Capes, F.R.G.S., &c., &c. This amiable
gentleman who bids me welcome so heartily is the Proprietor himself.
I also am delighted. "Very kind of him to take this trouble," I say.

"Not at all," he won't hear of there being any special kindness
on his part. And as to trouble !—well, he scouts that idea with an
energetic wave of his hand. Now, he wants to know, what will I
do, where will I go, what will I take ? Section A. of the Medical
Association is meeting in the Town Hall, but I shall be late for that;
or "perhaps," suggests the considerate Proprietor, " you would like
to rest a bit before dinner at seven. Then there's the Concert after-
wards. I have tickets for you, and no doubt on your return you '11
have a cigar in the smoking-room with your friends, and be glad to
get to bed."

I thank him: most kind. I say, smilingly, that "No doubt,
shall meet some friends;" a remark which seems to tickle him
immensely. As a matter of fact, however, I confide to him that I
should prefer keeping myself quiet this evening, as I have so much
to do to-morrow morning.

" Of course you have," assents the Proprietor most sympathetically.
"And you'd like to rest as much as possible to-night after your
journey! You'd like a table to yourself a little later. No—no—no
thanks, I'm only too delighted."

And, so saying, the kind Proprietor leaves me to see to the
hundred-and-one things he has to do to-day, only stopping the Boots,
who now arrives with the double-caped waterproof 1 had sent
him for, to point me out to him, and to tell him to order a private
table forme in the salle d manger " at—at ? "—he queries—and I
reply bv inquiring if I may fix it for 7*45, as the room will be quieter
then. '"Certainly," says Mr. Norfolk Capes, without making the
slightest difficulty about it. Then, turning to Boots, he says,
" 7*45," whereupon Boots repeats the mystic formula. And thus 'tis
arranged.

If the worst come to the worst, I shall have to spend a night in a ■ Delightful gardens of Hotel. Stroll out on to cliff. Beautiful air,
bathing-machine. Not bad: if fine. Can be called early ; then sea-I not the least enervating. On the contrary, refreshing. Returning
bath; also man to bring hot water and towels. While speculating ! later on to dress. I see the salle d manger full to overflowing. The

on this probability, we arrive at

Royal Bath Sotel.—Flag flying, showing that British Medical
Association Family are at home. Other flags elsewhere express
same idea. B. M. A. at home everywhere, of course. Array of
servants in brown liveries and gilt buttons in outer hall, preparing
to receive visitors. Pleasant and courteous Manager—evidently
Manager—with foreign accent receives me smilingly. "Any diffi-
culty about rooms?" I ask, nervously. "None whatever in your
case," returns courteous Manager, bowing most graciously as he
emphasises the possessive pronoun. In the hall are trim young ladies,
pleasant matronly ladies, chorus of young porters and old porters,
all smiling, and awaiting my lightest bow and heaviest baggage.
I am "to be shown up." {Absit omen!) However, I am shown up.
Charming room: sea-view, nearly all the views from the windows of
Royal Bath are sea-views, take the Bath which way you will; and
the welcome is so warm, it ought to be The Warm Bath Hotel.

I am looking for something which has probably been left in the
hall. " Let me see "

Medicals are all feeding well and wisely, as Medicals ought to do. A
pleasant company. Only a few of the younger and idler spirits remain
when I sit down to mv dinner about eight. Excellent cuisine.
Couldn't be better. Salmon-trout from Christchurch, Poole pickles,
beef from Boscombe, Hampshire ham with Bournemouth beans. For
wine, Peter Pommery '80; and the whole to finish with Corfe Castle
Korffee, a Lyndhurst liqueur, and cigar in the sea-garden, or garden
o'erlooking the sea.

Lovely night, Then, after a stroll, "to bed," as Lady Macbeth
observes. Sensible person, Lach/ Mac.

On second thoughts will look at papers in smoking-room. Am alone
at first, but in a few minutes room crowded Medical Association has
returned in force. I catch occasional bits in conversation:—

"Pity McSrionjM (or some name very like this) couldn't come.
Great pity; missed him immensely." (Here several stories about
McSniMuk all evidently more or less good, and all interesting. I
myself begin to wish that McSnonrM had arrived. He would have

ill. "Let me see," I say, musingly, to myself, as I look round; been an acquisition.) More medical men of various ages and with

where's my waterproof with two capes? 1've missed—er-" I variety of spectacles. All enjoying themselves thoroughly,—quite

hesitate, being still uncertain. medical boys out for a holiday,—but every one of them, indivi-

A sprightly Boots is going hurriedlv out of the room. He pauses
in his swift career, as if catching my last words. 1 hear him repeat,

"Missed—er-" and then "Capes." To this he adds, sharply,

"Yes, Sir, I'll tell him," and vanishes.

" Tell him V Oh, probably he means that he will tell the' other
Boots to bring up my waterproof with the double capes. But to make
assurance doubly sure, I go to the top of the stairs and call out,
" Wrapper—with two capes—probably in the hall—don't see it here."
To which, from somewhere down below in obscurity, the voice of
the Boots comes up to me. "Capes in the hall," then something
inaudible, finishing with, up there."

dually and" collectively, intensely regretting the absence of Dr.
McSrJOftJM. I hear the voice of my friend Mr. Capes in the passage.
I will ask Mr. Capes about this celebrated Dr. McSiiraxu, whom
evidently I ought to know, at least by repute. Perhaps 1 have known
him by sight for years ; perhaps he is a man with whom I often dine
at the*Club, and who entertains us in the smoking-room with strange
stories of odd patients. His name I have heard long ago. A\ as it
McSimjium? Not unlikelv. Can't remember.

Mr. Capes is energetically explaining and protesting to everybody.
Amid the hum and buzz of voices, I catch what he is saying. It is,
"My dear Sir, Dr. McSimmoi is here. I've seen him. He dined