…his friend O’Hanlon , who was present at the Duke of Wellington’s funeral . Every regiment of the army contributed a private to the cortege and O’Hanlon, of the 12th Foot, came down from Bury St Edmunds accordingly . He is a dapper and very alert sort of chap: Quigley drinks with him once a week at The Coal Hole. Few teeth left and a bit deaf but still soldierly ( as if I really knew what that means). He has many stories of that day , the best of which is that when the bronze carriage containing the Duke’s coffin set off down the Mall, drawn by twelve enormous dray horses , it very quickly sank into a pothole , overburdened by its ridiculous weight ( eighteen tons ). Sixty policemen were drafted in to help draw it clear . I told him how my father bought a cone from a wreath that fell off the Car , as it was called . I went with him to Box Hill, where we buried the sacred relic in the hope it would become a tree. Before I parted from this old soldier, I asked him if he had ever served under the Iron Duke. ‘Only on this one occasion,’ he replied gravely .

…and found Dora Venn in a mood to gossip. It turns out that she is no Londoner at all but was brought up from Sussex to enter service with Lady Billingham. She met her Charlie walking out in Green Park and took pity on him for his lack of inches and incurable ability to look on the bright side of every question . When she asked him what he was doing in the Park , his irresistible answer was ‘ looking for you .’ She was seventeen and, as she put it , a bit on the bony side , as well as being as innocent as a daffodil . But it was love at first sight ,etc. ‘ Well of course we don’t have love at first sight in our class of people but I did go home very thoughtful . When we was married , a full twelvemonth later , and he saw me naked for the first time , the dear boy near enough fainted away .Nothing in the Gospel had prepared him for the shock of that .’ I asked if it had been a happy marriage. ‘Better than I deserved,’ Dora said , blinking back the tears . We toasted his memory in sherry that would otherwise have gone into Philip’s Sunday afternoon trifle.

… as far as the Army and Navy Co-operative store in Victoria, in company with Captain Sturgeon , who is a ticket holder . Billy Sturgeon is a gallant old cock with probably the worst-fitting wig in Europe , made from gypsy hair gathered ( or harvested ) in Spain. He is a gentleman usher of some kind at Windsor and has some very scandalous stories about the Queen’s incurable stinginess – visitors to the Castle lavatories are met with squares of newsprint cut from the Times, etc,etc.

The Army and Navy very crowded, especially the food hall , where I was astonished to find tinned sausages , counted a great delicacy in the more far flung parts of the Empire . Went from there to Rochester Row where Captain Sturgeon’s sister has a house . Every single person in it was drunk. Lydia Sturgeon groped her way about the room, patting people on the head , including the befuddled journalist Morton Stanley , who is of course not American at all, but Welsh. Why everyone should have been so elevated escapes me. Billy Sturgeon greatly shocked.