permit your wife, Billy, to take the floor in slacks.’
Billy said nothing. Larry the GI took Mr Cochrane’s arm.
‘Listen man,’ he said. ‘Let me instruct you about clothing. All you West Indians go about dressed in zoot-suit styles we’ve thrown away ten years ago, and we don’t complain about you.’
‘It is not a question of styles, but of being costumed respectably for my club.’
‘This girl, man, is smart as any film star. They all of them wear slacks in their off-duty hours.’
‘Flim star or no flim star,’ said Mr Cochrane (and he did say ‘flim’), ‘she must please attire herself in a proper skirt.’
‘Oh, blow, man,’ said Ronson Lighter. ‘Twist now – you dig?’
Mr Cochrane stood his ground. ‘I refuse all permission. I shall stop the orchestra.’
Mr Bumper Woodman arrived with several companions. All the men stood up. I saw Theodora reaching for her handbag.
‘Why, oh why,’ said Mr Karl Marx Bo to Mr Cochrane, ‘do you stir up trouble with your African cousins? If you want to make some trouble, why you not go and fight with Dr Malan?’
‘Me tell you insults is quite ineffectual, Mr Student,’ said Mr Woodman.
‘Oh-ho! Listen to this veteran Caribbean pugilist!’
‘Listen to these Ras Tafaris, all long hair and dirty fingernails.’
‘These sugar-cane suckers! These calypso-singing slaves.’
‘Slave? My ancestor had the wisdom to leave your jungle country.’
‘You ancestor was so no good, my ancestor he go sell him to Jumble slave-ship.’
‘You ras-clot man – you’s wasted.’
‘These bumble-clot men – these pussy-clots.’
‘Come to your home in Africa, man, and we teach you some good behaviour.’
At this moment of clenched fists and hands slipping inside pockets, a very tall slim man, with a piece bitten out of one ear, approached. ‘Now come,’ he said. ‘Come, come, come, come, come.’
‘Mr Jasper!’ cried Dorothy. ‘Are you the boss here, or aren’t you? Tell your men to see reason!’
Mr Jasper listened to several explanations, then said in a high, smooth voice, ‘Miss Dorothy, I lend you a skirt from out of our cabaret costumes. I hope you will accept this solution, Mr Whispers.’
‘No.’
‘Yes, man.’
‘No, man, no.’
‘Come,’ I whispered to Theodora. ‘This is our cue to leave.’
12
Foo-foo in the small, late hours
When I arrived with Muriel outside this Moonbeam club (which every Spade we met seemed heading for, like night beasts to their water-hole), I saw at once, from very much past experience, that trouble was going on inside. People were peering down the entrance stairs and jabbering, and noise of shouts and crashings floated up. I drew Muriel far into a doorway, as I expected any moment the intrusion of the Law.
Then customers came scurrying up too. Among them I see Montgomery, and with him his Miss Theodora. I said to Muriel to wait, and went across to them.
‘Oh, Mr Fortune,’ Theodora cried. ‘There’s fighting going on downstairs.’
‘Your brother Arthur,’ said Montgomery, ‘and Billy and his friends are battling with some wild West Indians.’
Well, I suppose our African troubles aren’t his business,but all the same, has he not a pair of fists to stay and help my friends?
I’d seen there were two quite old American saloon cars with drivers that seemed Africans to me. I went over quickly and asked were they for hire? They were.
‘What is a place to meet not far from here?’ I asked Miss Theodora.
She said the big radio building of the BBC.
‘Get in,’ I told her, ‘with Montgomery. Muriel,’ I shouted, ‘come over here! Go quickly where this lady says,’ I told the two drivers, putting pound notes in their hands, ‘and all of you wait for me there till I arrive.’
Then I plunged down the Moonbeam stairs.
At the bottom, by the entrance door, I saw Dorothy and Cannibal and various other friends all torn and tattered. The West Indians had expelled them out. I told them
Billy said nothing. Larry the GI took Mr Cochrane’s arm.
‘Listen man,’ he said. ‘Let me instruct you about clothing. All you West Indians go about dressed in zoot-suit styles we’ve thrown away ten years ago, and we don’t complain about you.’
‘It is not a question of styles, but of being costumed respectably for my club.’
‘This girl, man, is smart as any film star. They all of them wear slacks in their off-duty hours.’
‘Flim star or no flim star,’ said Mr Cochrane (and he did say ‘flim’), ‘she must please attire herself in a proper skirt.’
‘Oh, blow, man,’ said Ronson Lighter. ‘Twist now – you dig?’
Mr Cochrane stood his ground. ‘I refuse all permission. I shall stop the orchestra.’
Mr Bumper Woodman arrived with several companions. All the men stood up. I saw Theodora reaching for her handbag.
‘Why, oh why,’ said Mr Karl Marx Bo to Mr Cochrane, ‘do you stir up trouble with your African cousins? If you want to make some trouble, why you not go and fight with Dr Malan?’
‘Me tell you insults is quite ineffectual, Mr Student,’ said Mr Woodman.
‘Oh-ho! Listen to this veteran Caribbean pugilist!’
‘Listen to these Ras Tafaris, all long hair and dirty fingernails.’
‘These sugar-cane suckers! These calypso-singing slaves.’
‘Slave? My ancestor had the wisdom to leave your jungle country.’
‘You ancestor was so no good, my ancestor he go sell him to Jumble slave-ship.’
‘You ras-clot man – you’s wasted.’
‘These bumble-clot men – these pussy-clots.’
‘Come to your home in Africa, man, and we teach you some good behaviour.’
At this moment of clenched fists and hands slipping inside pockets, a very tall slim man, with a piece bitten out of one ear, approached. ‘Now come,’ he said. ‘Come, come, come, come, come.’
‘Mr Jasper!’ cried Dorothy. ‘Are you the boss here, or aren’t you? Tell your men to see reason!’
Mr Jasper listened to several explanations, then said in a high, smooth voice, ‘Miss Dorothy, I lend you a skirt from out of our cabaret costumes. I hope you will accept this solution, Mr Whispers.’
‘No.’
‘Yes, man.’
‘No, man, no.’
‘Come,’ I whispered to Theodora. ‘This is our cue to leave.’
12
Foo-foo in the small, late hours
When I arrived with Muriel outside this Moonbeam club (which every Spade we met seemed heading for, like night beasts to their water-hole), I saw at once, from very much past experience, that trouble was going on inside. People were peering down the entrance stairs and jabbering, and noise of shouts and crashings floated up. I drew Muriel far into a doorway, as I expected any moment the intrusion of the Law.
Then customers came scurrying up too. Among them I see Montgomery, and with him his Miss Theodora. I said to Muriel to wait, and went across to them.
‘Oh, Mr Fortune,’ Theodora cried. ‘There’s fighting going on downstairs.’
‘Your brother Arthur,’ said Montgomery, ‘and Billy and his friends are battling with some wild West Indians.’
Well, I suppose our African troubles aren’t his business,but all the same, has he not a pair of fists to stay and help my friends?
I’d seen there were two quite old American saloon cars with drivers that seemed Africans to me. I went over quickly and asked were they for hire? They were.
‘What is a place to meet not far from here?’ I asked Miss Theodora.
She said the big radio building of the BBC.
‘Get in,’ I told her, ‘with Montgomery. Muriel,’ I shouted, ‘come over here! Go quickly where this lady says,’ I told the two drivers, putting pound notes in their hands, ‘and all of you wait for me there till I arrive.’
Then I plunged down the Moonbeam stairs.
At the bottom, by the entrance door, I saw Dorothy and Cannibal and various other friends all torn and tattered. The West Indians had expelled them out. I told them
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