Swing of the censor
Sir: I saw a ghost passing when I came across Anthony Burgess's mention (21 June) of the 'Count of Montalk, the uncrowned King of Poland', who fre- quented the Dean Street pubs in Soho in the early 'thirties. On several occasions I enjoyed the Count's company over a draught bitter. A be-cloaked eccentric (one somehow imagined him in Dublin rather than in London) he lived in a bed-sitter in Islington from the window of which he flew the Royal Ensign of Poland. In the Soho pubs he had the habit of producing etiolated photographs of monstrously ugly Victorian teenagers. These he had fanci- fully captioned e.g.—'Virginia Wool f Crossing the Rubicon of Puberty', 'Hugh Walpole in Extremis', 'A. S. M. Hutchinson before the Fall', etc. His favourite rendez- vous was Archer's bookshop in Red Lion Street. On the last occasion I saw him he was striding nonchalantly down Dean Street. The rear of his lustrous, purple cloak had been besmirched by some urchin. It bore the chalked inscription `Jennie Lee Loves Me'.
Shaun Mandy El Respiro, Marbella, Andalusia, Spain
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