Ly Page by the Duke of Levin
OFTEN, as I look back on my early life and compare it with the lives of young people today, I am struck by the great differences be- tween my early life and the lives of young people today. For instance, when I was fifteen there was a war on—now there is not. I was reminded of this curious and interesting fact the other day, when I went into a shop to buy a thing. I went in, as has always been my custom, through the door, walking on my feet. When I got inside, I asked the shopkeeper for what it was that I wanted, and he sold it to me. How different a story it would have been when I was a boy! Then the shopkeeper would very likely have said that he was sold out, unless of course he was not, in which case there would have been no problem.
One of my earliest memories is of being taken to see my great-grandmother in Camden Town. She lived in a house, which I remember well. It had a door and windows—the windows at the top, the door at the bottom. My great-grand. mother always used to make tea for us when we arrived, boiling the water for it in a kettle, then putting tea-leaves into a tea-pot, and pouring the boiling water over the tea-leaves. I have never forgotten this trick, which has stood me in good stead on many occasions.
My trousers My mother used to do a lot of knitting, or—as called it, rather irreverently I am afraid, `knit- ting.' She often knitted things, which my sister and I used to refer to lightheartedly as her `knit- ting.' These things, of course, were knitted.
There is a famous story of my grandfather taking me to Hampstead Heath on August Bank Holiday, to visit the fair. We went by tram, which an old friend of mine used to call, rather wittily, a `terambulator: He used to say that we called perambulator a 'pram,' so why should we not call a tram a 'terambulator'? He was a very witty man. However, the story concerns my grandfather. When we got on to the tram (or lerannbulatorl) he gave the conductor a shilling and asked for two tickets to Parliament Hill Fields! He meant, of course, Hampstead Heath.
When I was nine, I had my first real suit. This was chosen by my Uncle Schloime (who later, of course, became my Uncle Schloime) and con- sisted of a jacket and trousers, which he always insisted should be part of a suit, or indeed all of it, unless you include the waistFoat. I remember going with him to the tailors: two partners whose dignified establishment was to be found in Cam- den High Street. One of the old gentlemen was called Mr. Marks, and the other Mr. Spencer. I am happy to think that they are still alive, and are doing well. At least, I passed their new premises the other day, in the Edgware Road (I suppose that the old place was destroyed in the bombing that took place during the war), and it seemed very large, and I could see many clients walking about in it.
My trousers That first suit was of course made according to the fashion of the day. When I grew older I began to please myself more as to what I wore, and was responsible for many innovations which were considered quite daring; I remember once carrying my handkerchief in my left-hand trousers pocket, instead of the right-hand pocket, for over a week—a gesture which I am now rather ashamed of, but which I then considered very smart, and which, as I say, was considered very daring. But that first suit was strictly con- ventional. The trousers covered the lower part of me, the jacket the upper part. The buttons on both were at the front, except of course for the buttons on the sleeves of the jacket, which were at the sides, in fact on the sleeves. The suit had a number of pockets, in which I used to put things, which I would take out when I wanted to use them.
My trousers When I was eleven, I went away to school. I remember my father writing a letter to me one day. It said : Always remember to put your trousers on before going out in the morning, rather than after. I see from the photograph of your class which you have sent me that you are not wear- ing any. It is my very strong wish that you should always wear trousers in public, especially when you are having your photograph taken.
My father's 'very strong wish' was, of course, a command, and very soon I found myself writing to him : I always remember to put my trousers on before going out in the morning, rather than after. You will see from the photograph of my class which I have sent you that I am wearing them. I am sure it would be your very strong wish that I should always wear trousers in public, especially when I am having my photo- graph taken. This must have pleased my father, becaqse very shortly afterwards he was writing to me to say:
I am glad that you always remember to put your trousers on before going out in the morn- ing, rather than after. I see from the photograph of your class which you have sent me that you arc wearing some. It is my very strong wish that you should continue to wear trousers in public, especially when you are having your photograph taken.
From then. on, you may be sure that I always remembered to put my trousers on before going , out in the morning, rather than after, and always wore trousers in public especially when having my photograph taken. This once caused a very amusing incident. I had been taking a bath, for which I naturally removed all my clothes, includ- ing my trousers. When I got out of the bath, and began to dress for dinner, I absent-mindedly put on the wrong pair of trousers, and began to go down to dinner in a black jacket with grey trousers. My father sternly pointed out my mistake, and I went back to my room and changed my trousers! The Duchess always refers to this incident as the day you put on the wrong trousers'!
My trousers It was while I was up at the London School of Economics that, I first made the acquaintance of Lance-Corporal 'Juicy' Robinson. He came into my room one day to borrow a pair of trousers (I had by then taken to wearing the kind that had pockets on either side and 'turn-ups or 'cuffs' at the bottom—except for those that had pockets at the back and no 'turn-ups' or 'cuffs' at the bottom). We struck up a friendship that lasted until my death. `Juicy' Robinson, as we called him, was a great dandy. He would never dream of being seen wearing two odd socks, shoes with no laces, a shirt with a crumpled collar, and a Bedford College scarf. He was also a man m ho loved fun, and had a great sense of humour, which was always expressing itelf in very amusing practical jokes. On one occasion, he put a tintack on the chair on which a rather fat Professor was about to sit, and then called out, as the Professor was about to sit down, 'Don't sit down, Professor, there's a tintack on that chair!' We all laughed a lot.
My trousers The other day, when the Duchess and I were invited to a wedding in New York, I found I had no bowler to wear. So I went into a shot and bought one. It was a new kind of bowler, made of soft, light felt—in fact a soft hat disguised as a hard one. After buying this hat, I noticed a curious thing. Walking in a soft hat down Park Avenue towards the shop, I had been recognised by no one. But when I came out of it and walked up the street again, wearing the bowler, people at once turned round to look at me and saw who I was. To such an extent does the bowler hat -- to say nothing of the `stuffed shirt'—attract atten- tion in New York.
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