Rule Britannia, thinks I

. . . our jaunty subaltern was putting on dog in no uncertain manner. His old red coat was sponged and pressed, his whiskers shone with pomade, his cap was on three hairs, his cane under his arm, and his monocle in his eye. Rule Britannia, thinks I, and stamped my heel in reply to the barra salaam* he threw me . . .


 *Big salute


Flashman on the March, p.245, Harper Collins, paperback edition 2005.


Tags: Flashman, Flashman quotes, pomade.

A cool half million

           If you’ve read my previous memoirs you’ll know me better than Speedicut did, and won’t share his misgivings about trusting me with a cool half million in silver. Old Flash may be a model of the best vices — lechery, treachery, poltroonery, deceit and dereliction of duty, all present and correct, as you know, and they’re not the half of it — but larceny ain’t his style at all.


Flashman on the March, p.15, Harper Collins, paperback edition 2005.



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Survive and prosper

      There’s no question that a public school education is an advantage. it may not make you a scholar or a gentleman or a Christian, but it does teach you to survive and prosper—and one other invaluable thing: style.

Flashman and the Redskins, p.148, Pan Books edition, 1983.

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A word on tweed coats

…he had that manly, open-air reek about him that I can’t stomach, what with his tweed coat (I’ll bet he rubbed his horse down with it) and sporting cap; not my style at all.

Flashman's Lady, p.15, Pan edition, 1979.

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Cricket, the Flashman way

It may strike you that old Flashy’s approach to our great summer game wasn’t quite that of you school-storybook hero, apple-cheeked and manly, playing up unselfishly for the honour of the side and love of his gallant captain, revelling in the jolly rivalry of bat and ball while his carefree laughter rings across the green sward. No, not exactly; personal glory and cheap wickets however you could get ’em, and d--n the honour of the side, that was my style, with a few quid picked up in side-bets and plenty of skirt-chasing afterwards among the sporting ladies who used to ogle us big hairy fielders over their parasols at Canterbury Week.

Flashman's Lady, p.12, Pan edition, 1979.

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