Farewell Flash Harry

     ‘Well, if you don’t mind,’ said Mr Franklin, ‘I feel I ought to get out here.’ The old gentleman, he told himself yet again, was decidedly unsafe. ‘I hope you don’t think I’m running out — ’
      ‘I do,’ said the veteran promptly. ‘And I commend you for it. First sign of exceptional character I’ve detected in you. But you’re missing a great chance, you know.’ He tapped Mr Franklin on the knee. ‘The first man I ever rode through those gates with was the Duke of Wellington, seventy-two years ago. Wouldn’t you like to be the last?’
      Mr Franklin hesitated. He was amused, and astonished, and a little touched. He looked into the mischievous, grinning old face, then shook his head.
      ‘I think you ought to ride in alone,’ he said gently, ‘And with the hood back.’
      He reached across and shook the old man’s hand, and then managed to push his way out of the car. The Guardsmen had succeeded in clearing the crowd from round the car, and a long aisle between to people ran fairly clear to the gates; police were moving in it, ushering them to keep it clear. At a word from Mr Franklin the hood was removed, and with the General leaning back comfortably in one corner the car rolled slowly forward. The crowd had begun to sing again, willing the King and Queen to come out on the balcony; as the car pulled away, Sir Harry was waving to him with his crooked grin; the crowd jostled forward into the space where the car had been, but Mr Franklin, craning, could see over their heads. With policeman half-running on either side, and Sergeant Rooney pacing ahead on his horse, the car was moving into the open gates held back by the red-coated Guardsmen; the singing was thundering up in full-throated ecstatic chorus, and he could just glimpse the great white head above the back seat and Sir Harry’s raised hand solemnly waving in time to the music:

Land . . . of . . . hope . . . and . . . glory!
Moth . . . er . . . of . . . the . . . free!
How . . . can we . . . extoll . . . thee,
Who . . . are . . . bo-orn of thee!

The car was lost to sight as it turned through the gates and made towards the Palace, even as the lights on the balcony came up again and royalty reappeared. The singing swelled to a triumphant climax; Mr Franklin could imagine the monarch glimpsing the car with its eccentric occupant as it sped across the open space before the Palace — what in God’s name was the old villain going to say when he got inside and the Palace minions discovered he was an entirely unauthorised visitor bent only on relieving himself? Mr Franklin could not guess — but he had no doubt Sir Harry would think of something. He’d had a lot of practice.


Mr American, pp.525-26, Pan Books, paperback edition 1982.


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Butter the bogies

‘Very good inspector, I’m delighted to have met you. A very good night to you.’ And he made his exit with dignity. Mr Franklin, realising that he had nothing to stay for, followed, and was in time to see the General hurl his cane into the gutter.
    ‘Useless little squirt!’ he exclaimed. ‘Mind you, I needn’t have expected better. His father was a toad, and would have shopped his own mother for a sovereign.’ He glared at Mr Franklin. ‘But it’s always as well to butter the bogies*, you know. Fields, eh? I’ll send him a half-dozen of whisky presently — never know when he’ll come in handy.’


* See definition 5. (Speedicut)


Mr American, p.387, Pan Books, paperback edition 1982.


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Know you

    ‘Know you.’ he said accusingly. ‘But you’re not a bobby — too well-dressed. Army? No-o, too clever for that. Haven’t got the sneaky look of a politician, either, and I doubt if I owe you money, or I’d recognise you. Well, dammit, who are you?’


Mr American, p.385, Pan Books, paperback edition 1982.



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Red-handed

Pity the traps hadn't caught him red-handed; ten years of skilly and fetters would have done him a power of good.


Flashman and the Tiger, p.114, Harper Collins, paperback edition 2000.


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In my callow youth

      There was a time, in my callow youth, when the discovery that I was running not opium but guns would have had me bolting frantically for the nearest patch of timber, protesting that it was nothing to do with me, constable, and the chap in charge would be along in a moment.

Flashman and the Dragon, p.28, Fontana Paperback edition, 1986.

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A minor talent

I may not be good for much, but if I have a minor talent it’s for finding the back doors when coppers, creditors, and outraged are coming in the front. I had the advantage of having my pants up and my boots on this time…

Flashman's Lady, p.275, Pan edition, 1979.

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Nose down in the gutter

But we stopped off for punch on the way, and the little snirp got so fuddled he couldn’t even walk, We helped him along, but he was maudlin, so we took off his trousers in an alley off Regent street, painted his arse with blacking which we bought for a penny on the way, and then shouted, ‘Come on, peelers! Here’s the scourge of A Division waiting to set about you!’ And as soon as the bobbies hove in sight we cut, and left them to find our little friend, nose down in the gutter with his black bum sticking in the air.

Flashman at the Charge, p.25, Pan edition, 5th printing, 1979.

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