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Western Mail, Thursday 23 February 1933, page 2


I was standing in company with Snowy T. outside a hotel in Portswood. Southampton one Sunday morning in 1915, waiting for Cruiky and Stan, our two cobbers, who were inside, when two ragged urchins came along. They had a good look at us, and then one to the other said: "What are they, Bill?"

"Blowed if I know," said Bill. "Ghurkas, I think!"

Previously the four of us were in London, waiting for a man at Piccadilly tube station, when a London "Gibletts" selling papers came along, and commenced walking round us. At that time there were not a great many Aussies knocking about, and we were objects of curiosity.

The close scrutiny of this newsvendor aroused, the ire of a bright lad of 16 or so, with whom we had spoken, and apparently he assumed a proprietary interest in us, for, turning to "Gibletts," he said: "’Ere, wotcher dom' 'ere? Who do yet fink yer lookinr at?"

To all of which "Gibletts" was deaf, so "16" got wild, and, handing his papers to another lad, with "'Ere, Bill, 'old me blinkin' pipers! I'll show ‘im," he proceeded to do so by chasing him in and out of traffic and down the steps of a certain underground utility place situated in the middle of the Circus.

"'Ack Pip N.” Campion;