Andy Luke's Blog, page 10
July 24, 2017
8.1 Land and Labour
In Rowntree’s office, the June 10th 1906 copy of The Times reports the dancing Folies Bergere, of Paris, moving to Broadway, and the advent of colour photography.
“Your family are settled in York?” asks Rowntree.
“Ah yes, good access by train! The boys prefer your confectionery over Terry’s too!”
“Do call on your M.P. or myself if you have any problems.”
Trebitsch cocked his head forward. “That is the outline?”
“Of Land and Labour, our six point map. Be...
July 21, 2017
7.3 Assumed Command
At the Foreign Office, Fitzmaurice was at the Foreign Secretary’s calendar. On the other side of the desk, Tyrrell, reading the morning mail. Suddenly, Tyrrell threw himself back into the chair and cried out, “Dear God!”
“Hmm?” asked Fitzmaurice. “Something for Sir Grey?”[image error]
Tyrrell flapped the letter from above his head and flapped it some more at Fitzmaurice.
“This was hand-delivered by Rowntree’s man: the Hungarian! ‘I will take the liberty of calling upon you tomorrow, Saturday, for letters...
July 20, 2017
7.2 Bull Or Bear
In June, he journeyed four hundred miles to Bern, Switzerland. He’d arrived late and found himself at a bar in front of the River Aare where warm gusts filled the air. Under the awnings, he watched couples walk hand in hand, then find shelter under the rain. It made him queasy as it splashed down, like all of Bern’s water-falls were in his belly. The sky was darkening when a man took up the empty chair beside him and lit up a cigarette. Trebitsch felt his eyes upon him.
“What are you: bull or...
July 19, 2017
7.1 Favoured Attache
The Foreign Office London, 20 March 1906
Trebitsch Lincoln left his signature on the visitor’s book and looked over the pristine chequered floor. John Sinclair was tall and well turned out, black hair in a wild side parting and with a magnificent brush of whiskers.
“Mr. Lincoln, glad to meet you, come this way. ” said Sinclair. A thin man with a cautious brow emerged from a room behind them. Sinclair turned his head. “Mr. Ponsonby!”
“Hello, John. William and I just finished. He’ll see you ri...
July 14, 2017
6.5 The Cocoa Works
Trebitsch took his address and wrote. A month later he was invited to the Cocoa Works in York, upon request. Boiling sugar and panned chocolate laced the air. Men in hygiene masks stirred giant steel pots; carters lifted boxes; a woman directed him to Rowntree’s office. They chuckled and shook hands. An effort had been made at tidiness but it was a studied-in room.
“We never know when to stop buying books do we?” asked Trebitsch.
“If only books offered the shelter of bricks and cement,” said...
July 13, 2017
6.4 On the Look Out
They liked the name John so much it was given to their second child. His surname was Lincoln, after a deed poll change by his father. His father’s occupation was listed as unemployed, residence Hampton.
A different Trebitsch Lincoln stalked the carriages bound for London. Fuller eyebrows, the curls disappearing in a centre parted fringe accentuating jug ears. February’s papers reported on the new Liberal government; the funeral of Dorothy Grey, the Foreign Secretary’s Wife.
This might not t...
July 12, 2017
6.3 Appledore
Tenor rings of eight new bells inside iron frame stirred the rainy street. He looked through the branching fingers of Hawthorne protecting stained glass windows. St. Peter and St. Paul had its pulpit framed under a back open room: between the pews wide columns rose to broad arches joining a high ceiling. The Hungarian curate spoke quickly, fiercely, of his times in Montreal delivering sermons to crowds double the size of Appledore’s population. The congregation were warm, yet amused by his o...
July 11, 2017
6.2 The Archbishop of Canterbury
Dr. Randall Davidson, the Archbishop of Canterbury, opened his diary on Wednesday April 29, 1903. A rub against perfectly rounded ear by rare fleck of white hair and he fingered for the college files stacked at the side. A minute later the Hungarian entered, vibrating Davidson’s arm eagerly. Like an excited puppy he looked around at the cases of books, trophies and artefacts.
“Oh very pleased, yes very pleased to be here,” said Trebitsch. “I read you grew up Pres...
July 10, 2017
6.1 Behind the Mission
“Jozsef!”
The slit revealed a hallway full of envelopes, decaying. Frank rapped on the door a fourth time.
“Jozsef, open up. It’s Frank Burt!”
George Troop cupped his hands over the window plate, saw his ragged cheeks and white hair superimposed, jostling with the vacant room: a desk with no telephone; a second desk missing.
“Try around the side,” said Frank.
Frank knocked again then peered through where George had been. He saw missing light-bulbs, already Trebitsch had been reimbursed for t...
July 7, 2017
5.5 Letters of London
Duncan Robbins walked, floppy blonde curls shaking. His gaunt stature was a regular sight to those around Islington or Camden at five in the morning. He crossed the old prison grounds into The Mount. Mount Pleasant sorting office, formally often. Once under darkness he looked older than his twenty-five years. Duncan signed in: Robbins, July 15, 1904. He nodded over to Miguel Duffield, loitering, and knifed the binds on his first bag. Robbins pulled out a stack sandwich of letters onto the tab...
