The War Years (Arrested - Finally!)
.. on Charing Cross Road . . I was stopped by two policemen disguised as human beings. They demanded to see my exemption papers. . . When my inquisitors had retreived their eyebrows from the roots of their hair, they gave me back this by now grubby document and I moved on.
Outside the Hippodrome Theater I met by chance a certain part-time hooligan called Mr. Palmer. I slapped on his plate his ration of eternal wisdom for the day and turned into Coventry Street. Almost immediately I was stopped a second time by the same two men. 'Just a moment, you,' they said. 'We are taking you in for soliciting.'
I marched before them . . . to Saville Row police station where I was searched by one man while others stood round saying, 'Mind how you go.' I was not stripped, but my pockets were emptied and I was sufficiently unzipped for it to be seen that I was not wearing women's underclothes. . . To this day, my prints lie in the files of Scotland Yard and just beyond them there are ten little squiggles that I expect Edgar Lustgarten sits up nights pondering over. They are the marks of my fingernails, which it had not been possible to keep out of the ink.
. . .the question arose of finding someone to go bail for me. . . I gave the ballet teacher, on whom they called several times without finding her in. . . I gave them the name of the man who had written the kangaroo limerick. Fortunately he arrived almost immediately. I dashed through the blacked-out streets of London, first to Mr. Palmer. . . I asked him to come to the court the following morning. . Finally I reached home and made countless telephone calls, some offering speaking parts to friends . . . others to people who might like to appear as crowd artists.
As soon as I stepped into the courtroom, I was assailed by two contrary feelings. The first was that here was the long awaited fully involved situation to which I could summon all my capacity for survival. The second was that I might fall on the floor in a dead faint and that it might be just as well if I did.
The police behaved in the perfectly conventional way that I remembered well. . . They said that between the hours of this and that, they had observed the accused stopping and speaking to various people who had looked horrified and torn themselves away.
I forbore to state that the two policemen who had arrested me were inveterate liars. I humbly put forward the opinion that they had drawn mistaken conclusions from what they saw. . . Who I asked the magistrate, could possibly hope to solicit anybody in broad daylight in a crowded London street looking like I did?
Various people gave evidence as to the irreproach-ability of my character and, to my relief, Mr. Palmer. . . Everyone who spoke on my behalf was asked by the magistrate's clerk if he knew that I was homosexual and replied that he did. . . 'And yet you describe him as respectable? ' All said, 'Yes '
When the magistrate tired of this recital of my praises he said that the evidence against me was insufficient to convict me. I was dismissed.
Outside the Hippodrome Theater I met by chance a certain part-time hooligan called Mr. Palmer. I slapped on his plate his ration of eternal wisdom for the day and turned into Coventry Street. Almost immediately I was stopped a second time by the same two men. 'Just a moment, you,' they said. 'We are taking you in for soliciting.'
I marched before them . . . to Saville Row police station where I was searched by one man while others stood round saying, 'Mind how you go.' I was not stripped, but my pockets were emptied and I was sufficiently unzipped for it to be seen that I was not wearing women's underclothes. . . To this day, my prints lie in the files of Scotland Yard and just beyond them there are ten little squiggles that I expect Edgar Lustgarten sits up nights pondering over. They are the marks of my fingernails, which it had not been possible to keep out of the ink.
. . .the question arose of finding someone to go bail for me. . . I gave the ballet teacher, on whom they called several times without finding her in. . . I gave them the name of the man who had written the kangaroo limerick. Fortunately he arrived almost immediately. I dashed through the blacked-out streets of London, first to Mr. Palmer. . . I asked him to come to the court the following morning. . Finally I reached home and made countless telephone calls, some offering speaking parts to friends . . . others to people who might like to appear as crowd artists.
As soon as I stepped into the courtroom, I was assailed by two contrary feelings. The first was that here was the long awaited fully involved situation to which I could summon all my capacity for survival. The second was that I might fall on the floor in a dead faint and that it might be just as well if I did.
The police behaved in the perfectly conventional way that I remembered well. . . They said that between the hours of this and that, they had observed the accused stopping and speaking to various people who had looked horrified and torn themselves away.
I forbore to state that the two policemen who had arrested me were inveterate liars. I humbly put forward the opinion that they had drawn mistaken conclusions from what they saw. . . Who I asked the magistrate, could possibly hope to solicit anybody in broad daylight in a crowded London street looking like I did?
Various people gave evidence as to the irreproach-ability of my character and, to my relief, Mr. Palmer. . . Everyone who spoke on my behalf was asked by the magistrate's clerk if he knew that I was homosexual and replied that he did. . . 'And yet you describe him as respectable? ' All said, 'Yes '
When the magistrate tired of this recital of my praises he said that the evidence against me was insufficient to convict me. I was dismissed.