The Shipping Forecast

Thames - Part 2

Three days later, I found myself peering out of a grimy train window, the view obscured by coal smoke and steam, as the crowded express from Bremen pulled into the station to discharge its human cargo. Holidaymakers chattering by the dozen rushed to leave the train; bags, hats and children in hand. They were followed by stevedores in grimy coal-streaked overalls heading for the docks and businessmen in shiny sharp-pressed suits and trilby hats making their way to the city centre. I waited for them all to leave before me so that I had room to remove my duffle-bag from the luggage rack, stuffed with my old Navy issue sea-boots, leggings and pea-jacket - items that last saw the light of day in late 1945. By the time I'd lugged my dunnage out of the compartment and onto the platform, most of the passengers had departed, hurrying to escape the thin drizzle that was falling beneath a leaden sky. I turned the collar of my coat up to keep out the damp and looked around for Henry, who was supposed to be meeting me with a promise of dinner.

After several minutes of waiting with no sign of Henry making an appearance, I made my way to the ticket office and asked if there were any messages left for me. None there were, so after another twenty minutes of hanging around the station entrance I decided that I had best make my way to the Hotel Kaiser, where I would at least stand a chance of getting a cup of tea and a dry place to read the newspaper I had brought with me from England on the day the ferry departed Folkestone. On arrival at the Hotel Kaiser, however, I was in for a surprise.

"No Sir, we do not have anyone by the name of Henry Phillips staying here." The concierge looked me up and down, noting no doubt the jacket and sou-wester I had retrieved from my bag to keep out the rain that had replaced the drizzle the moment I'd began walking away from the railway station. "Perhaps you are mistaken about the Hotel? One nearer the docks, perhaps?"

The snooty disdain with which he spoke suggested the Hotel Kaiser did not much care for dock workers or visiting ships crews, whose reputation for drunken rowdiness and late night revelry would no doubt be a source of annoyance for the hotel's residents and well-to-do clients.

"Ah, you are the one who is mistaken I believe," I said, putting on my best upper-class English accent. "You see, my friend is a sailing gentleman, and has been staying at the hotel while visiting with his yacht. I have come to join him - hence the sailing attire. Here, I received this note from him just the other day - it has your hotel postmark on it."

I pulled the slightly soggy letter with the hotel name and address printed on it from my pocket and placed it on the desk in front of the concierge, who merely looked down his nose at the damp object, making no attempt to pick it up.

Instead, he reached over to my left and pulled a pad of paper towards me. With dismay I saw a whole sheaf of identical printed letterheads next to my letter.

"We have these around the lobby sir. Your friend could easily have come in to write to you. I can assure you sir, no-one of that name has been staying in this hotel."

Had I but known it, I was at the crossroads of my destiny; the point at which I could have turned and walked away, left the whole silly adventure behind and gone home to my apartments in Marylebone and lived the rest of my life in comfortable, relatively privileged obscurity. If I had left without another word, I would have been on a train home, already thinking ahead to how one might win back the losses of one's last attempt at the card tables.

Instead, I put my head into the lion's mouth.

"Well. If you would just take my card. If you should perhaps recall my friend, you may find me at the Hilton across the road. Goodbye."

Having handed my card to the concierge, I made for the exit.

"Sir! A moment, please!"

I turned with my hand on the door and looked at the concierge as he hurried around the desk and come shuffling across the lobby towards me, my card held up in front of him like something precious.

"Forgive me, Lord Wilmore. I had no idea it was you. If you wait one moment, I will ask the staff if they recollect a Mr Henry Phillips."

I doubt the silly man had ever heard of me before, but this was one of those times that a title and the perception of privilege can go a long way to garnering respect - deserved or otherwise. I admit, I felt some satisfaction that I was now being paid a degree of fawning attention. A moment later he returned, bringing with him a boy who remembered Henry being in the lobby not more than a week before, along with a number of other gentlemen who were staying at the hotel, and that he had given the letter to the boy to post that very day. What's more, he remembered overhearing the men mention a von Moyton's warehouse, and those same gentlemen had departed this very morning. The concierge was sure that I would no doubt find my friend were I to go to the worthy von Moyton's warehouse at the docks straight away.