Carnaby Street 1969;\namong the fab gear and the beautiful people, Dicky Toolan was looking\ndown in the mouth.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWhat\u2019s up,\nmate?\u201d I asked. Perenially unlucky in love, Dicky had recently\nsplit with a girl out of Chapel Ash name of Betty Bright, and, to\nhelp cheer him up, Nobby Clarke and I had forgone a pub-crawl in\nLeicester Square with the North Street lot plus some of the\nSubterraneans to indulge him with a bit of a fashion overhaul. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He hesitated. \u201cI\nmean, it\u2019s cool and everything,\u201d he said, scratching at his\nunshaven cheek in the September sunshine, \u201cbut it\u2019s just a bit\ntoo…,\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cPricey?\u201d asked Nobby.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Toolan shook his\nhead, \u201cNo. I mean, yes, it is, but that\u2019s not it. Look at that,\nfor instance…\u201d he said, pointing at a paisley-patterned Nehru\njacket in shocking pink, \u201cWhen would I ever wear that in Fighting\nCocks?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
While he had a\npoint, I couldn\u2019t help thinking that if fitting in around\nBlakenhall was the object of the exercise he might as well have stuck\nto C & A. \u201cThere\u2019s a new you somewhere round here,\u201d I\nsaid, \u201cjust got to keep looking.\u201d \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n
This we did, with\nour suggestions being were more and more dolefully dismissed, and his\nbecoming steadily less radical. I was about to suggest we call the\nwhole thing off and find a pub when Dicky came to a sudden halt at\nthe corner of Ganton Street.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cNow then,\u201d he\nsaid, before a Georgian-barred bay window filled with antiquated\nevening-wear.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I glanced at Nobby,\nwho rolled his eyes back at me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cHere?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
A small bell tinkled\nassent as Toolan opened the door; behind the partitioned window\ndisplay the shop was bereft of natural light, illuminated by a\nhandful of candles \u2013 entering felt more archeology than retail\ntherapy. I even thought I saw a rat scurry across the counter, but\nit appeared the other side of the counter atop the head of a tiny\nman, who darted straight into the back room. An excited mutter could\nbe heard. \u201cMaster!\u201d it said, \u201cthere are\u2026 people.\u201d \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cDo not call me\nthat when we have visitors. Are they\u2026?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The muttering became\ninaudible. Toolan was eyeing up some silk imperials on a wall\ndisplay.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
There was refinement to this man but it was of an alien aesthetic. The details of his upbringing were appreciable but impenetrable, like ancient manuscript.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cGentleman, you\nare wery welcome!\u201d a deep, low voice came from the counter. A tall\nman with impressive sideburns introduced himself. \u201cLord Petru\nSzabo, at your service. This is Mosca, my famil\u2026, my family\nmember. Actually, we are not related. He is assistant.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYour sales\nassistant?\u201d asked Nobby.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI like the cape\nyou have in the window,\u201d said Toolan. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI like it also,\u201d smiled Szabo. At the click of his fingers Mosca unlatched the small door to the window display and brought the cape to him. He held the garment in long, slender fingers with extraordinarily long nails. There was refinement to this man but it was of an alien aesthetic. The details of his upbringing were appreciable but impenetrable, like ancient manuscript.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWould you give me\nfifteen pounds for it?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cFifteen quid?\u201d\ngasped Toolan. Szabo gave a cool stare by way of response.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cIt seems\nexpensive,\u201d I interjected.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAnd square,\u201d\nadded Nobby. \u201cThere\u2019s far fabber gear than this round here.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Szabo\u2019s expression\nturned to one of curiosity. \u201cYou are not from London,\u201d and then,\nafter briefly consulting with Mosca in a foreign tongue said,\n\u201cBirmingham?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Nobby shook his\nhead. \u201cWe\u2019re here to follow the Wolves.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWolves, you say?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAr.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cRegent\u2019s Park?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cChelsea.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n At this, Szabo and\nMosca both became very agitated, jabbering excitedly in their other\nlanguage. Eventually they composed themselves. \u201cYou are\ninterested, gentlemen,\u201d the taller man asked, \u201cin the…\nsupernatural?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cKnocker is\nmagic,\u201d shrugged Nobby.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWas magic, yer\nmean,\u201d said Toolan.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHe\u2019ll be back, I\u2019m tellin\u2019 yer.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n Szabo and Mosca resumed their secret dialogue, then Szabo said,<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThree pounds for\nthe cape, and I will take you all for lunch.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Having expressed his\ndisgust for English cuisine, Szabo took us to the recently-opened\nPizza Express on Wardour Street. I thought it was fab, but Toolan\nconsidered it \u201cglorified cheese on toast.\u201d The only beer on\noffer was bottled Double Diamond, and as soon as the meal ended we\nwere keen for a decent pint, rather than the expensive wine Szabo was\noffering us. \u201cWe should head off,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHow are you\ntravelling?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWe sorted that\nout at Euston. Change at Charing Cross for the District Line.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Szabo shook his\nhead. \u201cI have a better idea,\u201d he said. As Mosca scuttled out of\nthe restaurant, Szabo ordered a bottle of gin to take away, and ten\nminutes later we were climbing into a four-horse landau for a short\nhop to Leicester Square station.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhat is going\non?\u201d whispered Nobby to me as we stepped onto the escalator, behind\n(it so happened) Jack Dudley, \u201cTatter\u201d Wollaston, and the rest of\nthem, who were leaving the West End to continue their pub crawl in\nSW6.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cMosca will be\nleawing us now,\u201d said Szabo, \u201cOne of us should remain above\nground.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cOur next stop might well be our last,\u201d he said darkly, as the guard told passengers to stand clear of the doors…<\/p>\n\n\n\n As we moved off\nwest, Szabo began asking questions: when was the first time we saw\nthe Wolves; had we ever been hurt following the Wolves; what\nprecautions we took when following the Wolves at night, etc. It got\npretty tedious, particularly as he never seemed very satisfied with\nour replies. When the train pulled into Knightsbridge, however, the\nquestions stopped, and his mood changed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cOur next stop\nmight well be our last,\u201d he said darkly, as the guard told\npassengers to stand clear of the doors, \u201cPrepare yourselves,\ngentlemen.\u201d \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n Two minutes later, a terrible metallic screech sliced the air and we were catapulted forwards. The train was at rest. I looked up from the floor and saw Szabo, a hungry look in his eyes, offering his hand to lift me. Back on my feet I looked around, confused. I felt weight to the air but no-one spoke. This was the tube after all.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The train\u2019s engine\nshut off.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cSo now it\nbegins,\u201d muttered Szabo, \u201cOr wery soon, anyway. Give me a\ncigarette, Gonby.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n That was no way to\ncadge, but I had more on my mind than such qualms. What were we\ndoing here, with a man we hardly knew on a route we hadn\u2019t chosen? \nHow had he known something would happen in this tunnel? Around him\nwere cowboy hats, kaftans, more fur than a poacher\u2019s kitchen, yet I\nfound myself thinking \u201cwhat kind of clarnet wears a cape?\u201d I\npassed him a fag and my England\u2019s Glory. He looked around the\ncarriage with an arrogant air. \u201cPoor fools have no idea,\u201d he\nmuttered, to no-one and everyone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Now the lights went\nout. As Szabo took long draws on his cigarette his face was\nilluminated. Lost was all detail but for a calculation to the eyes. \nMy heart beat firmly in my chest now, but all I could hear was my\nwatch tick, tick.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Then it happened. \nFirst a crack of light appeared in the tunnel outside, and in less\nthan a second the carriage was beseiged by bats. They banged against\nthe windows, flew back, banged again. Like giant swarming insects\nthey frenzied outside. Down the carriage a few of the young \u2018uns\nstarted singing \u201cYou\u2019ll Never Take The North Bank\u201d but it did\nlittle to shake the blanket of nervous confusion. I smelt gin, and\nturned around; Szabo was dousing a seat, and then dropped his\nWoodbine onto it. It caught ablaze. The bats seemed to recede. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHa-ha! Begone,\nwermin of the night!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n The light in the\ntunnel now moved; it was a burning torch lighting a tall, shadowy\nfigure in top hat and dark sideburns. Szabo was busy dousing another\nseat, mumbling to himself, \u201cthinks he can defeat fire\u2026 should\nhave ordered more garlic bread\u2026.\u201d \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cMate,\u201d said\nToolan, \u201cWhat on earth is going on?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAll change. All change at Brompton Road. Mind the gap as you alight the train. The lifts are inactive; please use the stairs.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Suddenly the driver\u2019s cab door opened, and a balding figure in dark serge emerged, his face and neck covered in blood. I could see the front glass of the cab had been smashed. Unsteadily he made his way to where we stood and announced, \u201cAll change. All change at Brompton Road. Mind the gap as you alight the train. The lifts are inactive; please use the stairs.\u201d The doors opened just as he collapsed to the floor; Toolan had to roll him over slightly to retrieve the shopping bag with his cape in it. The light had now disappeared from the tunnel, but Szabo was fashioning his own torch using his cane and cape, doused with the last of the gin. We all piled out onto a disused platform, and through the door from which the bats and shadowy figure had emerged. Behind us I could hear the guard shouting, \u201cJimmy, what\u2019s going on?\u201d With his makeshift torch held aloft, Szabo led the way into the bowels of the disused station. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWicious creatures,\u201d he shouted, though we saw neither creatures nor humans in the torchlight, and then, more calmly, \u201cuse the handrails. Mind your step, ewerybody.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n It was a long climb\nbut we eventually reached the foyer. This appeared to have been\nconverted into office space at some time, perhaps the last war. \nThere were footmarks in the dirt, not all human, and a rodent scent. \nDisgusting, in short, but Szabo seemed in no hurry to leave. He was\nheading towards a door marked \u201cPRIVATE.\u201d Toolan asked if we\nshould follow.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I shook my head. \n\u201cIt\u2019s gone half past one.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n As we emerged into\nthe daylight we spotted Mosca\u2019s landau double parked on the\nBrompton Road. \u201cHe\u2019s in there,\u201d I called, and the little man\nleapt from the box and scurried past us. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cInteresting\nchap,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cBoth of them,\u201d\nagreed Nobby.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWe\u2019ll get the\nDistrict Line back, eh?\u201d suggested Jack Dudley, before suggesting\nthe Bunch of Grapes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n It was a similar\nstory at Stamford Bridge, in many ways, with all looking doomed after\neighty minutes, before a Hugh Curran brace cancelled out goals from\nDempsey and the tall, sideburned Peter Osgood, whose silhouette it\nmay have been that we had seen in that abandoned station, for all any\nof us knew at that time. \n<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Peter Knowles was magic, but now he is gone, and darker powers are at work in the streets of London…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":594,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[2],"tags":[37,122],"class_list":["post-78","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-uncategorized","tag-chelsea","tag-wolves"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/gonbys.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/78","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/gonbys.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/gonbys.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/gonbys.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/gonbys.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=78"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/gonbys.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/78\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/gonbys.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/gonbys.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=78"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/gonbys.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=78"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/gonbys.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=78"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}