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This weekly trip from Weybridge to Kingston was never accomplished without incident in the form of some hitch or adventure. For instance, the tail-light, which no one had time or energy to adjust during the week, was wont to fail, and the policeman’s whistle was not infrequently heard. Whistle! “What’s that, Fred?” Harry would say to Sigrist. “Tail-light out, or did we run over that old girl?” “No, it’s only the light.” And so they proceeded, leaving the back to take care of itself. The eight or nine mechanics, carried on these journeys, were generally needed. Tyres were always going off; lamps always going out; and various bits and pieces of the car going astray on the road. All had, therefore, to work their passage.

Harry never tired of telling of the fun of those days, and although he was the keenest of workers, he was always ready for some fun, not a little being provided by the antics of a pet bear kept in the sheds at Brooklands and brought from America by Sopwith.

Harry’s delight in playing tricks never left him. Only a short while before he died we were spending a week-end with my parents. After we had all retired for the night I overheard a council of war between my brother and Harry. They crept stealthily downstairs. When, after about an hour, Harry arrived upstairs, I could extract no lucid explanation of what he had been doing. However, the next morning the sight of a white door in the dark dining-room when we sat down to breakfast explained his activities of the previous night. He had changed the white door of the drawing-room for the dark one of the dining-room. The cook gave my mother notice to leave immediately after breakfast, as she was not used to “being made a fool of.” There was only one person who saw her being made a fool of, but that person’s tale of cook’s exit through a door she knew so well which had suddenly gone “all gleaming white” was so funny that I am sure her manner of accepting the joke was better appreciated by the perpetrators than by the fools for whom it was intended.