The Diary of a Nobody

G >> George Grossmith and Weedon Grossmith >> The Diary of a Nobody

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Transcribed by David Price, email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk

The Diary of a Nobody

INTRODUCTION BY MR. POOTER

Why should I not publish my diary? I have often seen reminiscences
of people I have never even heard of, and I fail to see--because I
do not happen to be a 'Somebody'--why my diary should not be
interesting. My only regret is that I did not commence it when I
was a youth.

Charles Pooter
The Laurels,
Brickfield Terrace
Holloway.

CHAPTER I

We settle down in our new home, and I resolve to keep a diary.
Tradesmen trouble us a bit, so does the scraper. The Curate calls
and pays me a great compliment.

My clear wife Carrie and I have just been a week in our new house,
"The Laurels," Brickfield Terrace, Holloway--a nice six-roomed
residence, not counting basement, with a front breakfast-parlour.
We have a little front garden; and there is a flight of ten steps
up to the front door, which, by-the-by, we keep locked with the
chain up. Cummings, Gowing, and our other intimate friends always
come to the little side entrance, which saves the servant the
trouble of going up to the front door, thereby taking her from her
work. We have a nice little back garden which runs down to the
railway. We were rather afraid of the noise of the trains at
first, but the landlord said we should not notice them after a bit,
and took 2 pounds off the rent. He was certainly right; and beyond
the cracking of the garden wall at the bottom, we have suffered no
inconvenience.

After my work in the City, I like to be at home. What's the good
of a home, if you are never in it? "Home, Sweet Home," that's my
motto. I am always in of an evening. Our old friend Gowing may
drop in without ceremony; so may Cummings, who lives opposite. My
dear wife Caroline and I are pleased to see them, if they like to
drop in on us. But Carrie and I can manage to pass our evenings
together without friends. There is always something to be done: a
tin-tack here, a Venetian blind to put straight, a fan to nail up,
or part of a carpet to nail down--all of which I can do with my
pipe in my mouth; while Carrie is not above putting a button on a
shirt, mending a pillow-case, or practising the "Sylvia Gavotte" on
our new cottage piano (on the three years' system), manufactured by
W. Bilkson (in small letters), from Collard and Collard (in very
large letters). It is also a great comfort to us to know that our
boy Willie is getting on so well in the Bank at Oldham. We should
like to see more of him. Now for my diary:-

April 3.--Tradesmen called for custom, and I promised Farmerson,
the ironmonger, to give him a turn if I wanted any nails or tools.
By-the-by, that reminds me there is no key to our bedroom door, and
the bells must be seen to. The parlour bell is broken, and the
front door rings up in the servant's bedroom, which is ridiculous.
Dear friend Gowing dropped in, but wouldn't stay, saying there was
an infernal smell of paint.

April 4. Tradesmen still calling; Carrie being out, I arranged to
deal with Horwin, who seemed a civil butcher with a nice clean
shop. Ordered a shoulder of mutton for to-morrow, to give him a
trial. Carrie arranged with Borset, the butterman, and ordered a
pound of fresh butter, and a pound and a half of salt ditto for
kitchen, and a shilling's worth of eggs. In the evening, Cummings
unexpectedly dropped in to show me a meerschaum pipe he had won in
a raffle in the City, and told me to handle it carefully, as it
would spoil the colouring if the hand was moist. He said he
wouldn't stay, as he didn't care much for the smell of the paint,
and fell over the scraper as he went out. Must get the scraper
removed, or else I shall get into a SCRAPE. I don't often make
jokes.

April 5.--Two shoulders of mutton arrived, Carrie having arranged
with another butcher without consulting me. Gowing called, and
fell over scraper coming in. MUST get that scraper removed.

April 6.--Eggs for breakfast simply shocking; sent them back to
Borset with my compliments, and he needn't call any more for
orders. Couldn't find umbrella, and though it was pouring with
rain, had to go without it. Sarah said Mr. Gowing must have took
it by mistake last night, as there was a stick in the 'all that
didn't belong to nobody. In the evening, hearing someone talking
in a loud voice to the servant in the downstairs hall, I went out
to see who it was, and was surprised to find it was Borset, the
butterman, who was both drunk and offensive. Borset, on seeing me,
said he would be hanged if he would ever serve City clerks any
more--the game wasn't worth the candle. I restrained my feelings,
and quietly remarked that I thought it was POSSIBLE for a city
clerk to be a GENTLEMAN. He replied he was very glad to hear it,
and wanted to know whether I had ever come across one, for HE
hadn't. He left the house, slamming the door after him, which
nearly broke the fanlight; and I heard him fall over the scraper,
which made me feel glad I hadn't removed it. When he had gone, I
thought of a splendid answer I ought to have given him. However, I
will keep it for another occasion.

April 7.--Being Saturday, I looked forward to being home early, and
putting a few things straight; but two of our principals at the
office were absent through illness, and I did not get home till
seven. Found Borset waiting. He had been three times during the
day to apologise for his conduct last night. He said he was unable
to take his Bank Holiday last Monday, and took it last night
instead. He begged me to accept his apology, and a pound of fresh
butter. He seems, after all, a decent sort of fellow; so I gave
him an order for some fresh eggs, with a request that on this
occasion they SHOULD be fresh. I am afraid we shall have to get
some new stair-carpets after all; our old ones are not quite wide
enough to meet the paint on either side. Carrie suggests that we
might ourselves broaden the paint. I will see if we can match the
colour (dark chocolate) on Monday.

April 8, Sunday.--After Church, the Curate came back with us. I
sent Carrie in to open front door, which we do not use except on
special occasions. She could not get it open, and after all my
display, I had to take the Curate (whose name, by-the-by, I did not
catch,) round the side entrance. He caught his foot in the
scraper, and tore the bottom of his trousers. Most annoying, as
Carrie could not well offer to repair them on a Sunday. After
dinner, went to sleep. Took a walk round the garden, and
discovered a beautiful spot for sowing mustard-and-cress and
radishes. Went to Church again in the evening: walked back with
the Curate. Carrie noticed he had got on the same pair of
trousers, only repaired. He wants me to take round the plate,
which I think a great compliment.

CHAPTER II

Tradesmen and the scraper still troublesome. Gowing rather
tiresome with his complaints of the paint. I make one of the best
jokes of my life. Delights of Gardening. Mr. Stillbrook, Gowing,
Cummings, and I have a little misunderstanding. Sarah makes me
look a fool before Cummings

April 9.--Commenced the morning badly. The butcher, whom we
decided NOT to arrange with, called and blackguarded me in the most
uncalled-for manner. He began by abusing me, and saying he did not
want my custom. I simply said: "Then what are you making all this
fuss about it for?" And he shouted out at the top of his voice, so
that all the neighbours could hear: "Pah! go along. Ugh! I could
buy up 'things' like you by the dozen!"

I shut the door, and was giving Carrie to understand that this
disgraceful scene was entirely her fault, when there was a violent
kicking at the door, enough to break the panels. It was the
blackguard butcher again, who said he had cut his foot over the
scraper, and would immediately bring an action against me. Called
at Farmerson's, the ironmonger, on my way to town, and gave him the
job of moving the scraper and repairing the bells, thinking it
scarcely worth while to trouble the landlord with such a trifling
matter.

Arrived home tired and worried. Mr. Putley, a painter and
decorator, who had sent in a card, said he could not match the
colour on the stairs, as it contained Indian carmine. He said he
spent half-a-day calling at warehouses to see if he could get it.
He suggested he should entirely repaint the stairs. It would cost
very little more; if he tried to match it, he could only make a bad
job of it. It would be more satisfactory to him and to us to have
the work done properly. I consented, but felt I had been talked
over. Planted some mustard-and-cress and radishes, and went to bed
at nine.

April 10.--Farmerson came round to attend to the scraper himself.
He seems a very civil fellow. He says he does not usually conduct
such small jobs personally, but for me he would do so. I thanked
him, and went to town. It is disgraceful how late some of the
young clerks are at arriving. I told three of them that if Mr.
Perkupp, the principal, heard of it, they might be discharged.

Pitt, a monkey of seventeen, who has only been with us six weeks,
told me "to keep my hair on!" I informed him I had had the honour
of being in the firm twenty years, to which he insolently replied
that I "looked it." I gave him an indignant look, and said: "I
demand from you some respect, sir." He replied: "All right, go on
demanding." I would not argue with him any further. You cannot
argue with people like that. In the evening Gowing called, and
repeated his complaint about the smell of paint. Gowing is
sometimes very tedious with his remarks, and not always cautious;
and Carrie once very properly reminded him that she was present.

April 11.--Mustard-and-cress and radishes not come up yet. To-day
was a day of annoyances. I missed the quarter-to-nine 'bus to the
City, through having words with the grocer's boy, who for the
second time had the impertinence to bring his basket to the hall-
door, and had left the marks of his dirty boots on the fresh-
cleaned door-steps. He said he had knocked at the side door with
his knuckles for a quarter of an hour. I knew Sarah, our servant,
could not hear this, as she was upstairs doing the bedrooms, so
asked the boy why he did not ring the bell? He replied that he did
pull the bell, but the handle came off in his hand.

I was half-an-hour late at the office, a thing that has never
happened to me before. There has recently been much irregularity
in the attendance of the clerks, and Mr. Perkupp, our principal,
unfortunately choose this very morning to pounce down upon us
early. Someone had given the tip to the others. The result was
that I was the only one late of the lot. Buckling, one of the
senior clerks, was a brick, and I was saved by his intervention.
As I passed by Pitt's desk, I heard him remark to his neighbour:
"How disgracefully late some of the head clerks arrive!" This was,
of course, meant for me. I treated the observation with silence,
simply giving him a look, which unfortunately had the effect of
making both of the clerks laugh. Thought afterwards it would have
been more dignified if I had pretended not to have heard him at
all. Cummings called in the evening, and we played dominoes.

April 12.--Mustard-and-cress and radishes not come up yet. Left
Farmerson repairing the scraper, but when I came home found three
men working. I asked the meaning of it, and Farmerson said that in
making a fresh hole he had penetrated the gas-pipe. He said it was
a most ridiculous place to put the gas-pipe, and the man who did it
evidently knew nothing about his business. I felt his excuse was
no consolation for the expense I shall be put to.

In the evening, after tea, Gowing dropped in, and we had a smoke
together in the breakfast-parlour. Carrie joined us later, but did
not stay long, saying the smoke was too much for her. It was also
rather too much for me, for Gowing had given me what he called a
green cigar, one that his friend Shoemach had just brought over
from America. The cigar didn't look green, but I fancy I must have
done so; for when I had smoked a little more than half I was
obliged to retire on the pretext of telling Sarah to bring in the
glasses.

I took a walk round the garden three or four times, feeling the
need of fresh air. On returning Gowing noticed I was not smoking:
offered me another cigar, which I politely declined. Gowing began
his usual sniffing, so, anticipating him, I said: "You're not
going to complain of the smell of paint again?" He said: "No, not
this time; but I'll tell you what, I distinctly smell dry rot." I
don't often make jokes, but I replied: "You're talking a lot of
DRY ROT yourself." I could not help roaring at this, and Carrie
said her sides quite ached with laughter. I never was so immensely
tickled by anything I have ever said before. I actually woke up
twice during the night, and laughed till the bed shook.

April 13.--An extraordinary coincidence: Carrie had called in a
woman to make some chintz covers for our drawing-room chairs and
sofa to prevent the sun fading the green rep of the furniture. I
saw the woman, and recognised her as a woman who used to work years
ago for my old aunt at Clapham. It only shows how small the world
is.

April 14.--Spent the whole of the afternoon in the garden, having
this morning picked up at a bookstall for fivepence a capital
little book, in good condition, on GARDENING. I procured and sowed
some half-hardy annuals in what I fancy will be a warm, sunny
border. I thought of a joke, and called out Carrie. Carrie came
out rather testy, I thought. I said: "I have just discovered we
have got a lodging-house." She replied: "How do you mean?" I
said: "Look at the BOARDERS." Carrie said: "Is that all you
wanted me for?" I said: "Any other time you would have laughed at
my little pleasantry." Carrie said: "Certainly--AT ANY OTHER
TIME, but not when I am busy in the house." The stairs looked very
nice. Gowing called, and said the stairs looked ALL RIGHT, but it
made the banisters look ALL WRONG, and suggested a coat of paint on
them also, which Carrie quite agreed with. I walked round to
Putley, and fortunately he was out, so I had a good excuse to let
the banisters slide. By-the-by, that is rather funny.

April 15, Sunday.--At three o'clock Cummings and Gowing called for
a good long walk over Hampstead and Finchley, and brought with them
a friend named Stillbrook. We walked and chatted together, except
Stillbrook, who was always a few yards behind us staring at the
ground and cutting at the grass with his stick.

As it was getting on for five, we four held a consultation, and
Gowing suggested that we should make for "The Cow and Hedge" and
get some tea. Stillbrook said: "A brandy-and-soda was good enough
for him." I reminded them that all public-houses were closed till
six o'clock. Stillbrook said, "That's all right--bona-fide
travellers."

We arrived; and as I was trying to pass, the man in charge of the
gate said: "Where from?" I replied: "Holloway." He immediately
put up his arm, and declined to let me pass. I turned back for a
moment, when I saw Stillbrook, closely followed by Cummings and
Gowing, make for the entrance. I watched them, and thought I would
have a good laugh at their expense, I heard the porter say: "Where
from?" When, to my surprise, in fact disgust, Stillbrook replied:
"Blackheath," and the three were immediately admitted.

Gowing called to me across the gate, and said: "We shan't be a
minute." I waited for them the best part of an hour. When they
appeared they were all in most excellent spirits, and the only one
who made an effort to apologise was Mr. Stillbrook, who said to me:
"It was very rough on you to be kept waiting, but we had another
spin for S. and B.'s." I walked home in silence; I couldn't speak
to them. I felt very dull all the evening, but deemed it advisable
NOT to say anything to Carrie about the matter.

April 16.--After business, set to work in the garden. When it got
dark I wrote to Cummings and Gowing (who neither called, for a
wonder; perhaps they were ashamed of themselves) about yesterday's
adventure at "The Cow and Hedge." Afterwards made up my mind not
to write YET.

April 17.--Thought I would write a kind little note to Gowing and
Cummings about last Sunday, and warning them against Mr.
Stillbrook. Afterwards, thinking the matter over, tore up the
letters and determined not to WRITE at all, but to SPEAK quietly to
them. Dumfounded at receiving a sharp letter from Cummings, saying
that both he and Gowing had been waiting for an explanation of MY
(mind you, MY) extraordinary conduct coming home on Sunday. At
last I wrote: "I thought I was the aggrieved party; but as I
freely forgive you, you--feeling yourself aggrieved--should bestow
forgiveness on me." I have copied this verbatim in the diary,
because I think it is one of the most perfect and thoughtful
sentences I have ever written. I posted the letter, but in my own
heart I felt I was actually apologising for having been insulted.

April 18.--Am in for a cold. Spent the whole day at the office
sneezing. In the evening, the cold being intolerable, sent Sarah
out for a bottle of Kinahan. Fell asleep in the arm-chair, and
woke with the shivers. Was startled by a loud knock at the front
door. Carrie awfully flurried. Sarah still out, so went up,
opened the door, and found it was only Cummings. Remembered the
grocer's boy had again broken the side-bell. Cummings squeezed my
hand, and said: "I've just seen Gowing. All right. Say no more
about it." There is no doubt they are both under the impression I
have apologised.

While playing dominoes with Cummings in the parlour, he said: "By-
the-by, do you want any wine or spirits? My cousin Merton has just
set up in the trade, and has a splendid whisky, four years in
bottle, at thirty-eight shillings. It is worth your while laying
down a few dozen of it." I told him my cellars, which were very
small, were full up. To my horror, at that very moment, Sarah
entered the room, and putting a bottle of whisky, wrapped in a
dirty piece of newspaper, on the table in front of us, said:
"Please, sir, the grocer says he ain't got no more Kinahan, but
you'll find this very good at two-and-six, with twopence returned
on the bottle; and, please, did you want any more sherry? as he has
some at one-and-three, as dry as a nut!"

CHAPTER III

A conversation with Mr. Merton on Society. Mr. and Mrs. James, of
Sutton, come up. A miserable evening at the Tank Theatre.
Experiments with enamel paint. I make another good joke; but
Gowing and Cummings are unnecessarily offended. I paint the bath
red, with unexpected result.

April 19.--Cummings called, bringing with him his friend Merton,
who is in the wine trade. Gowing also called. Mr. Merton made
himself at home at once, and Carrie and I were both struck with him
immediately, and thoroughly approved of his sentiments.

He leaned back in his chair and said: "You must take me as I am;"
and I replied: "Yes--and you must take us as we are. We're homely
people, we are not swells."

He answered: "No, I can see that," and Gowing roared with
laughter; but Merton in a most gentlemanly manner said to Gowing:
"I don't think you quite understand me. I intended to convey that
our charming host and hostess were superior to the follies of
fashion, and preferred leading a simple and wholesome life to
gadding about to twopenny-halfpenny tea-drinking afternoons, and
living above their incomes."

I was immensely pleased with these sensible remarks of Merton's,
and concluded that subject by saying: "No, candidly, Mr. Merton,
we don't go into Society, because we do not care for it; and what
with the expense of cabs here and cabs there, and white gloves and
white ties, etc., it doesn't seem worth the money."

Merton said in reference to FRIENDS: "My motto is 'Few and True;'
and, by the way, I also apply that to wine, 'Little and Good.'"
Gowing said: "Yes, and sometimes 'cheap and tasty,' eh, old man?"
Merton, still continuing, said he should treat me as a friend, and
put me down for a dozen of his "Lockanbar" whisky, and as I was an
old friend of Gowing, I should have it for 36s., which was
considerably under what he paid for it.

He booked his own order, and further said that at any time I wanted
any passes for the theatre I was to let him know, as his name stood
good for any theatre in London.

April 20.--Carrie reminded me that as her old school friend, Annie
Fullers (now Mrs. James), and her husband had come up from Sutton
for a few days, it would look kind to take them to the theatre, and
would I drop a line to Mr. Merton asking him for passes for four,
either for the Italian Opera, Haymarket, Savoy, or Lyceum. I wrote
Merton to that effect.

April 21.--Got a reply from Merton, saying he was very busy, and
just at present couldn't manage passes for the Italian Opera,
Haymarket, Savoy, or Lyceum, but the best thing going on in London
was the Brown Bushes, at the Tank Theatre, Islington, and enclosed
seats for four; also bill for whisky.

April 23.--Mr. and Mrs. James (Miss Fullers that was) came to meat
tea, and we left directly after for the Tank Theatre. We got a
'bus that took us to King's Cross, and then changed into one that
took us to the "Angel." Mr. James each time insisted on paying for
all, saying that I had paid for the tickets and that was quite
enough.

We arrived at theatre, where, curiously enough, all our 'bus-load
except an old woman with a basket seemed to be going in. I walked
ahead and presented the tickets. The man looked at them, and
called out: "Mr. Willowly! do you know anything about these?"
holding up my tickets. The gentleman called to, came up and
examined my tickets, and said: "Who gave you these?" I said,
rather indignantly: "Mr. Merton, of course." He said: "Merton?
Who's he?" I answered, rather sharply: "You ought to know, his
name's good at any theatre in London." He replied: "Oh! is it?
Well, it ain't no good here. These tickets, which are not dated,
were issued under Mr. Swinstead's management, which has since
changed hands." While I was having some very unpleasant words with
the man, James, who had gone upstairs with the ladies, called out:
"Come on!" I went up after them, and a very civil attendant said:
"This way, please, box H." I said to James: "Why, how on earth
did you manage it?" and to my horror he replied: "Why, paid for it
of course."

This was humiliating enough, and I could scarcely follow the play,
but I was doomed to still further humiliation. I was leaning out
of the box, when my tie--a little black bow which fastened on to
the stud by means of a new patent--fell into the pit below. A
clumsy man not noticing it, had his foot on it for ever so long
before he discovered it. He then picked it up and eventually flung
it under the next seat in disgust. What with the box incident and
the tie, I felt quite miserable. Mr. James, of Sutton, was very
good. He said: "Don't worry--no one will notice it with your
beard. That is the only advantage of growing one that I can see."
There was no occasion for that remark, for Carrie is very proud of
my beard.

To hide the absence of the tie I had to keep my chin down the rest
of the evening, which caused a pain at the back of my neck.

April 24.--Could scarcely sleep a wink through thinking of having
brought up Mr. and Mrs. James from the country to go to the theatre
last night, and his having paid for a private box because our order
was not honoured, and such a poor play too. I wrote a very
satirical letter to Merton, the wine merchant, who gave us the
pass, and said, "Considering we had to pay for our seats, we did
our best to appreciate the performance." I thought this line
rather cutting, and I asked Carrie how many p's there were in
appreciate, and she said, "One." After I sent off the letter I
looked at the dictionary and found there were two. Awfully vexed
at this.

Decided not to worry myself any more about the James's; for, as
Carrie wisely said, "We'll make it all right with them by asking
them up from Sutton one evening next week to play at Bezique."

April 25.--In consequence of Brickwell telling me his wife was
working wonders with the new Pinkford's enamel paint, I determined
to try it. I bought two tins of red on my way home. I hastened
through tea, went into the garden and painted some flower-pots. I
called out Carrie, who said: "You've always got some newfangled
craze;" but she was obliged to admit that the flower-pots looked
remarkably well. Went upstairs into the servant's bedroom and
painted her washstand, towel-horse, and chest of drawers. To my
mind it was an extraordinary improvement, but as an example of the
ignorance of the lower classes in the matter of taste, our servant,
Sarah, on seeing them, evinced no sign of pleasure, but merely said
"she thought they looked very well as they was before."

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