London for ever - 21

I also liked the English for  the vein of pride that made them feel united in the name of the queen or the homeland, or even more simply of the land where they were born, and even earlier, in the name of their their ancestors; or the simple and spontaneous transport with which they stood up to sing the national anthem or a popular song at  the last glass of the Cockney Pride, when the three ringing of bells closed the time of the drinking stir until the next morning .

Leicester Square was a favorable attraction and an ideal stage for an innumerable series of improvised artists but no less skilled and entertaining than many self-styled professionals of the show: mimes, jugglers, singers, dancers and show-men with different characteristics .

One of these was "Uncle Fred", an old man who owed his name to the skill with which he performed the "tip-tap" dance, from the those times best world skilled  tip-tap dancer Fred Astaire.

Uncle Fred's "performance" was performed in an improvised clearing, just a stone's throw away from my post. The octogenarian  slim man  placed on the ground a metal display of theatrical billboards that, appropriately deprived of the supporting rod, served as a platform for his skillful and fast dance. And just as skilled and fast, the same old man, immediately after his dance, passed with his hat for the offers. And he never failed to withdraw it full of coins.

One day I realized that "Uncle Fred" had to act with the help of a lookout supporting man, because once  I saw him  suddenly leave his thick crossroads of extemporaneous spectators (which invariably formed recalled by the sound rhythm of his dance steps), and headed out towards me, mimicking with rapid gestures of the right hand, the request for a drink.

He just raised his eyes from the glass of orange juice, which I had promptly offered, to the passage of a round of bobbies that, bewildered and suspicious, watched that group of spectators waving around that  metal sign paved senseless on the ground.

"Uncle Fred", on that occasion, told me about how, a provincial dancer, he had tried without luck the great jump in the capital. Not being ready to lick anyone's ass, he had remained anonymous. And when he told me his age, I wanted to ask him the secret of his surprising agility; he confessed that he was in good shape with a breakfast of tea, ham, buttered toasts and boiled egg, without any alcohol nor smoke.

I did not have time to ask him anything else because he turned away, after giving me an affectionate and light nudge of understanding, leaving me with that empty glass in my hand, thinking about how life jerks us, between alternating fortunes, driven by an unstoppable,  mysterious and distant force.

21. to be continued...

Memoirs of London - 11

11.

 Our quiet Oxford Street daily’s life  was sometimes broken by the sudden and almost fleeting appearance of the "smugglers".

These were lurking people from the  East London less wicked and dishonest than their nickname could allow to presume, who were capable of improvising a street sales of genuine false brand names best suited for a Goldoni’s comedy.

They usually acted in groups of four, each one of them with a definite role.

They arrived to Oxfors street  in a peak hour (between 11.30 a.m and 16 p.m.) after parking  their van in one of the inner streets. They usually occupied a sidewalk segment between two crossbars; two of them acted as poles in each of the two intersections, so it could never happen that a patrol bobbies came unexpectedly  and the other two arranged the box with the merchandise in the center of the pavement (perfumes, wallets, scarves, lighters, watches, jewelry, which varied according to the days, but they were  always fake trademarks).

 One of them, the speaker, sitting on one of the cardboard boxes, overturned as a  seat, while on the other higher the objects were exposed for sale, boasted the quality and price of their goods,  extolled in that incomprehensible London dialect, which itself was an unmissable show.

The other, the provocateur, was placed behind the crowd who regularly stopped around the show, attracted by that improvised show and pushing against people with the elbows, showing  the money between his fingers, shouted "... I buy  three of them! "," I want two! "," I take four of those! "dragging behind him dozens of buyers who sometimes gave the money without even knowing what they were buying.

Once one of the two poles, aware of the arrival of a couple of bobbies, gave the alarm. Within a matter of five seconds, without having previously reassured the occasional customers on their honest intentions, goods, money and boxes had already disappeared swallowed from the alley opposite to the policemen 's arrival direction. And after these, completely ignorant, had disappeared from the acute view of the poles, at the same point they were reforming the sales desk. And it should be added that the interruption did not do much to the affairs of the band.

As a matter of fact the fear of the police the band showed, whether true or false it might have been, convinced people that the proposed deal had to be very profitable.

What a blessed naivety of British people and London tourists!

I remember  that my father used to count about Neapolitan scoundrels selling to naïve buyers fake gold watches since the endo of Second World War,  pretending they were booty of  the last robbery of the century. Though everybody knows  the Neapolitan Theatre , is somewhat different from the English comedy.

 I also remember that Bob once confessed to me that he had earned his way of living in that style , for some time,  and he  knew those who practiced it,  to be all very good guys.

11. to be continued...