…... and they would be so much happier to feel he was with someone they knew. It was very easy to arrange and this young golden-haired, blue-eyed “child,” who looked about 16, finally reported for duty.
I never met anyone so keen, so bubbling over with enthusiasm. His letters home, which at times it was my duty to cursor, were a fine example of British spirit, I remember one in particular, just after he had returned from
a scrap, his machine generally shot about. It was to a school friend and h
e wrote: “I’ve just landed back with holes in my petrol tank, but you simply don’t know or feel the danger; it’s just one big thrill. Hurry up and come out, it’s wonderful.”
He only lasted a couple of months, poor boy, when he was shot down in flames on our side of the lines. In my letter to his parents I particularly avoided any reference to the way be had met his death; it was, therefore, more than distressing for them when a tactless infantry officer, who reached the wreckage first, took Walworth’s charred cigarette case and pocket book and sent them direct to his father.
Just before the Armistice I had the honour to dine with the Prince of Wales (now the Duke of Windsor), at a most amusing party given by the General of our Brigade. He asked a number of the younger Squadron Commanders to meet “Captain Windsor,” and we wined and dined in state, after which everyone danced. There were, of course, no females within miles of the Chateau, so we just danced with each other. I am probably the world’s worst dancer, but wanted to be able to say I had partnered the future King of England and, as the others did, I asked “May I have the pleasure?" Once round the room was enough for H.R.H.!
After that we gathered around the piano for a sing-song. I had acquired a mild reputation for certain typical Wardroom and Mess Deck songs, and someone asked me to sing “The Parson came home drunk one night,” the first two verses of which are quite tame. The last two, however, are decidedly the opposite. The General, who had heard me sing it before, whispered in my ear: “Better cut out the last two verses,” When I stopped, H.R.H., who was standing by the piano said: “Oh! go on, there are two more verses.” I gave a lie to this, pretending that I did not know them, whereupon he sang them himself ! A few years later I ran into H.R.H. quite by accident, when he came out of a shop in Bond Street. He recognised me almost at once, and stopped and chatted for a few minutes. Where do Royalty obtain their wonderful memories?
