Raided by the police?
Yes, you must listen carefully for they may call on you.
What on earth for?
You still have your mothers ashes?
Of course.
Because they want to see them. They may even want to analyse them.
But Aunt Augusta you must tell me exactly what happened.
I am trying to, but you continually interrupt with unhelpful exclamations. It was midnight and Wordsworth and I had gone to bed. Luckily I was wearing my best nightdress. They rang the bell down below and told us through the microphone that they were police officers and had a warrant to search the flat. What for? I asked. Do you know, for a moment I thought it might be something racial. There are so many rules now for races and against races that you dont know where you stand.
Are you sure they were police officers?
Of course, I asked to see their warrant, but do you know what a warrant looks like? For all I know it might have been a readers ticket to the British Museum library. I let them in, though, because they were polite, and one of them, the one in uniform, was tall and good-looking. They were rather surprised by Wordsworth or perhaps it was the colour of his pyjamas. They said, Is this your husband, maam? I said, No, this is Wordsworth. The name seemed to ring a bell[34] with one of them the young man in uniform who kept on glancing at him surreptitiously, as though he were trying to remember.
But what were they looking for?
They said they had reliable information that drugs were kept on the premises.
Oh, Aunt Augusta, you dont think Wordsworth
Of course not. They took away all the fluff from the seams of his pockets, and then the truth came out. They asked him what was in the brown-paper package which he was seen handing to a man who had been loitering in the street. Poor Wordsworth said he didnt know, so I chipped in and said it was my sisters ashes. I dont know why, but they became suspicious of me at once. The elder, who was in plain clothes[35], said, Please dont be flippant, maam. It doesnt exactly help. I said, As far as my sense of humour goes, there is nothing whatever flippant in my dead sisters ashes. A sort of powder, maam? the younger policeman asked he was the sharper of the two, the one who thought he knew the name of Wordsworth. You can call it that if you like, I said, grey powder, human powder, and they looked as though they had won a point. And who was the man who received this powder? the man in plain clothes asked. My nephew, I said. My sisters son. I saw no reason to go into that old story which I told you yesterday with members of the Metropolitan Police. Then they asked for your address and I gave it to them. The sharp one said, Was the powder for his private use? He wants to put it amongst his dahlias, I said. They made a very thorough search, especially in Wordsworths room, and they took away samples of all the cigarettes they could find, and some aspirins I had left in a cachet box. Then they said, Good night, maam, very politely and left. Wordsworth had to go downstairs and open the door for them, and just before he left the sharp one said to him, Whats your first name? Zachary, Wordsworth told him and he went out looking puzzled.
But what were they looking for?
They said they had reliable information that drugs were kept on the premises.
Oh, Aunt Augusta, you dont think Wordsworth
Of course not. They took away all the fluff from the seams of his pockets, and then the truth came out. They asked him what was in the brown-paper package which he was seen handing to a man who had been loitering in the street. Poor Wordsworth said he didnt know, so I chipped in and said it was my sisters ashes. I dont know why, but they became suspicious of me at once. The elder, who was in plain clothes[35], said, Please dont be flippant, maam. It doesnt exactly help. I said, As far as my sense of humour goes, there is nothing whatever flippant in my dead sisters ashes. A sort of powder, maam? the younger policeman asked he was the sharper of the two, the one who thought he knew the name of Wordsworth. You can call it that if you like, I said, grey powder, human powder, and they looked as though they had won a point. And who was the man who received this powder? the man in plain clothes asked. My nephew, I said. My sisters son. I saw no reason to go into that old story which I told you yesterday with members of the Metropolitan Police. Then they asked for your address and I gave it to them. The sharp one said, Was the powder for his private use? He wants to put it amongst his dahlias, I said. They made a very thorough search, especially in Wordsworths room, and they took away samples of all the cigarettes they could find, and some aspirins I had left in a cachet box. Then they said, Good night, maam, very politely and left. Wordsworth had to go downstairs and open the door for them, and just before he left the sharp one said to him, Whats your first name? Zachary, Wordsworth told him and he went out looking puzzled.
What a very strange thing to have happened, I said.