The books that I first read when very young fall into two main categories: those that have stayed with me throughout the years and those that I forgot all about until I started doing some archaeological digs in my memory in the hope of finding some more material for articles.
Low Notes on a High Level by J. B. Priestley was one such deeply buried book, and Anthony Armstrong's Prune's Progress was another. Lifting them out into the light exposed memories of some equally entertaining books that I hadn't thought about for decades: Leslie Charteris's Saint stories.
I remembered how much I enjoyed reading these books as a child; I decided to renew my acquaintance with them and perhaps produce an article if I found anything to comment on.
It seemed strange at first that I used to read these books so avidly, as they were not in any of the categories that I liked best: they were not fantasy or science fiction, they were not children's classics and they didn't have a historical background. They didn't have much in the way of my idea of fascinating new information, and they didn't have much fuel for my imagination either.
I started to recall some of the details and realised that the main attractions of the books were the daredevil personality, sophisticated lifestyle and exciting adventures of Leslie Charteris's hero Simon Templar, whose nickname is 'The Saint', and the – often rather juvenile – humour.
It was the people rather than the plots and backgrounds that most appealed to me, and I found the witticisms and Americanisms very funny.
The Saint has a swashbuckling, buccaneering personality. He is strong, fearless and audacious; he is bold and brave, light hearted and carefree. He has nerves of steel; he is irrepressible; he is extremely resourceful; he is rarely at a loss and has a witty remark for every occasion. He has a strong intuition or sixth sense that serves him very well.
He resembles a Raphael Sabatini hero in some ways, which partly explains his appeal.
I liked Orace the Cockney retainer who says such things as “Brekfuss narf a minnit”, and Hoppy Uniatz the amusingly obtuse gangster from the Bronx who says, “ Do I give him de woiks boss?” and has an automatic gun he calls his Betsy. They are caricatures, but I didn't realise this at the time.
I also liked Chief Inspector Claud Eustace Teal, who constantly chews Wrigley's gum and has to endure endless insults and teasing from the Saint.
The Saint baits and goads his enemies; he addresses men by names such as 'Gladys', 'Snowdrop' and 'Algernon'.
I remembered finding the books laugh-out-loud funny; I still find them very amusing. Here the Saint has fun with Chief Inspector Teal:
“'You’re having one of your relapses into detectivosis, Claud, and it offends me. You stand there with your great stomach wobbling—'
'It doesn’t wobble!' yapped the detective furiously.
'It wobbles when I poke it with my finger,' said the Saint coldly, and proceeded to demonstrate.”
From The Misfortunes of Mr Teal (1934), later published as The Saint in England and The Saint in London
Before re-reading any Saint books, I tried to recall some of the stories. My mind could produce only vague memories of what I had read all those years ago, but two very different and rather strange items surfaced: the name Titus Oates and the song called The Bells of Hell Go Ting-a-ling-a-ling.
I found the stories that were the source of these memories; reading them again was just as enjoyable as it was all those years ago.
The original Titus Oates was an English priest who in 1678 fabricated a Catholic plot to assassinate King Charles II and was later severely punished for the deception. Leslie Charteris gave this name to one of the characters in The Unfortunate Financier aka The Whipping of Titus Oates, a short story that was published in Boodle (1934) aka The Saint Intervenes.
This man is a shady character who manipulates share prices and defrauds people of their life savings. The Saint, who specialises in fooling the enemy and cheating the cheaters, decides to punish him for his sins. He comes up with an ingenious plan, a set-up which involves instructing the modern-day Titus Oates, a fanatical postage stamp collector, to pretend to be the original one to establish his credentials when visiting someone he has been told is a fellow stamp enthusiast but who is really a mental health practitioner.
Conversely, the doctor has been informed that Oates is the Saint's delusional uncle who must be detained for observation.
This is from the scene where they meet:
“...Mr Oates recalled his instructions...
'Titus Oates,' he repeated gravely. 'I was whipped from Aldgate to Newgate, and from Newgate to Tyburn.'
Dr Jethero studied him for a moment longer, and glanced towards the door, where the white-coated attendant was waiting unobtrusively — Mr Oates had not even noticed the oddity of that.
'Yes, yes,' he said soothingly. 'And you were pilloried in Palace Yard, weren’t you?'
'That’s right,' said Mr Oates eagerly. 'And outside the Royal Exchange. They put me in prison for life, but they let me out at the Revolution and gave me my pension back.'
Dr. Jethero made clucking noises with his tongue. 'I see. A very unfortunate business. Would you mind coming this way, Mr. Oates?'"
This scene is Leslie Charteris at his best; it is a good example of the clever and amusing material to be found in the Saint books.
As for the catchy song, it appears in A Wonderful War, a short story in Featuring the Saint (1931). Simon Templar disguises himself as a peasant and starts a revolution in a fictional country in Central America in this very amusing story.
“The bells of Hell go ting-a-ling-a-ling,
For you but not for me;
For me the angels sing-a-ling-a-ling,
They’ve got the goods for me,
O death, where is thy sting-a-ling-a-ling,
Where, grave, thy victory…”
They take it for a revolutionary song:
“To this day you will hear that song sung by the peasants of Santa Miranda. And if you should ask one of them why he sings it, he will answer, with courteous surprise at your ignorance: “That, seńor, is one of the songs of freedom… .””
The scene where the Saint puts on a white coat and pretends to be the new assistant in a chemist shop comes from The Miracle Tea Party, a short story in Follow the Saint (1939).
One customer who asks for just a few pennyworth of liquorice lozenges for her Young Alf's 'corf' gets a huge supply of them, with a large bottle of cough mixture and some cod liver oil thrown in at no extra cost.
A little urchin who comes in with the price of a small tin of baby food gets the largest size that the Saint can find, and he gives her a free pound of pear drops too.
Yet another customer gets lucky:
“Mr Osbett's boxes of extra special toilet soap, usually priced at seven and sixpence, were reduced for the benefit of a charming young damsel to a shilling each. The charming damsel was so impressed that she tentatively inquired the price of a handsome bottle of bath salts.
"What, this ?" said the Saint, taking the flagon down and wrapping it up. "As a special bargain this morning, sweetheart, we're letting it go for sixpence.""
I remember wishing when I first read about this sensational sale that something like it would happen to me!
There is more to come about the Saint books.
A selection of vintage Leslie Charteris paperbacks:
