Man in taxi* was the sobriquet bestowed on an old friend by Wikipedia. He was mentioned because of a curious incident that took place on the evening of 24th March 1974.
First, let me introduce him. He enjoyed opera, theatre and drinking in his later years, so we got on well. I was introduced to him by his children. His friends called him Bow Legs but I always called him Hollow Legs (hereafter HL). On the evening in question, he was in El Vino on Fleet Street having a convivial time. With two friends, journalist Brian McConnell and a lawyer, he hailed a taxi to take them on to the Irish Club in Eaton Square (it closed in 2002, so don’t look for it) for further refreshment. They were delayed briefly at Trafalgar Square as the traffic was halted to allow Princess Anne’s car to return to Buckingham Palace from a charity film screening.
As they went up the Mall, HL saw the royal car had been forced onto the verge by a Ford Escort. Ever a man of action (he had been a goodish rugby player in his day) he rapped on the glass, ordering the driver to stop, and telling Brian that there was a story. The lawyer favoured caution and remained in the cab while HL and Brian burst out of both doors. Brian was on the wrong side and was immediately shot in the stomach by the gunman attempting to abduct the princess. HL tried to staunch Brian’s wound as well as those of HRH’s detective and a passing policeman, using his trilby.
Police reinforcements arrived but HL’s and Brian’s Irish accents led them to suspect that they were not saviours but participants. Eventually Brian was taken to King Edward VII’s Hospital and put in a private room. The police took the precaution of secreting a tape recorder under his bed to gather evidence of his possible complicity. His first visitor was a doctor.
“I am the Queen’s doctor. Her Majesty has commanded me to attend you.” Brian assured him that he was as well as possible after being shot in the stomach.
Next, a distinguished looking chap in a dinner jacket came into his room. “I am the Queen’s surgeon. Her Majesty has commanded me etc…..” Then Matron popped in. Brian said: “well, if you’re the Queen’s gynaecologist I know I’m in trouble.” That tape must have given the police a laugh.
Meanwhile back on The Mall, HL and his lawyer friend went on to the Irish Club. The taxi driver confessed to being a bit shook so they invited him in for a drink. When he’d sufficiently recovered he took HL out to his cab and presented him with an exorbitant bill; the meter had been running since they left El Vino.
Brian McConnell was awarded the Queen’s Gallantry Medal. HL only had his ruined trilby as a souvenir.
I remember watching News at Ten that evening anchored by Reginald Bosanquet. You probably remember that he was a popular newsreader, with women because he was good looking and with men because he was obviously drunk on air. Breaking news hadn’t been invented but that’s what it was. I remember him being confused and drunk but the YouTube link below either proves me wrong or is a later bulletin by which time he had mastered his script.
* I find that Wiki have changed their entry about this incident and HL no longer features, even as Man in Taxi, so I’m especially pleased to be able to tell you about the role he played.
http://youtu.be/maKixQIFR_0
Terrific story. Shame characters like Bosanquet are no longer tolerated.
I have another Princess Anne car story. I was a cadet at Sandurst at the time of The Mall shooting (as it happens with Bow Leg’s son). Princess Anne lived there too; her new husband Captain Mark Phillips was an instructor. Following the shooting Sandhurst went on high alert and the cadets were required to guard the grounds overnight.
I found myself on duty one night when Princess Anne’s car arrived at the gate with her at the wheel and towing a horse trailer. I was a little sleepy and asked HRH for her identity card. She made it clear to me that this was an unnecessary request and demanded that I raised the barrier. I did so sharpishly and saluted her for good measure.
My salute went unnoticed but caused me to let go of the barrier which crashed down on the Royal trailer. No great damage was done but I was subjected to some words that HRH might have learned from her father as she swept away.
I have been a Royalist ever since.
These serendipitous synchronicities are at least half of why this blog is such a treasure. Another near-half must be the way I find so many of its ragbag of tastes and affinities suit me.