An Autobiography of an Ancient Athlete & Antiquarian

AUTOBIOGRAPHY bitter water is extremely local, for another well close by is quite sweet, but the bitterness of the other is so excessive that it ought to be worth thousands to any speculative exploiter of health. Going over to lunch with my daughter at W.E.N.'s at Foulsham on the 23rd February, he met us in his motor, but after lunch it stuck firmly and absolutely declined to move, and we had to get a dog-cart to take us from Foulsham to Reepham, and a short, dangerous, and un– pleasant ride over sticks and stones and heaps of road material we had in the dark. The month was noticeable to me for the very sad suicide of my old athletic acquaintance, J. E. Balls, as to which I felt it my duty to write the following letter to the local press:- " Sir- It is, of course, unnecessary to tell those who knew him personally what absolute hallucinations are the self-accusa– tious contained in the pathetic letter he wrote just before he came to his sad end, but I should like to put on record for the information of those who only knew him by name that, so far from his not being worthy of regard, and from his having gone from bad to worse, no one ever lived a more blameless, worthy, and estimable life-busy in all things in which au active man ought to take an interest. I knew him first 45 years ago, when we competed against one another at the meeting of the National Olympic Association, at which he won a medal of which he was justly proud, and which he always wore at the annual sports of the Norwich Grammar School, at which he regularly acted as judge. A good gymnast and high jumper, he was one of the first noticeable Norwich athletes, and until the very last day of his life I should have said he was a grand example of one who kept a sound mind iu a sound body. But the after effects of influenza affected him as they have affected others with the lamentable result, and many regret as much as I do." When I wrote this I never expected to have to undergo the same horrible desire to commit suicide after influenza, to which so many have given way. Besides Archer, the jockey, and Walford D. Selby the antiquary, many I know have lost their lives through post-influenza delusions. My own private delusion in 1915, was that a cold and clammy corpse came into my bed every night, insisted it was my business to warm him and as an alter – native suggested that suicide with prussic acid was the only way out of the difficulty. Luckily I had none of that fluid in the house!