STUDENTS SEIZE MR PUSSYFOOT.

Hokitika Guardian, 14 January 1920, Page 1

STUDENTS SEIZE MR PUSSYFOOT.

CARRIED TO WEST END ON STRETCHER. LONDON, Nov. 14. Fighting gamely, the liquor prohibitionist, -Mr “Pussyfoot” Johnson "'as yesterday afternoon kidnapped, dragged off the platform, and carried out of Essex Hall, Essex-street, and along the Strand by medical and other students. He was eventually rescued by the police in Oxford-circus little the worse for his adventure.

The “rag” was the outcome of a debate between Mr Johnson, on the one

hand, and Mr R. Mitchell Banks, a barrister, on the other. Long before the meeting the upper part of Essex-street was crowded with students from King’s College, University College, and St Bartholomew’s, Guy’s, and St Thomas’s hospitals. They made no secret of their intention : a skull on a stick bore “Remains of Pussyfoot.” Every passing taxicab was held up and inspected. While a thousand students, many provided with beer bottles, were looking for him, Mr Johnson walked unnoticed through the crowd, listened to plans to kidnap him, and entered the hall unmolested. Inside ihe met cat-calls and offers of beer. He was the calmest man in the room. Smiling indulgently he trimmed

his nails. “We want Pussyfoot!” drowned the chairman’s voice; calls for fair play were jeered; an offer to meet the students" in a neighbouring tavern at opening time was hailed with yells of delight. Mr Johnson smiled and trimmed his nails. “You’re welcome to come on the platform,” thundered the chairman. A student with a stick and a Scots accent

accepted and informed the audience that Vimy was won on rum—(“For he’s a jolly good fellow”). Mr Johnson, having trimmed his nails to his satisfaction, rose and beamed through his Pickwick spectacles. Out of curiosity the heard him “agree that the British should control their own drink problem.” Then they made every noise of which tbo voice is capable. Some miaowed, some barked, one fat youth did a baby’s howl till he was purple in the face, photograpliers fired flashlights, women screamed

“Shame!” Mr Johnson spoke in a. quiet drawl as if to a Sunday school. Nobody hoard. PLATFORM RUSHED. With bags of flour and disinfecting powder the “raggers” bombarded the .platform, climbing over chairs brandishing sticks and bottles of beer. Shouting “Wo want Pussyfoot,” they stormed the platform. Tho battle was short and sharp. Mr Johnson, using his six feet of height and fifteen stones of weight, laid about him lustily, aided valiantly by others on the platform. But the odds were too heavy, and ho was carried out of tho hall resisting every inch of tlio way, whilo women shrieked and men swore. The “raggers” did not harm him, but several of their number suffered from his feet and fists.

No one in the hall was seriously hurt, but many were covered with flour and disinfectant. Outside Exeter Hall, Mr Johnson, pale, hatless, and his jacket white with flour, was hoisted shoulder high on a stretcher and rushed at the head of a

wildly excited mob of students into the Strand. A force of police was swept aside by the students using Mr Johnson in the stretcher as a battering-ram. They forced their way into the main hall of King’s College Yard and, hoisting Mr Johnson up the stone stairway, propped him against the balustrade and ordered him to “speak.” There was then a cry of “Police,” and Mr Johnson was in the air again and carried along a corridor, down a narrow staircase into the street, where his appearance was greeted with : “We’ve got Pussyfoot.” “Who got Pussyfoot?” “Guy’s got Pussyfoot.” “King’s got Pussyfoot.” “Bart.’s got Pussyfoot.” “We all got Pussyfoot.”

Mr Johnson was “navigated” over the heads of the crowd towards the Strand. A combined rush broke the police cordon, and up Southamptonstreet into Covent Garden went the students. A police attempt to get Mr Johnson into Bow-street failed. The procession, now 2,000 strong, with the intention of taking Mr Johnson to Lei-eester-square, went down King-street, Garrick-street, and Cranbourn-strcet. All tfaflic was stopped. Occasionally Mr Johnson looked at his watch, smiled faintly, and finally accepted a proffered cigarette from one of the studests. A short halt was made at the Picca-dilly-circus fountain, and then the procession, growing larger and more excited, headed for Regent-street and Ox-ford-circus. Here a force of constables made a determined rush and after a sharp fight secured Mr Johnson from the stretcher. That was the signal for a wild outburst, more flour was thrown, policemen lost their helmets, and it looked as 'f Mr Jolmsos and his rescuers would go underfoot. With reinforcements, the police, half-carrying, halfdragging Mr Johnson, got him into a private car and drove off rapidly. It was the end of a record “rag.”