MY STRANGEST EXPERIENCE

Sun (Auckland), Volume II, Issue 543, 21 December 1928, Page 8 (Supplement)

MY STRANGEST EXPERIENCE

Three One-Legged

Tailors

(By

J. H. CLARIDGE)

HAVE resided sixty-odd years 'jfjg&Jwa in this vale of tears, and I think the following facts rafcgjgl fCSS*! constitute the strangest experience of my career. If a SaPyJ IIgCUIU novelist were to write in this strain his readers would assuredly class the story as fiction. I had worked some fifteen years on a Taranaki newspaper, when, in 1895, I decided to take a trip to Sydney. Part of my necessary equipment for the journey was a suit of clothes which happened to be “built” by a local tailor whom I shall call George Dickens, though the surname is not given correctly for obvious reasons. George was minus the left leg—how he lost the limb I do not know, nor does it matter for the purposes of this narrative. I duly proceeded to Wellington, and was on my way to purchase a steamer ticket when I met George on Lambton Quay. He had meantime moved to Wellington. I knew that he had been to Sydney on more than one occasion and asked his advice about procuring a ticket. He accompanied me to the shipping office. I duly arrived at Sydney and after spending a few weeks at Katoomba, came into the city to stay a few days before returning to New Zealand. One morning I met George Dickens In George Street. I accosted him and expressed surprise at finding him in Sydney. “You have the advantage of ine,” he said, "I haven't the pleasure of knowing you.” I replied: “But you are George Dickens, the tailor from New. Zealand?” “Yes,” he said, “my name is George Dickens, and I am a tailor, but I have never been in New Zealand and am not likely to go there.” I laughed, and said: “You tell it well! Yon went with me to the shipping office two months ago in Wellington. But I had no idea you intended coming over here.” “You are making a mistake,” he declared. “You have mistaken me for some other man.” I maintained: “Well, the man I know is your counterpart. He is the image of you, dresses like you, and has lost a leg, as you have.” He laughed, again assured me that I was wrong, and added: “The coincidence is curious.” Of course, I had to accept his assurance, but was not satisfied and thought that for some reason he wished to avoid recognition. About a year after returning to Taranaki, business took me again to Wellington. I had not forgotten the Dickens incident, and determined to make inquiries. I looked up the manager of the firm where George Dickens had been employed, and he informed me that Dickens was still with them, though out of town at the moment. In reply to my question, he said that Dickens had not been away for three years. Thus I knew that I had been mistaken as to the identity of the Sydney man. But I have yet to relate a stranger tale. About a year later there appeared in a Taranaki paper the following telegram:— "Wellington, Monday. "While two men were boating in the harbour yesterday morning, a squall struck the boat and both were precipitated into the water. One oil the occupants named George Dickens, a tailor who had lost a leg, was drowned.” On Sunday morning, about two years later still, while I and a companion were strolling on one of the Wellington wharves I was greatly surprised to meet the original George Dickens, who was using a crutch to assist his progress. After greetings, I remarked: “Three George All tailors and each minus the left leg!” • He laughed, and said: “Yes, I knew the man who was drowned and I heard once in Sydney that there was a man of my name there, but I never met him. I have heard of three brothers who each lost an arm through accidents. Well, you can now claim to have met three tailors of the same name, each of whom had lost a ‘prop.’ ”