Dear chums, as you no doubt all fully aware I am at present preparing my for my next, some might say foolhardy expedition. I have accepted an invitation to visit the U. S of A.
Here I intend to hook up with that rake and sometime friend Tubby Williams and travel on to the Black Hills of South Dakota where with a posse of ne'er do wells will prospect for silver and good fortune. Yippee. Fawcett.
I am more than thrilled to find myself in the position of being able to accept Tubby Williams' kind invitation to join his team in their quest for silver and mineral wealth in the Black Hills of South Dakota. Yee Hah!!! Fawcett.
Having pocketed the 350 US Dollars and the deeds for the abandoned silver mine in Taxco, Tubby staggered from the bar and was greeted by the dawn of a new bright day. The cove had struck it rich. The rest, my chortling chums, is history. What? C.F.
One early tequila hazed morning Tubby’s luck was about to change. The stakes were running high; the unsavoury characters that slumped around the table had been here all night. You could carve your name in the rancid, smoked filled air. Blowing on his hand Tubby rolled the dice……
Tubby on occasion frequented a squalid bordello which, doubling as a gambling den, was situated in a seedy part of Veracruz. An odious pit of iniquity known to it's incumbents as the ‘Last Chance’ saloon, it was a dingy, festering flophouse a home for the homeless, a dive for those who as we all know, always have a story. His mother, had she lived, would have wept buckets. C.F.
One could list amongst Tubby’s numerous vile habits, a taste for other men’s wives, the opium pipe and an unholy penchant for gambling. Having successfully wagered away his family’s fortune, the man could be best described as being somewhat 'down on his uppers' and was invariably strapped for cash. C.F.
James Williams Bart, known as Tubby to his coterie of pals, was a veritable chancer. He blotted his copy book once and for all, whilst working for the Malay Rubber Co in the City of London. After a catalogue of increasingly unsavoury incidents he was obliged to leg it sharpish.
After numerous scrapes with the law in many a far off land and having had to exit Australia under a dark cloud, Tubby eventually dropped anchor in the Gulf of Mexico. C.F.
A splendid evening unfurled, sitting on the banks of the river imbibing a somewhat cheeky Margaux, James and I spread out in raptured conversation. We chin wagged at length sharing tales of past exploits and what might of been. The dusky tranquility punctuated with the occasional splash of trout eating their fill. C.F.
Comfortable in the knowledge that my errant biographer and sometime expedition organiser is now safely ensconsed at her London home- I am recuperating in Scotland. The guest of Sir James Williams at Dunkeld House his charming country seat.
This very afternoon was spent thigh deep in the Tay casting flies in the hope of a tug from an eager young salmon thrusting up stream to spawn. Alas no bites save that of the wretched midges. What ho, tomorrow is another day! Fawcett.