I sat there spellbound (it was in the old gun room where I wasn't normally allowed except when a grown-up was with me), and to this day I can remember almost every word of what he told me: it was all about where I should go to get the things a man needs to have.
"Shoes, he said, "Lobb. Get three pairs when you're about seventeen, and you won't need any more for half a century. Hats, Herbert Johnson. Shirts, Sulka. Suits, Kilgour, French and Stanbury, though old Laver's retired now so for all I know they may have gone to pot...."
He went on like this for twenty minutes, finishing: "Socks, now. Go to Fotheringham and Gibbs, in the Burlington Arcade and get 'em made for you. Call themselves Bespoke Hosiers and Brocade Waistcoat Manufacturers by Appointment to Kings and Princes since 1742, or some such nonsense, but believe me they build a very sound sock, last you for ever."
I did take his advice, mostly. It was not difficult since all these places were within a mile or two of St James's—GB was not a great traveller, in fact I doubt if he ever went further than Deauville in his life.
Later I asked him about guns, partly because I hoped he'd leave me his pair which he'd bought from William Evans before the First World War, but he left them to Cousin Freddy. I suppose that was right really because they have to fit you and my arms are longer than Freddy's. But they were beautiful things and a year or two ago I enquired about having a pair made and discovered that William Evans guns now start at around £35,000 each for a 12-bore, and that's before the extra silver bits that GB had put on his! I'm not so keen on killing things as GB was so on the rare occasions when I'm invited I am quite happy to borrow whatever the host can lend me.
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