Lieutenant Colonel Alfred Daniel Wintle MC, or A. D. Wintle for short, was one of the great characters of the 20th century, a genuine war hero, egoist, eccentric, and defender of all things gentlemanly. He died before finishing his autobiography, but when his friend Alastair Revie condensed the million-some words of manuscript that Wintle left behind him into under 300 pages, he was sure to keep Wintle’s chosen title: The Last Englishman (1968). I’m sure Wintle would have held that there was nothing the least bit presumptuous about it.
This is the book I wanted to write about, but unfortunately, copies fetch anywhere from $300 to $2,000 — too rich for my peasant blood. So I had to make do with what I could find and afford: Wintle’s 1961 novel, The Club, which can be had (at the moment) for as little as 64 cents. Although calling it a novel vastly exaggerates the book’s substance. It’s more of a will-o’the-wisp in hardback form.
The Club of The Club is THE Club:
It is not one of the leading clubs. It is The Leading Club itself. It is the standard club on which all other clubs leading or following would wish it to be supposed that they themselves are modelled.
It is “The Club,” and as such it is known, not only to taxi-drivers and other persons in equally specialized professions, but also to all members of all clubs or would-be clubs.
The Club claims to be a history of The Club assembled by a group of distinguished editors, but it is in fact merely a collection of old warhorses of anecdotes told by Sir Milner Gibbard, Baronet, of Blandwich Place in the County of Wessex, the member of over fifty years’ standing proposed as their expert source — although Sir Milner’s first reaction is to dismiss the idea outright: “‘No!’ he snapped. ‘Absolutely out of the question,’ he added, no doubt with the intention of making his intention crystal-clear.”
“The trouble is … the great trouble is, that I don’t know anything about it.”
The editors are confused.
“You talk as if I had been here for five thousand years instead of fifty,” he explains.
After a fair amount of fruitless negotiations, one of the editors suddenly realizes the problem. “He paused, then raised his voice and spoke very slowly and very clearly: ‘We were asking … I mean to say, that I was asking you to write us a History of The Club.”
“The Club!” he exclaims. “Good God, I thought you said The Flood.”
This gives you an idea of the tone (and content) of the rest of the book. Just imagine Spike Milligan in the role of Sir Milner and you’ll find you’re reading a collection of never-performed skits from The Goon Show.
And just what exactly is wrong with that? I hear you ask. My point precisely, sir!