My Life

My Life - Oswald MosleyAlexander was on the second floor, the cook and the chauffeur on the third. In themiddle of the night I was awakened by Alexander, who had found the room next tohis was on fire; the origin of the fire was ultimately traced to the kitchen chimneywhich contained inflammable resin from the centuries-old burning of wood. It wasclear to me at once that the fire had too firm a hold to be checked by anything exceptthe fire brigade, which was fourteen miles away at Ballinasloe. The first thing was toget the cook down from the top floor, the next to send the Frenchman in the car forthe fire brigade, as we had no telephone, and finally to save the family pictures, whichremained after the previous fire at Rolleston in the middle of the last century.The picture work went apace with much help from Alexander, and without undue riskexcept for a light shower of tiles from the roof, as the fire was moving slowly. We hadleft the French cook sitting peacefully if not happily on the lawn, in the dark and bitterDecember night, but suddenly heard her cry for help from the window of her thirdfloor room where she had returned to rescue her forgotten savings. The staircase wasnow cut by the fire, and we had no means of reaching her. We laid on the lawn a heapof clothes which had been thrown from the window, and I wrapped the ends of ablanket round the wrists of Alexander and held the other ends myself. It was a drop ofabout thirty feet from the third floor and I urged her to jump into the blanket heldabove the heap of clothes. The lady resisted all blandishments until the flames werealmost singeing her; then she jumped, the whole considerable bulk of her.The blanket broke her tumble and the clothes well cushioned her bump. She rolled offthe heap of clothes with the momentum of her fall, over and over like a barrel acrossthe lawn. She then lay still; we were relieved to find her breathing heavily, but gentlygroaning: 'Je meurs je meurs.' Feeling her ankle in the search for broken bones, Ienquired: 'Ou mourrez vous? without response. My enquiry proceeded up hershinbone to her knee; with a wild scream she leapt to her feet and ran across the lawninto the adjoining wood, beyond pursuit and beyond all danger. We tried to continuethe work of picture saving, but by then the dining-room was a furnace and we lostseveral old favourites.At this point, for the benefit of posterity, I should impart a secret of medical art for theamateur practitioner. I had learnt this trick long ago in an accident of youthfulexperience. Two young soldiers were driving at speed from Dublin to the Curragh in avery old car that I had bought for a song, reputed to be the original four-cylinder RollsRoyce that carried Charlie Rolls to victory in a race round the Isle of Man. It had beenmade roadworthy again by hands more skilled than mine, and I knew the only way tokeep it going at all was to drive it flat out, as in the take-off of the early aeroplanes Ihad recently been piloting. The old car came round a bend in the road bellowing like abull and must have been an alarming apparition to an Irish lady riding in the oppositedirection a bicycle heavily laden with all her shopping baskets. We were each on ourcorrect side of the road, but the sight and uproar of the approaching monster causedher to wobble across the road to meet us head-on. The car struck the front wheel ofthe bicycle and tossed her as the bull does the toreador. She was personally quiteunscathed by any contact with the car, and happily made a good two-point landingdown the road behind us on a well-sprung under-carriage.We got out with much trepidation for her safety; she was lying still, but breathingheavily. I said to my companion: the first thing is to find if any bones are broken. I359 of 424