Graham describes some of the characters on the ship with a skill astonishing in a sixteen-year-old. R.M.S.P. ‘Avon’ | Sat. Sep. 3. 1921 Dear Mumma, We are having another glorious day; the Bay of Biscay not fulfilling its reputation. I’ve been having a most energetic day, with deck tennis and bowls etc. and am getting back a sea-side appetite. We’ve got a most amusing table. There’s a large fat profiteer, who had the title, probably nominal, of captain during the war. He has practically no chin, the fat of his neck [?] drowning it in one colossal ‘bulge’. He has cultivated a critical twist downwards to his mouth, and snorts at every dish. Having ordered three bottles of champagne at dinner, he snorted and ‘peeved’ for ten minutes until at last the waiter realised his dreadful mistake. He’d brought him champagne – but, in ice! No good! Besides the admiring chorus of his Spanish wife, he has an attendant satellite in the person of a little, old gentleman who does nothing but flatter him.
