120 SPORTING REMINISCENCES 



Such a lovely little place, mountains at the back, 

 a deep quiet bay in front, fuchsias and honey- 

 suckles trailing and dipping in the water, fuchsias 

 scarlet on the hedges, good fishing and soft, sweet 

 air. 



But the place is deserted now, and the landlady's 

 three useless daughters are doubtless married, or 

 more overdressed than ever. 



They had the strangest wedding custom in that 

 part of the world. 



A couple were married as early as possible. 

 Then the wedding party hired cars and did a kind 

 of tour from hotel to hotel, getting off to drink 

 and eat at each one. The bride and bridegroom 

 with a bridesmaid and a friend on the first car, 

 the others bringing up the rear. 



They drove until about ten at night, when they 

 returned to the bridegroom's house to face more 

 drink and dance until midnight. 



Another hotel is something almost impossible 

 for sober England to realise. It is a ruin now at 

 Milt own Malbay. 



A great gaunt, bleak place, poised on the very 

 edge of the sea. Waves almost dashing in at the 

 lower windows, wild waters churning and lashing, 

 an ever-present gale whining outside. At low 

 tide smells indescribable. 



And rooms — many and big, grey places, ghosts 

 of rooms, with scraps of battered, mouldy furni- 

 ture here and there, with echoing carpetless 



