Diary of a Pilgrimage. Jerome Klapka Jerome

not Friday rather an unlucky day to start on?” I suggested.

      “Oh, good gracious!” he retorted quite sharply, “what rubbish next? As if the affairs of Europe were going to be arranged by Providence according to whether you and I start for an excursion on a Thursday or a Friday!”

      He said he was surprised that a man who could be so sensible, occasionally, as myself, could have patience to even think of such old-womanish nonsense. He said that years ago, when he was a silly boy, he used to pay attention to this foolish superstition himself, and would never upon any consideration start for a trip upon a Friday.

      But, one year, he was compelled to do so. It was a case of either starting on a Friday or not going at all, and he determined to chance it.

      He went, prepared for and expecting a series of accidents and misfortunes. To return home alive was the only bit of pleasure he hoped for from that trip.

      As it turned out, however, he had never had a more enjoyable holiday in his life before. The whole event was a tremendous success.

      And after that, he had made up his mind to always start on a Friday; and he always did, and always had a good time.

      He said that he would never, upon any consideration, start for a trip upon any other day but a Friday now. It was so absurd, this superstition about Friday.

      So we agreed to start on the Friday, and I am to meet him at Victoria Station at a quarter to eight in the evening.

      THURSDAY, 22ND

      The Question of Luggage. – First Friend’s Suggestion. – Second Friend’s Suggestion. – Third Friend’s Suggestion. – Mrs. Briggs’ Advice. – Our Vicar’s Advice. – His Wife’s Advice. – Medical Advice. – Literary Advice. – George’s Recommendation. – My Sister-in-Law’s Help. – Young Smith’s Counsel. – My Own Ideas. – B.’s Idea.

      I have been a good deal worried to-day about the question of what luggage to take with me. I met a man this morning, and he said:

      “Oh, if you are going to Ober-Ammergau, mind you take plenty of warm clothing with you. You’ll need all your winter things up there.”

      He said that a friend of his had gone up there some years ago, and had not taken enough warm things with him, and had caught a chill there, and had come home and died. He said:

      “You be guided by me, and take plenty of warm things with you.”

      I met another man later on, and he said:

      “I hear you are going abroad. Now, tell me, what part of Europe are you going to?”

      I replied that I thought it was somewhere about the middle. He said:

      “Well, now, you take my advice, and get a calico suit and a sunshade. Never mind the look of the thing. You be comfortable. You’ve no idea of the heat on the Continent at this time of the year. English people will persist in travelling about the Continent in the same stuffy clothes that they wear at home. That’s how so many of them get sunstrokes, and are ruined for life.”

      I went into the club, and there I met a friend of mine – a newspaper correspondent – who has travelled a good deal, and knows Europe pretty well. I told him what my two other friends had said, and asked him which I was to believe. He said:

      “Well, as a matter of fact, they are both right. You see, up in those hilly districts, the weather changes very quickly. In the morning it may be blazing hot, and you will be melting, and in the evening you may be very glad of a flannel shirt and a fur coat.”

      “Why, that is exactly the sort of weather we have in England!” I exclaimed. “If that’s all these foreigners can manage in their own country, what right have they to come over here, as they do, and grumble about our weather?”

      “Well, as a matter of fact,” he replied, “they haven’t any right; but you can’t stop them – they will do it. No, you take my advice, and be prepared for everything. Take a cool suit and some thin things, for if it’s hot, and plenty of warm things in case it is cold.”

      When I got home I found Mrs. Briggs there, she having looked in to see how the baby was. She said: —

      “Oh! if you’re going anywhere near Germany, you take a bit of soap with you.”

      She said that Mr. Briggs had been called over to Germany once in a hurry, on business, and had forgotten to take a piece of soap with him, and didn’t know enough German to ask for any when he got over there, and didn’t see any to ask for even if he had known, and was away for three weeks, and wasn’t able to wash himself all the time, and came home so dirty that they didn’t know him, and mistook him for the man that was to come to see what was the matter with the kitchen boiler.

      Mrs. Briggs also advised me to take some towels with me, as they give you such small towels to wipe on.

      I went out after lunch, and met our Vicar. He said:

      “Take a blanket with you.”

      He said that not only did the German hotel-keepers never give you sufficient bedclothes to keep you warm of a night, but they never properly aired their sheets. He said that a young friend of his had gone for a tour through Germany once, and had slept in a damp bed, and had caught rheumatic fever, and had come home and died.

      His wife joined us at this point. (He was waiting for her outside a draper’s shop when I met him.) He explained to her that I was going to Germany, and she said:

      “Oh! take a pillow with you. They don’t give you any pillows – not like our pillows – and it’s so wretched, you’ll never get a decent night’s rest if you don’t take a pillow.” She said: “You can have a little bag made for it, and it doesn’t look anything.”

      I met our doctor a few yards further on. He said:

      “Don’t forget to take a bottle of brandy with you. It doesn’t take up much room, and, if you’re not used to German cooking, you’ll find it handy in the night.”

      He added that the brandy you get at foreign hotels was mere poison, and that it was really unsafe to travel abroad without a bottle of brandy. He said that a simple thing like a bottle of brandy in your bag might often save your life.

      Coming home, I ran against a literary friend of mine. He said:

      “You’ll have a goodish time in the train old fellow. Are you used to long railway journeys?”

      I said:

      “Well, I’ve travelled down from London into the very heart of Surrey by a South Eastern express.”

      “Oh! that’s a mere nothing, compared with what you’ve got before you now,” he answered. “Look here, I’ll tell you a very good idea of how to pass the time. You take a chessboard with you and a set of men. You’ll thank me for telling you that!”

      George dropped in during the evening. He said:

      “I’ll tell you one thing you’ll have to take with you, old man, and that’s a box of cigars and some tobacco.”

      He said that the German cigar – the better class of German cigar – was of the brand that is technically known over here as the “Penny Pickwick – Spring Crop;” and he thought that I should not have time, during the short stay I contemplated making in the country, to acquire a taste for its flavour.

      My sister-in-law came in later on in the evening (she is a thoughtful girl), and brought a box with her about the size of a tea-chest. She said:

      “Now, you slip that in your bag; you’ll be glad of that. There’s everything there for making yourself a cup of tea.”

      She said that they did not understand tea in Germany, but that with that I should be independent of them.

      She opened the case, and explained its contents to me. It certainly was a wonderfully complete arrangement. It contained a little caddy full of tea, a little bottle of milk, a box of sugar, a bottle of methylated spirit, a box of butter,