I have deeply sad news for friends of Maj. (ret’d) Nigel Smythe-Browne and his creator, Chris Dalton.
Chris died early on Wednesday, June 15, 2016, with his beloved wife Michelle at his side. He had turned 70 in early April.
Major’s Corner column for Feb. 5, 2012
The club represents all that is warm and chummy in this far too short life. It is a place where like-minded fellows (and now women) have always gathered to read, chat and generally let down the defences, as it were.
It has always been my plan to shed light on our doings, as I sometimes fear that not a few mems would prefer a more secretive home of homes, which leads to odd handshakes and loathsome winks.
Unkind people are always asking me why I am not yet bilingual, and it hurts. My French teacher at boarding school when I was a boy would sigh and call me an amiable half-wit after listening to my translation of a few lines of Victor Hugo. It has been clear from the start that English and only English would be my lingua franca in this life.
We had one of those frightful movie types from Los Angeles arrive at the club a month or so ago. He was introduced to us by one of our shady new mems, who got into the home of homes in the last intake in order to enlarge our dwindling exchequer.
This Californian went by the moniker of Chip Ladd, which I am almost positive is not his real name. His intent, he said, was to use our edifice in his next “major motion picture” as the home of a misunderstood prostitute.
Skepticism is an ugly word, but it ran through the heart of our club like scurvy. The so-called “Chip” wandered within our ivy-covered walls back-slapping one and all and astoundingly offered my favourite barman and waiter the part of the long lost son “in transition.”
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