A life of spearfishing diving and polo

By Tony Buxton

A truly astonishing account of the author's progression from a laid-back spearfishing guide in Sri Lanka to an international celebrity. His services were much in demand by the rich and famous, including the grandson of America's richest man. They invited him to their homes, where he experienced a lifestyle that he hardly knew existed and met three of his four wives. His passion was exploring the underwater world and virgin jungles. He experienced many shark attacks and was pulled underwater by a giant grouper as well as fighting of  crocodiles and a wounded leopard. He was the first person to dive in the Maldives, India and Thailand. He eventually ended up in Singapore where he formed a very profitable joint venture with oil giant Exxon to underwater clean tankers. With the money he made, he took up the expensive sport of polo. He was playing in international tournaments all over the world and the life of a veritable Playboy socialising with international celebrities. Among his closest friends were Kings, prime ministers, presidents and movie stars. He finally ended up living in the Palace of a wealthy sultan.

 

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tony Buxton
• Release date: Jul 7, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393183242

Tony Buxton

Tony Buxton was born in 1931 in Sri Lanka. He went back to England during the war and eventually returned to Sri Lanka in the early 50s. There he developed a passion for exploring underwater, before the event of SCUBA. He made a living spear fishing as well as being an underwater guide, during which time many rich and famous people, including local politicians used his services. He was the first person to dive in the Maldives and southern India. He won the Ceylon National spear fishing Championships in 1959, and then went on to the world Championships in Malta where he came first on the British team.  After the event, he was invited by Jaques Cousteau to meet him in Monaco, and some years later Cousteau invited him to join him on an expedition to the Indian Ocean.  Leaving Sri Lanka in 1963, he went to Thailand where he was the first person to dive there, and he founded the Thailand sub aqua club. In 1965 he was invited by award-winning underwater photographer Ben Crop to star in his film "Challenge of the sea". During the filming, he explored unknown reefs in the Pacific with well-known underwater explorer Jaques Dumas. Eventually, he moved to Singapore and set up a highly profitable commercial diving venture with Exxon  (Esso) underwater cleaning ships. His years of diving to considerable depths without scuba eventually affected his health, and he had to curtail his diving. He took up the sport of polo with the same passion he had for diving. Playing in international tournaments he achieved a Polo handicap of +2 and was eventually invited to play on one of the Malay sultans teams and lived in one of their palaces in Malaysia. After a serious accident playing polo, he retired to Thailand where he lives now.

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Introduction

By Keith Lorenz

This is the true story of a young Englishman who sought a life of adventure abroad and found much of it under the seas in pristine tropical reefs that hardly exist today.

I have known Buxton for half a century and can vouch for his charmed life.

In 1949 Buxton dropped out of school and hitchhiked around Europe, ending with a job in Monte Carlo. He finally responded to his father’s wish and joined the family business in Colombo, where he was born. Clerking in an office bored him as soon as he happened on a couple of books that would change his life: The Silent World by Jacques Cousteau, and Diving to Adventure by Hans Haas described a new world similar to the reefs around Sri Lanka. He purchased a mask and flippers and with a home-made spear was soon making meagre living spearfishing, catching lobsters and eventually offering his services as an underwater guide

The government began to recognise the visitor potential that viewing exotic fish offered. It put Buxton on the Tourist Board. Soon a few wealthy clients were coming from Europe. Tony introduced them to diving and took them on jungle safaris. One of his frequent clients was wealthy Texas oil heir Enrico (Ricky) di Portanova. He invited Tony every year during La Dolce Vita era and he introduced him to numerous movie starlets. Buxton would find two of his first three wives in Rome: one Swedish, and one Italian. All three spoiled beauties were soon bored in Sri Lanka, living in a beach shack and gutting fish. Soon he was single again.

On the Great Basse’s Reef south of Sri Lanka he dived among groupers weighing up to 1,000 pounds, more dangerous to him than sharks. He was the first diver to explore the Maldives and southern India. Underwater exploration was his passion: searching out unknown deeps teeming with large fish that you can no longer see today.

When a left-wing regime took over in Sri Lanka, he took a shipping job in Thailand and was the first to explore its surrounding seas. There he founded the Thai Sub Aqua Club in 1964. Giving up his career a year later, he made an abortive attempt to make an underwater film while sailing around the world on a Chinese Junk and ended up stranded in New Caledonia. There he had his best diving ever with underwater explorer Jacques Dumas encountering massive sharks and fish of every kind on unknown far off reefs.

Later, he got another shipping job, this time in Singapore. It was a cover for gold smuggling, but in reality, it led to his making a legitimate colossal fortune. Again, his diving knowhow came to the rescue. He joined a Chinese businessman, and they tied up with Exxon who provided them with a sophisticated machine for underwater cleaning oil tanker hulls. It saved vast sums of money in turnaround time and fuel and the necessity to dry dock. This venture was hugely profitable. He had a custom yacht built that enabled him to pursue his passion and dive on the unexplored offshore Malaysian islands. He invested in nightclubs, hotels, racehorses and a string of polo ponies and was invited by the Sultan of Johor to play on the Sultan’s polo team and to live in one of his palaces. As Southeast Asia changed following the end of the war in Vietnam, Tony would settle into a quieter lifestyle.

These days, as he enters his 90th year, Tony can be found living quietly with his Thai wife and a few caretakers on a beach 45 minutes south of Hua Hin on the west coast of the Gulf of Thailand.

Here he reminisces with old and new friends about his adventures.

I visit him occasionally, and we raise a glass of beer to the past.

It seems to me that Tony is undoubtedly one of the last of the old breed of adventurers and fortune seekers before the present age of globalisation, ecological destruction, and now the corona plague, that has turned the world upside down and changed it forever.

As the Romans wrote:

Sic transit Gloria Mundi.Nothing lasts....."

Early Life

I returned to England with my parents when I was a few years old, with memories of beautiful palm-fringed beaches and my love of paddling in the sea. In the years ahead, these images never left me. I went to a boarding school when I was eight and to another when I was thirteen. I have no happy memories of these schools that I attended during and after the war; conditions in them were hardly better than a prison.

When I was about nine years old, I developed terrible asthma and chronic sinusitis. It was during the war; we had no heating in winter, and conditions were pretty awful. Our diet lacked vital nutrients, and I was a very unhealthy young boy, mainly because I couldn’t take any exercise. I was also very underweight. At that time, there was no cure for asthma, and I got these terrible attacks which were terrifying to a young person of my age. When they came about, usually at night, I would hold onto the bedpost, forcing air into my lungs until I just about passed out with exhaustion. During these years, I could not play any games and missing most of my lessons. Even when I was better, all I wanted to do was going outside into the fresh air and not sit in a stuffy classroom. So, I just went out and wandered in the woods around the school.

I was pretty detached from everything and spent most of my time in the school library reading the Encyclopaedia Britannica while the other children were playing games. It was a pretty miserable life for me, especially during the war, when we often had to spend nights in an air raid shelter. When I was about twelve, I had a severe attack of asthma, and it did not look as if I was going to recover. I got weaker and weaker, and I had the feeling that I was going to die. But I can well remember a Doctor suddenly appearing waving an inhaler. I did not know what it was, but he gave me a few puffs, and I started to recover. It made an enormous difference to my life and of course, to many people living with other asthma. The moment an attack started, I just took a few puffs, and the asthma was gone. I had to carry this inhaler with me wherever I went. My health improved dramatically. But could not run for long, but was able to take a certain amount of exercise. I made no interest in sports except individual ones. School, to me, was a nightmare from beginning to end—none of the subjects we had to take interested me. I was forced to learn Latin, and the only ones I ever did well in were French and German. I failed all my exams except these subjects.

I refused to take an interest in anything, and I could not identify myself with the team spirit that they tried to instil in me. I realised that I was very different even then. I was a complete individualist, and I would go my own way in life, the way I wanted and no one would dictate to me. I only looked forward to my holidays at home, where I had much more freedom and a comfortable life. I was fortunate in having a happy home with loving parents. At home, my father told me all about his travels abroad. He was always going somewhere. He had to fly out to Malaya immediately after the war to help sort out the mess the Japanese had left behind. The company he worked for was a significant public company with branches in Ceylon, Malaya, Singapore, the Philippines, India and America. My father was a director at the time I was in school, and he had to travel abroad every year and visit all the branches. He worked very hard, and he loved giving parties, and our house was always open to all his friends and mine as well. Many times, there were people from Asian countries at our home visiting and sometimes staying. I met many Chinese, Malays, Filipinos, Indians and Ceylonese. My father spoke very highly of them and their countries. This attitude was very different from the way that I had heard British colonials referring to them. They usually called them natives. in a derogatory way.

During our school winter holidays in 1946, my father managed to charter a small plane to take us to Switzerland. The flight was forced to land in Paris due to bad weather, and so we became the first British tourists to visit Paris after the war. The weather continued to be too bad to fly on to Switzerland, and after waiting a few days, my father’s agent in Paris managed to secure us some seats on a train. The journey took three days because many of the rail tracks destroyed during the war had not been repaired, so we had to make many diversions. Switzerland was a paradise for us. Untouched by the war, we were able to indulge in all the luxuries of life. We were fortunate because most Britons could not go abroad since no-one was allowed any foreign exchange. The owners of the hotel had invited us as their guests. My father seemed to have friends and contacts everywhere!

Going back to school after the holiday in Switzerland was very hard, but made me determined to travel abroad again as soon as possible. I studied French and German as hard as I could since they were the only subjects that held any interest for me. My next chance came in the summer of 1947 when I went on a school-sponsored trip to explore northern Canada. It whetted my appetite for even more adventure. In 1948 I went with my parents for winter sports in Chamonix and got my first taste of the so-called good life. and I met and made friends with a small group of people including a few celebrities and we went to nightclubs together and skied in the daytime. I also met a Dane called Lars, who became a very close friend throughout my life. After pestering my father, he agreed that I could leave school earlier than usual. I said I wanted to go abroad and learn languages. During my last term, I met an American exchange student called Larry Hanson. He always had a far off look in his eyes and had a passion for mountaineering. He had books with beautiful pictures of towering mountains which he showed me.

I became fascinated, and I spent my spare time practising ropework and rock climbing on walls and bridges. One Sunday, we joined a group of undergraduates from Oxford University Mountaineering Club and scaled one of the buildings in the city. We planned to climb some far distant mountain together after we left school, I read every book I could find about the subject. To get some training, we planned to go to Wales and climb Snowdon, the highest mountain there. Afterwards, we would go to the Pyrenees and climb its highest peak, the Maladetta (12,000 feet). For me, it was a challenging adventure, especially the fact that we would be climbing in early spring when weather conditions would make it more difficult. However, Larry was a good planner, and when we eventually set out, he made sure that we both had the right equipment

We went by train to Luchon, in the Pyrenees district in France, which was a friendly place. The townsfolk were shocked when we told them that we had come to climb the Malatesta. They all said it was far too dangerous at this time of year, especially without a guide. Its peak was just over the border in Spain. We were both stubborn and filled with an immature attitude that we could do anything. While Larry made all the plans and bought provisions, I was out enjoying myself in the bars and nightclubs. I soon found a female company in a sweet young French girl called Nicole, and with her, I was able to improve my knowledge of the language. I was loathing leaving her and the comforts and attractions of the town, but Larry was anxious to go, so soon we set off for the mountain.

We reached a hut on the lower slopes of the mountain without much difficulty except it was bitterly cold. Our next stop would be another hut about 2000 feet below the summit. Even though we left at dawn, we could not find the shelter before darkness fell, and soon we were completely lost. I was exhausted and numb with cold, but I realised that we would die if we did not find the hut soon. At one stage, I succumbed and lay down in the snow beyond the stage of feeling anything. Larry pulled me up and dragged me along. I was sure we were lost and had given up hope of surviving. What a way to end my life, I thought. Suddenly the hut loomed above us as out of nowhere, and Larry soon had a fire going. I was able to thaw out and luckily had no frostbite. Larry later admitted that finding it had been a miracle. The next two days it snowed, and the wind howled. When the weather cleared, I had little inclination to go on, and just wanted to get back to civilisation. It would be a hard climb to the top and back, and we would have to use ropes and ice axes. I felt I could not let Larry down, so we set out at dawn with a light pack and our lines and axes.

After a while, we came to a steep icy slope which we had to climb by cutting steps in the snow while roped together. When we had nearly reached the top of the slope, I slipped and fell, dragging Larry with me. I stopped just at the edge of a precipice. Looking down, I suffered severe vertigo, and from that day onwards, I could never look down from heights without feeling dizzy. Badly shaken, we returned to the hut. We had to turn back without reaching the summit, but every shred of enthusiasm I had for climbing evaporated. Larry wanted to make an early start the next day. I refused to go on. He could not understand why I didn’t want to climb again and got very angry with me. I had nearly lost my life twice in four days, and that was enough. He decided to try again alone, and he left early the next morning while I waited in the hut. I watched him climb out of sight. He returned in the late afternoon after reaching the summit. He had reached the peak, he said, telling me nothing more. Our friendship ended, and we spoke little on the way down. He returned to England without me, and I stayed on as long as my limited funds lasted, spending most of my time improving my French in the company of Nicole. The enthusiasm I had for climbing was gone.

I returned to England and worked in a factory in South London. It was a very dull job, but at least I had a little money and nearly every night I went to the West End of London and ogled at the ‘hookers’ lining the streets of Soho. I was innocent and wanted to find out what sex was all about. Sometimes I would summon up enough courage to approach them and ask them how much they charged. But I was only earning two pounds a week, and I never had enough money to meet their fees. One night I had three pounds in my pocket and approached an attractive girl to whom I often spoke. Her name was Shirley. I told her that I had saved up three pounds, and she just laughed at me. She asked me if I had ever done it before. I blushed and lied ‘of course many times. She pondered for a minute and then said, O.K. but I usually charge a fiver. You can give me three pounds now and another two when you next see me.

We went up to her room close by I was scared stiff and didn’t know what to expect. I just stood gaping when she took her clothes off. She told me to do the same, but I asked her to put the lights out. When I got undressed, she pulled me down on her, but I couldn’t perform despite her trying everything. So, my first sexual encounter ended in disaster, and it would be a long time before I tried again. When I left, she reminded me that I still owed her two pounds. But I never again wanted to return to Soho.

But a short while later my parents told me that they had bought tickets for the whole family for a ‘musical’ at a London theatre. My father had parked the car a block away. Dressed in tuxedos, we all walked to the theatre. To my horror, I realised that we would have to pass the place where Shirley usually hung out. I covered my face and tried to hide behind my parents. But there she was in her usual spot and my worst fears materialised when she yelled out, Hey Tony, what about the two quid you owe me for the other night? I pretended not to hear or notice her. My parents still had somewhat Victorian attitudes, and I had a great deal of difficulty trying to assure them that it was a matter of mistaken identity. But whether my parents believed me or not, I’ll never know. But my father did have an amused look on his face when my mother said, I hope you would never dream of even looking at one of those terrible women.

It was time to do my national service, and I had to register. When I did so, I had to have a medical examination, and the first thing the doctor noticed was my significant chest expansion, it was double the normal. The doctor asked me if I had had asthma, and I had to admit that I did. I was rejected and happy that I did not have to waste two years of my life in the military. But little did I know my abnormal chest expansion would enable me to dive much deeper and stay underwater much longer than an average person.

I eventually got a job in a travel agency called LUNNS with the help of my father in London. By chance, my friend Lars whom I had met in Chamonix, was also working in London. We went out almost every evening together and, on the weekends, we went down to my parents’ home in the country leaving London Friday evenings and returning on Monday early to go to work. He became one of the closest friends I ever had. My job at the travel agency only made me want to travel and see the world. I was envious of the couriers who took groups of tourists abroad, and I longed to return to France. On the spur of the moment, I requested an interview with the big boss of the agency and told him of my desire to travel and, reminding him of my ability to speak French, and I asked if I could become a courier. He said that was not the job for me and that I was too young and inexperienced in working for them abroad. A few weeks later, however, I was unexpectedly summoned to my boss’s office. The told me that they were going to appoint me as their representative in the south of France stationed in Menton. My assignment would cover the coast from Nice in France to San Remo in Italy. I could hardly believe my ears, and as I listened to the duties expected of me, I realised that I could not possibly have landed a better job. I would be on my own with only the occasional visit from the head of their Paris office, and I would be quartered in the Hotel de Paris in Menton with full board and 5000 francs a week. The time for my departure couldn’t arrive too soon.

I was seen off from Victoria Station by the company manager who gave me a last-minute pep talk about the responsibilities of my job.

Work hard, Buxton, learn the business, and you will find yourself promoted before long, he assured me.

The French Riviera

He handed me a big metal badge with LUNN written on it. I was to pin it on my jacket when I arrived in Paris so the manager of their office there could identify and meet me. During the journey, I pondered once again, my good luck. I had seen films about the Riviera, and Monte Carlo in particular, and read much about them. I already imagined myself surrounded by beautiful women as I played roulette at the famous Casino. I felt an immense sense of freedom. Monsieur Legrand was a lanky, general de Gaulle look-alike, met me in Paris. He frowned as he spotted me.

I think he expected someone a little older. On the way to the hotel, he asked me how old I was. When I told him that I was eighteen, he looked startled, so I quickly added that I would be nineteen next week. That did not seem to reassure him. He started lecturing me about the responsibilities of my job and the fact that I would be all on my own. The situation seemed quite simple to me. I would meet each client at the station or airport and accompany them to their hotel by taxi. I would visit them the following day and make sure they were quite happy and ask them if they wanted to take any tours. If they booked tours, I would get a small commission. The only office work that I would have to do was to reconfirm hotel bookings and keep an account on my expenses. These I would forward to Paris each week, M. Legrand informed me that I would not have very much to do at first because they had few clients coming until the ‘high’ season, which started in July. The days of tour groups and chartered flights, fortunately, had not yet arrived.

M. Legrand took me out to dinner. At least he was impressed by my appreciation of good food and wine and my fluency in French. The next evening, I left by train, and despite the comfortable couchette, I could hardly sleep due to excitement about the new life I was going to lead. I was up early and watched the places along the route. Cannes, Nice and Monte Carlo all looked splendid from the train. When I arrived at Menton, which was just before the Italian border and my destination, I immediately spotted a man in a uniform with the Hotel de Paris written on it. He gave me a friendly welcome and took me straight to my room in the Hotel. It had a balcony overlooking the sea, it was right on the seafront, and I felt as if a dream had come true and once again my mind drifted back to the palm-fringed beaches of Sri Lanka. During the next few months, I was always in the sea but still never swimming out of my depth and always wondering what was beneath it.

The Hotel was owned by a Mr. de France who was probably nearly 90 years old, and I seldom saw him. It was his wife, Mrs De France, who ran the Hotel. She was perhaps in her late 40’s, heavily made-up to conceal her age. She appeared happy to have met me and was reasonably friendly

The Casino was next door. I could see Monte Carlo in the distance on my right and the Italian border on my left, which was almost within walking distance. The Hotel was one of the best in the town, and the food was superb and the waiters very kind to me. I wanted to learn Italian, and I had a grammar book and spoke as much of the language as possible with the waiters who all spoke the language. They were very cooperative, and I found that the years of study of Latin helped a lot, and was quite surprised when after a few months, I was able to converse in the language.

As I got settled in, I explored the surrounding countryside. It was still unspoilt by mass tourism, condominiums and ugly hotels, and the locals were amiable. I had landed one of the best jobs on earth. I had little work, lived in near-luxury, and my salary, although not much, was pocket money.

Not having a car, I walked everywhere, and whenever on Main Street, for some unknown reason I always stopped to stare into a sports shop that had a lot of diving equipment. Something about it ever forcefully struck me. I wondered what it was like under the sea and had a desire to buy a diving mask, swim fins and snorkel. I made up my mind to have a look, but even the price of a  mask was beyond my means. However, one day I would buy one and take a look below.

I had only been in Menton a week or two when I met a Swede called Bo Selander and his sister Inga. I became obsessed with Inga, and the three of us became good friends. One day we were at the Menton Casino swimming pool when a man walked over to our table and said His Highness Prince Abdullah would like you to join him, and pointed to a young man sitting close by. We joined the Prince, and he introduced himself, telling us that the other man was his bodyguard. We were all very impressed. The Prince was young and very good looking with slight Arab features. He spoke excellent English and appeared well educated, and Inga immediately transferred her attention from me to him. The other man seemed very shady, and none of us liked him, but he kept to himself playing the part of a bodyguard. For the next three days, the Prince took us to all the best places in a chauffeur-driven car and spent vast sums of money entertaining us. I had lost Inga to him, but I hardly cared since I was living it up as I had never done before, and enjoying every minute.

On the fourth day, we were all arrested by the police while dining in an elegant restaurant and hauled off to the police station and locked up. I was interrogated for a long time before I could convince the police that my Swedish friends and I were innocent of any crime. Our Prince and his bodyguard were deserters from the French Foreign Legion in Algeria and had robbed a bank in Toulon. The three of us were released quite shaken, and Inga couldn’t stop crying. She turned her affection back to me, which I gleefully rejected. Bo and I remained good friends for years and later on, in Sweden enjoyed a good laugh over the episode. For me, it was a good lesson in life, and I thanked my lucky stars that I could speak French well enough to explain our innocence.

Soon I was to meet André Moulin, who worked at the American Consulate in Nice. He had a large apartment on the beach in Menton and a zest for life to equal my own. He was much more experienced, and I followed him everywhere as he inducted me into the life of a carefree playboy. Through him, I met Andrewska, the nephew of Prince Lubomirski, a well-known personality on the Riviera. The Prince was enormously rich before the Communists seized all his properties in Poland and a house in Menton and no doubt some money. He had managed to get some of his most valuable paintings to the American Embassy in Warsaw before the Communists came. He was still waiting to get them out of Poland, and they were reputedly worth millions of dollars.

My new friend Andrewska lived in the Prince’s house with his grandfather, and I was a constant visitor. They lived frugally, and Andrewska himself had no spending money at all. I seldom saw his uncle, Prince Lubomirsky, who always seemed to be away somewhere. Andrewska taught me how to survive without money. He would don one of his uncle’s handmade silk dinner jackets and walk into almost any nightclub in Monte Carlo without paying the usual entrance fee, saying that he was looking for his uncle. It always worked. I followed him dressed in my dinner jacket. We would stand at the bar and ignore the waiter’s request for a drink order and dance with the unattached females. Sometimes we had no money for the bus fare to Monte Carlo, so we hung on to the rear luggage loading ladder of the bus. But Andrewska was a bitter person. He told me of the terrible times they had when the communists took over in Poland. They looted their home, raped his sister and killed his parents. He always believed that one day the communists would be overthrown and he could go home. Andrewska used to say with great conviction that then I would be his guest and I would live like a king.

Several times I tried to enter the famous Monte Carlo casino but was always turned away unless I could prove I was over 21 years of age. So, one day I carefully scratched away the birth date on my passport and changed it to show that I was 21 years of age. I went back to the Casino, and they did not notice the alteration and gave me a 6-month pass. I strolled amongst the players, occasionally laying a bet on the roulette tables. Invariably I lost my whole week’s pay.

André had a Citroen car, and together with Andrewska, we travelled around in it. In their company and under their guidance, I was fulfilling my dream of becoming a Playboy on the Riviera. But my life was miles apart from the real ones with their yachts, Ferraris and grand parties at the Sporting Club and the Hotel de Paris in Monte Carlo.

Andrewska and I liked to stand in the crowds opposite the Hotel De Paris and gawk at the stars and celebrities as they came out onto the steps to await their chauffeur driven cars. We were there many times, and on the night of the Red Cross Ball the Police had cordoned off the area to hold the crowds back. We were amongst them and sought to put a name to each person who came out of the Hotel. Most were well-known film stars or royalty with a sprinkling of politicians and millionaires. In 1950, and for many years later, the annual ball was a must for anyone who was somebody. The tickets were costly, and the proceeds went to charity. As I stood amongst the crowds, I never could have imagined in my wildest dreams that precisely ten years later I would be standing on those same steps waiting for my friend’s Rolls-Royce to take my wealthy companions and me to the Red Cross Ball.

My work for the travel agency was indeed comfortable. Most clients arrived by train and only occasionally did I have to go to the airport in Nice. Most of them were pleasant enough and were happy when I offered to show them a bit of nightlife which meant taking them to my friend’s club. Some of the clients were unattached young females looking for a bit of adventure. I, of course, gave them extra attention and afterwards when they were leaving, told them how grateful I would be if they put the right word in for me with my employers.

Then I started to have my first problems. Mrs de France came to my room one night drunk and heavily made up. She tried to seduce me, but I found her repulsive and maybe she sensed it as I rejected her advances as politely and diplomatically as I could. After that, her attitude towards me changed a lot, and she became very unfriendly.

The travel business was very competitive, and my company did not have as many customers as they would have liked. The high season with lot travellers did not materialise. Forty young female Swedish students had moved into a hotel in Menton, and I was now busy looking after some of them. Of course, it was André who had located them and who had then called Andrewska and me to greet them. Most of them were about 17 or 18 years old, and I got along with them well. A teacher escorted the girls who was supposed to look after them. André got hold of his friend, Claude, whose job was to keep the teacher occupied, and this he did to perfection. This teacher became enamoured of her young French lover and we hardly ever saw either of them and thus the girls were left unattended and without a chaperone. Unlike André,