By David Lund
In the hotel business we are always welcoming guests that have a variety of different needs and stories. In my first summer working at The Algonquin Resort I had the adventure of a lifetime living in the staff residence with my new friends and co-workers while my parents’ house was but a few blocks away.
It wasn’t until three or four years later that I learned who was sleeping in my bed at my parents’ house that summer. Someone who needed a place to hide. Someone who had a secret to keep.
The town of St. Andrews N.B. is a special place. I grew up there and I have many fond memories. Many local characters seemed bigger than life itself. I got to know some of them firsthand living there and better still I had a part-time job in the local drug store, stocking shelves and running the cash. While working there on Saturdays one of my tasks was organizing the “reserve” Saturday newspapers. Shortly after working there it became clear to me that the who’s who of town had a special arrangement ensuring they got their newspaper no matter what time they came calling for it. Such privilege!
One of the Saturday newspaper hawks was a gentle older fellow named David Walker. A Scottish man that had a quiet confidence and prestige surrounding him. He reminded me of a cross between Einstein and the actor David Niven. He was a British soldier in the Black Watch regiment during WWII now turned author. It was rumored that he was a spy for the allies and instrumental in the effort to overturn the Nazis’ stranglehold on secret communications that they had using a device called the “enigma.”
There is a great book and movie titled, “A Man Called Intrepid,” and the story around town was he was the man. All of this to say that gentle Mr. Walker the soldier turned author had some serious stories to tell, and many friends in the British aristocracy and connections.
The previous year Lord Mountbatten had been assassinated by the IRA on a fishing boat off the coast of Ireland. Also killed in the attack was one of his grandsons, a twin, the other grandson not on the boat survived. For those of you who are not up to speed with the British royal family, Lord Mountbatten was the uncle of the Queen Elizabeth’s husband, Prince Philip.
Fast forward a few years if you will to the mid-1980s, and I was home visiting my parents and my mom told me a story. One that involved the other Mountbatten grandson, my bedroom and the Walkers.
She started the story by telling me she had a call early that first summer that I worked and lived in residence at the hotel. The call was from Willa Walker, wife of the author. She knew my mom casually as St. Andrews is a small town, but they certainly were not close friends. Willa had asked my mom if she had any rooms for rent. Much earlier in my life my father had finished our basement with two bedrooms and a bath. They rented the rooms in those days to students from the local community college. My two young brothers and I shared a one-bedroom room upstairs.
It had been many years since my parents stopped taking boarders and subsequently my brothers and I occupied the basement quarters. Back to that summer: my parents’ house nearly was empty – my two older brothers had moved out and it was just my mom and dad and sister Susan. So, my mom offered Mrs. Walker a room for who she described as a family friend from the UK. My mom pointed out that the Walkers had lots of space in their own home and she thought it was curious to say the least that they wanted a room in our house.
The young man arrived and spent four-five weeks living in the house. My mom provided the scoop a few years later. The young lad was Mountbatten’s surviving grandson.
“No way!” I said.
“Yes, David,” she exclaimed, “We could hear him on the phone almost every day, speaking in his thick accent to his mother or father.” In those days, like most modest homes, we had but one phone and it hung on the wall in the kitchen. So, if you wanted to talk the whole house could hear!
My mom loved a good story and she reveled in telling me this one. Why didn’t you tell me at the time, Mom? I asked. She said, “I didn’t want to let the cat out of the bag.” A tall tail and one that just might be true. Imagine if you will, royalty sleeping in my bed on Charles St.!
Be sure you have a good look around – you never know who might be hiding out in your hotel!
