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?Served in the army. He enjoyed being a colonel so much—and getting a regular paycheck—he thought about making a career in the army after the war. Teddy set up the interpreters' pool after V-E day. "In wars before that, we never had to worry about other languages," he says. "They all had to speak to us." He sighs. He can still recall growing up, in an Empire, in a house like the one in which Peter Pan lost his shadow. He is the son of a standard Edwardian gentleman and a mother who, he says, "had only three children because she didn't like sex." Teddy remembers looking at the map of the world, on which only the blue seas covered more area than the pink sections, and his governess proudly telling him, "All those pink bits are us."
?Gone to the opera a good deal.
?Taken up bowling. This was about 20 years ago, and imagine, if you will, Teddy striding into a bowling alley, one peopled by milkmen, mailmen, cops and cabbies—the very cross section, indeed, that joined him on one of his first teams, the Green Arrows of London. "Well," Teddy opines, "I think when first they saw me they said, 'It's worth sniffing.' They taught me a great deal. But then, I taught them a great deal, too."
Eventually he was made chairman of the British Association for Tenpin Bowling. "Bowling gave me more happiness than anything in my life," he says, "except possibly being taken back at Wimbledon two years ago." Even now, when he returns to England for the Fortnight, he makes a point of trying to get over to the alleys to share a bottle of champagne with the lads. A group of ladies' leagues is named after Tinling—the Double Ts—and he has come to be well acquainted with the pins as well.
"Every pin in the bowling deck has a different personality," he said one day.
"The pins do?" the Tyro inquired, unsurely, reaching for a glass of spirits.
"Oh yes," Teddy replied. "Some are quite obstinate, while others have no resolve whatsoever."
?Gossiped, waspishly. If he can talk that way about bowling pins, about laminated things, just imagine what Teddy can say about flesh and blood.
Everybody in England is a show-off. I'm just one who'll admit it.
Because the Fortnight is on and Teddy is back at Wimbledon taking care of whatever needs to be charmed, tinkling some bells, now is a fine time to relate what he said the other day to the Tyro on the subject of England and its erstwhile American pink bits: "I don't deal in regrets, but the single regret I have in all my life is that I didn't move to America right after the war. But I was chicken then, and I needed someone to tell me I'm good. I always do. In England, you see, you're taught that it's immodest to speak up about yourself. You shouldn't flaunt. There is the assurance that if you are capable at something it will show itself.