Before clarifying the nature of a phenomenon that is celebrated by poets, preached from the church pulpit, discussed in newspapers and in Parliament, extolled in after-dinner speeches, a phenomenon for which rivers of blood have been spilled overseas and many a cheekbone broken in England itself, I shall describe one scene. It occurred in June 1900. I had just ascended from an underground railway station near Mansion House, in the very heart of the City, close to the Stock Exchange and the Bank of England. At three in the afternoon, the traffic here comes to a bit of a lull. The sizeable migratory population sits in its banks and business offices. Suddenly, the cry of the newspaper boys broke the silence. A ‘special edition’ of the evening papers was out. The boys usually tear along with a bundle of still-damp newspapers under their arms as if the editors had set the dogs on them. Only the huge banner-headlines, which they wave around like flags, flash before the eyes of the passers-by. Now, however, instead of dying down in the distance as always, the cries were getting louder. Hundreds of new voices were joining in the clamour.

‘What is it?’ asked those who had just emerged from the underground dungeon of the railway, filled with suffocating sulphurous smoke.

‘Pretoria is ours! Hip! Hip! Hooray!’

Instantly, the square before the Stock Exchange turned into a heaving sea of human heads in top hats, greasy caps and motley-feathered bonnets. Black-suited gentlemen poured out of all the offices, out of all the banks of Lombard Street and Cornhill. ‘Hip! Hip! Hooray!’ came the shouts from one end of the square. ‘God Save the Queen!’ chanted hundreds of people at the other end. ‘Rule, Britannia!’ sang the clerks who rushed in a crowd from the huge Parr's Bank. Now cheers rang out. A handsome, thickset old man with rakishly curled moustaches came out onto the Mansion House balcony. This was the Lord Mayor, Newton. He must have been saying something very patriotic, because one could see that he was shaking his fist, pointing at the ‘Union Jack’ and beating his chest; but his words were impossible to make out in the almighty din.