Now we are passing over Westminster Bridge. There are double-decked street cars. There's one marked "Kennington."
I want to get out and get on it—I want to go to Kennington. The bridge is so small; I always thought it was much wider. We are held up by traffic. The driver tells the bobby that Charlie Chaplin is inside. There is a change in the expression of the cop.
"On your way."
By this time the policemen have dropped off the side of the car and are on their way back. Once more I am a private citizen. I am just a bit sad at this. Being a celebrity has its nice points.
There is an auto with a motion-picture camera on top of it photographing our car. I tell the driver to put down the top. Why didn't we do this before? I wanted to let the people see. It seemed a shame to hide in this way. I wanted to be seen. There are little crowds on the street corners again.
Ah yes, and Big Ben. It looks so small now. It was so big before I went away. We are turning up the Haymarket. People are looking and waving from their windows. I wave back. Crowded streets. We are nearing the Ritz, where I am to stop.
The crowds are much denser here. I am at a loss. I don't know what to do, what to say. I stand up. I wave and bow at them, smile at them, and go through the motions of shaking hands, using my own hands. Should I say something? Can I say anything? I feel the genuineness of it all, a real warmth. It is very touching. This is almost too much for me. I am afraid I am going to make a scene.
I stand up. The crowd comes to a hush. It is attentive. They see I am about to say something. I am surprised at my own voice. I can hear it. It is quite clear and distinct, saying something about its being a great moment, etc. But tame and stupid as it is, they like it.
There is a "Hooray!" "Good boy, Charlie!"
Now the problem is how am I going to get out of this? The police are there, pushing and shoving people aside to make way, but they are out-numbered. There are motion-picture cameras, cameras on the steps. The crowds close in. Then I step out. They close in. I am still smiling. I try to think of something useful, learned from my experience at the New York opening of "The Three Musketeers." But I am not much help to my comrades.