As a result of this visit to South America he was considering similar 'spiritual prospecting' in Spain and Portugal, when the clear thought came to him that he must stay in England because someone needed him immediately. Arriving at Brown's Hotel late one night he left word with White, the hall porter, to let him know at once if anyone called for him. Next morning early, White called to say a gentleman was downstairs asking for him. He found a man with every sign of having been drinking long and hard. Later this man told his own story:

'Men drink for various reasons - for company, for consolation, to celebrate or to forget. I drank simply because I was thirsty. I loved to drink. I drank mostly alone. I would go to my room with a bottle of whisky and a novel and not appear again until both were finished.

'It was after an all-night session in my flat spent in the usual way that I found myself facing an early London morning, with a hangover, a foul temper, and no more drink. I was extremely thirsty, and there being no supply available anywhere at such an hour, I strolled round to a friend of mine to knock him up and ask for a drink. This friend was an equerry to the Prince of Wales and lived in St James's Palace. He did not much like being disturbed at this unearthly hour and, in fact, was pretty fed up with me and my habits - as indeed were all my friends.

' "I'll give you a drink, Jim," he said, "on one condition."

' "What's that?" I said cheerfully. I would willingly have promised him the moon. I wanted a drink!

' "That you go round and see a friend of mine - I think he could do something for you."

' "Certainly, old man. I'll go round and see the King of England or the Pope of Rome. I want a drink."

' "Well, he's a fellow called Frank Buchman and he stays at Brown's Hotel. I met him on board ship and I'm sure you ought to see him."

'I had my drink and I kept my promise. We got on well from the start. We found we had many friends in common and Frank was full of stories. Pretty soon I found myself telling him my own story. Frank was a good listener. The only trouble was that talking made me thirsty, so I asked Frank for a drink. Frank said nothing but pressed the bell and the waiter came in. At that very moment an extraordinary thought struck me. It came with the force of a clap of thunder. "This is the last drink you will take." I quickly added a P.S. of my own, "Well, you'd better make it a double." I did. And it was! Before I left Frank that day we prayed together.'3

This man, Jim Driberg, a brother of Tom, had been an able surgeon who had already drunk himself out of Harley Street. He had had a good war record, and was a cheerful companion and a fearless gambler around the clubs. During the next months he was a source of help and inspiration to many who met him. The Bishop of London, Mahatma Gandhi and C. F. Andrews were among many who were struck by the obvious change in his behaviour. He returned to his old Oxford college, Brasenose, and was the guest of the Dean, an old drinking companion. His host was anxious to keep conversation in safe familiar channels. 'How is your golf, Jim? What's your handicap?' 'Mine's drink,' he replied cheerfully. 'What's yours?'

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