"Arthur Griffiths, Manchester newspaperman and born sentimentalist, with several of us was leaving the Manchester Press Club at 1 a.m," James Dunn once recalled. "We were approached by a careworn and tattered old woman selling matches.

"'Matches or bootlaces?' she croaked. Arthur burst in tears.

"'My poor woman,' he sobbed, 'what are you doing out at this time of night?' 'Nowhere to go, gentlemen,' she whined. 'Nowhere to go?' gulped Arthur. 'Where are you going to sleep?' 'On the Infirmary Steps, sir.'

"At that moment a belated cab cruised up and Arthur, hailing the cabby, took some money from his pocket and, choking back his grief, said, 'Cabby, here are five shillings. Drive this poor woman to the Infirmary Steps.'"