In February 1910 the HMS Dreadnought, lying with the Home Fleet in Weymouth Bay, received word that the Emperor of Abyssinia with a small suite was on his way to visit the ship. The telegram was signed "Hardinge" (Sir Charles Hardinge was Permanent Under Secretary of the Foreign Office). The Emperor's party - four Abyssinian, a young man from the Foreign Office, and a European translator - were met by a red carpet and a saluting naval officer at Weymouth Station. Escorted to the Dreadnought, they found the battleship dressed with flags, lines of marines drawn up on deck, a band playing, and the admiral and his staff in gold-laced uniforms waiting to greet them. The visitors inspected the ship and say the sick bay, the wireless room, the officers' wardroom, and one of the gun turrets, which was rotated and its guns elevated and depressed. The admiral wanted his explanations translated, but the translator had difficulty. Told the difference between the marines in red uniforms and the marines in blue uniforms he said, "I am afraid it will be rather hard to put that into Abyssinian , sir. However, I'll try." He turned to the Emperor: "Entaqui, mahai, kustufani." The Emperor nodded. "Tahli bussor ahbat tahl aesque miss," the translator continued. "Erraema..." The Emperor repeated a few of the words, nodding that he understood. The British officers were excellent hosts: one young lieutenants was particularly delighted at the astonishment of the native visitors when he switched on an electric light. At the end of the tour, the admiral invited his guests to remain for a meal, but the translator replied that "the religious beliefs of Abyssinia made it impossible for the Royal family to touch food unless it was prepared in special ways." With salutes, bows, and smiles all around, the Imperial party left the ship and returned to London.
A few weeks later, the Daily Mirror got wind of the story and the truth emerged. The "Emperor" was a young man named Anthony Buxton, disguised with greasepaint, a false beard, a turban, and robes. His suite, similarly costumed, was made up of friends, including the painter Duncan Grant. The language employed, after the first three words of impromptu Swahili, were the translator's adaptation, suitably mispronounced, of the Forth Book of the Aeneid, which he had memorized in school. The navy reddened with embarrassment; questions were asked in Parliament; the hospitable admiral was followed through the streets by boys shouting: "Bunga-Bunga!" When the hoaxers called on the First Lord and offered to apologize, Mr. McKenna frowned and bundled them out of his office. It was particularly mortifying that one of the costumed Abyssinians had been a woman. This was Virginia Stephen, who was later to become Virginia Woolf.
I thought this would be a good story to post in honor of April Fool's Day.