Читать книгу The Times Great Letters: A century of notable correspondence - James Owen - Страница 8
ОглавлениеNEW TIMES AND
NEW STANDARDS
1920–29
To-day’s young men
3 August 1921
Sir, May I, as a middle-aged spectator, write a few words in your columns to call attention to a curious change in the younger generation of men now, or lately, in residence at the universities, and of ages from 20 to 25?
In many essentials they are the same young men as those of 20 years ago. They are generous and loyal; they are gentle and kind hearted; they are full of spirit and pluck. But there is one great difference. More than ever before in the history of youth do they defy discipline and worship independence. More than ever do they brush aside experience and do exactly as they please.
The writer’s observations are based chiefly on recent visits to the universities, on watching cricket matches, and on meeting the younger men in private houses and at tennis and golf.
Many of them, when they are talking to other persons, including people older than themselves, never take their pipes out of their mouths. When asked to luncheon with hostesses in London many of them appear in under-graduate clothes and flannel collars. When they are in London they never dress for dinner except in case of absolute necessity. They often associate with very odd friends, and with the female companions of these odd friends. At the Eton and Harrow match the writer saw in the pavilion a group of young men who were, for any other occasion, rather nicely dressed. They wore blue serge suits, summer shirts and Zingari1 straw hats. But had they not forgotten that the 1,200 boys who were present were wearing, compulsorily, the kit which for generations had been honoured and welcomed in London as one of the most charming sights of the ceremonial year, and that the great majority of grown-up people who came to the match were showing their respect for the boys by donning the same kind of dress?
The last point I wish to mention is that young men are showing an increasing toleration and fondness for lawn tennis. Breaking away from the general opinion of the masters of our public schools, and from the athletic traditions of many decades of university life, a number of men who might have been fine cricketers devote themselves entirely to “pat-ball,” and while Australia triumphs on the cricket field the youth of England wanders from county to county and from tournament to tournament in pursuit of the trophies and tea parties of this effeminate game.
If an older friend ever dares to point out any of these things to them in a friendly and bantering way, the answer is always the same:—“You are the most dreadful snob we ever met. We intend to do exactly as we like.”
I leave the issue there. It may be that it is the substance, and not the form, which matters. But for those who value form the question must arise. If this is the form of the beginning of their lives, how will they train their own offspring? How will they save themselves from being judged as
Nos nequiores mox daturos
Progeniem vitiosiorem? 2
I am, &c.,
OLD ETONIAN
1 I Zingari (“gypsies” in Italian) is the name of a cricket club that then drew its members from old boys of the leading public schools.
2 For the benefit of those who did not study Horace at Eton, the Latin tag translates roughly as “We, who are worse than our parents, will soon have children who are even more unbearable.”
Replied on 4 August 1921
Sir, May I, as a young man (and, incidentally, an Old Wykehamist), make some reply to the accusations of “Old Etonian”? It would be strange indeed if “a curious change” was not to be observed in the younger generation of to-day. Without making the too common claim that we “won the war,” we may at least remind your correspondent that for three or four years we were subject to such a discipline as he and his like have never known, and never will know. We spent a large, an incredibly large, proportion of that time absorbing the notions of “middle aged men” concerning matters of form, matters of dress and “smartness” and sartorial respect. We were told that these things were more than matters of form; they were essential to efficiency. But we saw that many an uncouth miners’ battalion was as valiant and efficient in the field as Guards themselves; we saw that those senior officers who were most busy about ritual details of “smartness” were often the most stupid, pig-headed, and inhuman; we saw “experience” fussing about salutes and forgetting about the men’s food; and it is not surprising if we have learned to set our own value on matters of form.
Even so, no young man that I have met claims to do “exactly as he pleases” in this respect, though we may have found new standards. It is possible, for example, that the young men in “blue serge suits, &c.” regarded their costume as more beautiful and becoming than the funereal top-hattery of the rest of Lord’s. But surely, we may be allowed to play what games we like? “Old Etonian” regards lawn tennis as a young woman’s game; I regard cricket as an old woman’s game. Lethargic, slow, it seems to me to consume a period of time grossly disproportionate to the energy expended by the average individual player; and it seems to me to be a pious myth that cricket is more unselfish than tennis. No doubt there is effeminate lawn tennis, as there is effeminate cricket (“tea parties” and all); but let “Old Etonian” go to Wimbledon, to any tournament, and dare to describe what he sees as “pat-ball.”
Nevertheless, I do not object to any man playing cricket, if he can tolerate the game, though I see numbers of men who might have been fine tennis players wandering from county to county and alternately standing about and sitting about in front of ill-mannered and ill-dressed cricket crowds, while America triumphs on the tennis lawn. I only ask for the same liberty for ourselves.
I should not dream of calling your correspondent a “snob.” But I would ask him to go a little deeper. If he had pursued his researches at the universities he would have been told by any of the authorities that the average post-war undergraduate displayed an industry or keenness unlike anything that was known before the war. It is conceivable that the young men who go to luncheons in flannel collars do so because they have work to do before and after the meal. If he goes to the stalls on a first night he will see two or three young men in ordinary clothes. They are dramatic critics, and they will be earning their living till 2 o’clock in the morning. Snobbery is not his complaint, but lack of imagination.
As for our offspring, I beg that he will leave them alone. He is right in supposing that they will not be brought up as we were brought up.
I am, Sir, yours, &c.,
A. P. HERBERT
Alan Herbert, the humourist and future MP, had fought at Gallipoli and on the Western Front after leaving Oxford.
Replied on 4 August 1921
Sir, “Old Etonian” deserves the thanks of the nation for exposing so lucidly the lack of manners and terrible effeminacy of our young men of to-day. At a reception which I attended recently I was astounded to note that not a single man was wearing knee breeches and ruffles and the ladies had completely discarded the crinoline. Instead of the sweeping bow, the delicate curtsey, and the gentle inquiry as to health, we find a revolting hearty handshake and an indelicate remark about stuffiness of the atmosphere. I was pained to see young men and — horribile dictu — young women smoking an abomination called a cigarette, and when I produced my patent folding churchwarden pipe there was a mild sensation.
In my young days we rollicked the summer days away playing croquet and bowls, but now the jeunesse dorée indulge in the grossly effeminate pastimes of golf and lawn tennis. It is indeed sad to see that a stalwart soldier like Earl Haig should have deserted the inspiring and breathlessly exciting game of croquet for that of hitting a stupid little ball round the countryside with an iron-headed stick.
“Old Etonian” need have no fear of being dubbed a snob. Far from it. He is of that gallant band who during the war would have insisted, had he been able, upon the tanks being decorated with inscribed standards and being heralded into action by the massed bands of the Brigade of Guards, flanked by the Life Guards in full-dress uniform, or Grand Rounds at dead of night making his inspection of trenches fully cuirassed to a fanfare of trumpets and preceded by a choir of seven lance-corporals chanting “Floreat Etona.”
Yours, &c.,
RAYMOND SAVAGE
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RatSkin Gloves
28 January 1920
Sir, Is it not possible in these times of a world shortage of raw material (especially leather) for such serviceable articles as rat skins to be put to some useful purpose? It will be generally conceded that if a market can be found or created for such skins it will be an incentive for the destruction of these noxious rodents, which is so essential. It is possible there are at present a few buyers, but so far I have been unable to discover them. Any information on this point will be appreciated. For someone with enterprise and imagination rat skins should be a sound commercial proposition — they would make excellent leather purses and gloves.
Yours faithfully,
GEORGE L. MOORE
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repression IN IRELAND
14 September 1920
Sir, On August 24 a conference in Dublin of moderate men of all parties demanded, amongst other things, as the preliminary condition of an Irish settlement the abandonment of the policy of repression.
Few Englishmen have any idea of the lengths to which this policy has been carried. Most Englishmen know simply that some 80 members of the Royal Irish Constabulary have been murdered, and they take it for granted that the Government’s repressive measures are necessary to put an end to these outrages, and that they are designed for this and no other purpose. Consequently, the actual state of government and justice in Ireland has not been scrutinized carefully, and Englishmen hear little of proceedings that are bringing danger and dishonour upon us. If these proceedings were a kind to put an end to outrages and not to cause further mischief, they would not have called down the condemnation of men like Lord Monteagle, Lord Shaftesbury, Sir Horace Plunkett, and the other leading Irishmen who took part in the conference at Dublin.
The Coercion Act, with the regulations issued for is administration, marks the climax of this policy. Court-martial justice will become the rule. It is provided that men may be kept indefinitely in prison without trial. A Court may sit in secret. If a Court believes that a particular person is able to give evidence, he or she may be arrested. Any person who does an act with a view to promoting or calculated to promote the objects of an lawful association is guilty of an offence against these regulations. As the Gaelic League, which was founded to revive Irish culture, and Dail Eireann1, which represents two-thirds of the Irish people, are unlawful associations, all but a small minority of Irishmen may be convicted on this charge. This is not a system of justice adapted for the detection and punishment of crime; it is designed for the punishment of a political movement, and it puts every Irishman who holds the opinions held by the great majority of Irishmen at mercy of the military authorities.
These authorities are the officers of an army employed on a task hateful to British soldiers and living in an atmosphere of bitter hostility to the native population. Indignation has been naturally excited in this army by a series of murders which the Government been unable to punish. Discipline has broken down. A sort of military lynch law is in force, applied not to the culprits but to the villages and towns of Ireland. It is not an uncommon experience for whole streets to be burnt, creameries2 destroyed, and life taken in the indiscriminate reprisals by which soldiers and policemen avenge murder of constables. Not for a century has there been an outbreak of military violence in these islands. The Government have failed to restrain or punish this violence, and they have now taken steps to prevent any civilian Court from calling attention to it. They have issued an order forbidding the holding of coroners’ inquests in nine counties. This removes the last vestige of protection from the civilian population. In the “Manual of Military Law” it is laid down that, whereas a man acquitted or convicted by a civil Court may not be retried by military Court, a person subject to military law is not to be exempted from the civil-law by reason of his military status. The Government have now decided that if soldiers or policemen fire a town or shoot civilians they are to be immune from the danger of an inquiry by a Court not under military direction.
In Ireland Englishmen are judged by their actions alone. No assurances of good will have the slightest effect on public opinion there; no English promises make it easier for moderate opinion to get a hearing. Every solution of the Irish question presupposes a friendly feeling between England and Ireland, and we are stimulating hatred.
Thus only by changing our executive policy can we create the atmosphere necessary to the successful working of any solution whatever of the Irish question.
We are, Sir, yours faithfully,
ERNEST BARKER
PHILIP GIBBS
CHARLES GORE
HUBERT GOUGH
J. L. HAMMOND
L. T. HOBHOUSE
DESMOND MACCARTHY
JOHN MASEFIELD
C. E. MONTAGUE
GILBERT MURRAY
C. P. SCOTT
H. G. WELLS
BASIL WILLIAMS
1 The parliament formed by Irish republicans on declaring independence from Britain in 1919
2 Butter was an important export and co-operative agricultural ventures, of which dairies were the most numerous, were central to rural Irish life
The Government’s measures only fuelled greater violence, which continued to escalate until a truce was signed in 1921. Ireland was partitioned and the next year the Irish Free State came into being.
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Wigs and Gowns
1 April 1922
Sir, I am glad to say that I do not know the name of any member of the Committee of Judges and Benchers of the Inns of Court whose recommendations concerning the forensic costume of women barristers you publish this morning 31 March. I can therefore criticize their “wishes” without fear or favour.
I have no fault to find with what they recommend about gowns, bands, or dresses. As to wigs, I think they are hopelessly wrong. A wig is, historically and essentially, not a covering, but a substitute for natural hair. I believe the history of the forensic wig to be in substance as follows. About the period of the Restoration, some of the leaders of fashion in France, for reasons of cleanliness and health, took to shaving their heads. They accordingly wore wigs, which soon became very large and elaborate. The fashion found such favour that for something like a century all gentlemen, when fully dressed, wore wigs. During this time they either shaved their heads, or cropped their hair very close, and probably also wore night-caps when in bed.
Then the wig gradually disappeared, and the modern method of cutting the hair short, but just long enough to make an efficient covering for the head, was gradually adopted. Judges and barristers followed this practice like other people, but found that, as long as the hair was short, the wig formed a distinctive, dignified, and convenient headdress for use in court. If women barristers are going to cut their hair short as we cut ours, our wigs will suit them well enough, but I do not believe they will do anything of the kind.
The Committee wish that their wigs “should completely cover and conceal the hair.” Why they entertain this wish I cannot imagine. Our wigs by no means completely cover and conceal our hair. Suppose a woman barrister wears her hair “bobbed.” Her wig, if it completely conceals her hair, will certainly not be an “ordinary barrister’s wig.” Suppose she has plenty of hair, and wears it coiled in one of the usual ways. She will then want one pattern of wig when fashion places the coils on top of her head, another when they are resting on the back of her neck, and a third when they approach the situation of the old fashioned chignon, high up on the back of the head. Each of the three will impart to the wearer a hydrocephalous, ungainly, and ludicrous appearance.
It must be apparent to every one, except the Committee, that women barristers ought to wear a distinctive, and probably dark-coloured, headdress, in approximately the form of a biretta, a turban, or a toque. I use each of these terms with very great diffidence.
I am, Sir, your obedient servant,
HERBERT STEPHEN
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Unjust Divorce Laws
11 October 1922
Sir, During the last weeks of the Summer Term, at the request of the Lord Chancellor, I undertook the trial of undefended suits for divorce and heard about four hundred cases. They were taken in due order from the list, and included every class, but with a large preponderance of the poor, owing to their numbers, and also to the difficulty of their getting decent homes.
The experience was startling, and explains why it is that practically every Judge on whom a similar duty has devolved has urged an alteration of the law. I believe that the reason why this demand is not universal is that the facts are not known, and false modesty prevents their disclosure. Women’s societies pass resolutions declaring that if any change be made, equality must be established between men and women, forgetting, or not knowing, that the present law produces the most insulting inequality, and that it is in the interests of women that reform is sought.
Plain facts need plain speech, and I beg, without apology, to ask attention to the following statement, based on the cases I tried, prefaced only by saying that I scrutinized the evidence with especial care, and that I am satisfied as to the truth of what I state.
A woman marries a man, and is at once infected by him with syphilis. She is an innocent woman, and knows nothing as to what is wrong until the disease has her fast in its grip. The doctor is satisfied that infection occurred immediately on marriage; consequently the law politely bows her out of Court and makes her pay the cost of her struggle for liberty. In the particular case to which I refer, the husband had deserted the woman, and it was possible to prove, though with difficulty, that he had also transferred his “affections” to someone else; but for this his wife was bound for life.
Another woman had been made the victim of the unspeakable savagery of brutal and perverted lust. She also must have remained bound by the bonds of matrimony, enforced by violence, but that her husband went to satisfy his fury elsewhere, and was found out.
A third was deserted, after a week, by a soldier who went to the American continent, where he might have lived unmolested for ever in a life of peaceful adultery, but as he violated two children he also was discovered, and she was able to be free.
I could multiply the recital of individual cases, but lack of space forbids, and the general conditions need attention.
Bigamy was extremely common, but entirely confined to poor persons, for bigamy is not a vice of wealth; the rich can find other less illegal outlets for their emotions. The existing statute, however, provides that bigamy is not sufficient ground for divorce — it must be “bigamy with adultery” — and, though it might be assumed, anywhere outside a law Court, that a man who has risked penal servitude to obtain possession of a woman was not prompted by platonic love, yet the law requires independent proof of the adultery. Further, by a decision now sixty-five years old, this adultery must be with the bigamous wife — adultery with any number of other people is quite inadequate.
On the wisdom and justice of this ancient judgment I will not comment, but it throws great difficulty in the way of a woman who can prove that her husband has been convicted of bigamy, but finds it difficult to trace and obtain evidence of adultery; quoad hanc1, in one case before me, she almost failed.
Among the poorer people desertion was the commonest event: rich folk walk more delicately, and, being in a hurry, obtain a decree for restitution, to be obeyed in a fortnight, instead of waiting two years. It was, of course, only in the rare instances where the deserting husband could be traced and his undoubted adultery legally proved that any relief would be obtained. In one such case the husband, who had first insulted and then deserted his wife, left the country in a ship with the woman with his affection for whom he had often taunted his wife, but, of course, that did not constitute legal proof of adultery, but merely companionship.
In no case that I tried did there appear to me the faintest chance of reconciliation; the marriage tie had been broken beyond repair and its sanctity utterly defiled; nor, again, though I watched with extreme vigilance, was there any single case where collusion could be suggested. With regard to cruelty, there was no case which a competent lawyer, skilled in the knowledge of witnesses, could not have tried.
I was, of course, faced with the question as to what is cruelty, which, we are informed, is so difficult that you want the King’s Proctor as an expert in cruelty to keep the law steady. I made my own rules. If a man who was sober kicked his wife in the stomach when she was pregnant, that seemed to me enough; if she were not pregnant, and he was drunk, he might have to do it again or else her complaint might be due to what the most persistent opponent of my Bill called “nervous irritation.” So, also, with kicking her downstairs, or making her sleep on the doormat in winter — all of which cases I had to consider. But, however brutal and repeated the cruelty, no divorce must be granted for it, or we shall Americanize our institutions and soil the sanctity of English homes.
I had no case before me involving the question of lunacy or criminality, for these, as the law stands, are irrelevant considerations in connexion with divorce; but the evidence on that is near at hand. Within the last few months two women have been left eternally widowed, with their husbands fast immured in criminal lunatic asylums, and in this unnatural state they will remain while the shadow of the years lengthens and life’s day grows dim. Surely the desire to help such people is not, as some appear to think, prompted by a Satan, but is a humble effort to carry out the principle of the supplication which asks that, while our own wants are satisfied, we should not be unmindful of the wants of others.
Parliament will shortly resume its work. Our divorce laws have been condemned by the most competent authority as immoral and unjust. The House of Lords has patiently heard every argument that can be advanced against further change from the lips of the most skilful advocates, and has repeatedly, and by emphatic majorities, demanded reform. Common sense — but for respect to my adversaries I should have added common decency — rejecting the existing law. Is it asking too much to entreat the Government to afford a chance to Parliament to cleanse our laws from this disgrace?
Yours faithfully,
BUCKMASTER
1 In legal Latin, the sexual impotence of the husband
Viscount Buckmaster had been Lord Chancellor from 1915–16. Men were able to obtain a divorce on proof of a wife’s adultery, but women had to prove both a husband’s adultery and another reason, such as domestic violence. Despite Buckmaster’s efforts, the law was eventually reformed, largely at the instigation of AP Herbert, only in 1937.
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The Spectacle of Respectable
8 February 1923
Sir, Is it not time that the official categories of respectability were revised?
In order to secure the renewal of a passport, it is necessary to obtain a signed declaration of identity and fitness from a mayor, magistrate, justice of the peace, minister of religion, barrister-at-law, physician, surgeon, solicitor, or bank manager, with whom the applicant is personally acquainted; and similar lists are found on many other official forms. On what principle they were compiled I know not, but they cause considerable inconvenience, and defeat their own end.
I never knew a mayor. But I have known many Civil servants of reasonable integrity, and in my neighbourhood are two or three not more unscrupulous than the rest of their profession; I am friendly with two editors; I know a peer; several stockbrokers, baronets, novelists, and Members of Parliament would readily swear that I am a fit and proper person to go to France. But these gentlemen are not worthy, and I am forced to search any casual acquaintance for magistrates and dental surgeons, who, in fact, know nothing about me.
For persons even poorer than myself the difficulty is more serious. As a rule, the only “respectable” people they know are the physician and the clergyman, and why should these alone be bothered with the things? Why not the policeman, the postman, the landlord, the tax collector? Things have come to a pretty pass in this democratic age if the word of an attorney is more than the word of a publisher: and if we cannot trust a policeman, whom can we trust?
The result, in most cases, is that the applicant obtains a solemn declaration from that one of his acquaintance who knows least about him. This is the kind of trivial official rubbish which is allowed to endure forever because no one thinks it worth while to protest. I therefore protest that these antiquated and offensive lists should be revised, as above, or, if that be too daring, abolished altogether. Why not simply “a householder”?
I am, Sir, yours faithfully,
A. P. HERBERT
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Gathering Nuts in May
9 May 1923
Sir, I remember that, when I read the Classics, I had always a liking for the reading of the manuscript and a distaste for emendations. It is probably the same instinct which leads me to think that “nuts in May” are really nuts. (But I remember that, when I joined in the chant some forty years ago, we used to say “nutsimay,” and I liked the mysterious sound, and wondered what “nutsimay” was.) If nuts do not grow upon trees in May, I conceive it to be possible that they grow in the ground. Certainly one of my pleasantest memories is that of hunting for nuts in the ground (a long time ago) somewhere about the month of May. They were to be found on a little bank, overshadowed by trees, that overhung a disused quarry. You knew their presence by the tender green shoots which grew from them; and when you saw those shoots, you took your knife, made a small excavation, and had a succulent reward. I have consulted the New English Dictionary (my general refuge in all mental perplexities), and I have found there, s.v. groundnut, the admirable entry which awakens a pleased reminiscence and rumination. “Bunium flexuosum: Culpepper, English Physitian, 64; they are called earth-nuts, earth-chestnuts, groundnuts.”
What I cannot really remember is whether we actually gathered Bunia flexuosa in May. But while I cannot prove it (except by the obvious device of consulting some scientific work of reference), I flatter myself that it is extremely probable. In any case, there was some real fun in gathering this sort of nut. It was elusive; it was succulent; it was neither so obvious, nor so unsatisfactory, as your hazel nut.
But it pains me to think of these things. They belong to the Arcadia of a vanished youth. Où sont les neiges d’antan? Where are the nuts of yester-year?
Yours obediently,
ERNEST BARKER
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Nestletripes and Piggy-Widdens
7 June 1923
Sir, “Tantony” is a new name to me for the small one of a litter of pigs or dogs. Some years ago I made the following collection of names all in use in various parts of the country:
Nisgil (Midlands), Nisledrige and Nestletripe (Devon), Darling, Daniel, Dolly and Harry (Hants), Underling, Rickling, Reckling, Little David (Kent), Dillin, Dilling (Stratford-on-Avon), Cad, Gramper, Nestletribe, Nestledrag, Nestlebird, Dab-Chick, Wastrill, Weed, Dandlin, Anthony, Runt, Parson’s Pig (the least valuable to be devoted to tithe purposes), Nest Squab, Putman, Ratling, Dorneedy (Scottish), The Titman (Vermont), Nestledraft, Pigot, Rutland, Luchan, Piggy-Widden.
Yours faithfully,
EDWIN BROUGH
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A Diamond in the Rough
28 October 1924
Sir, As one who has sampled most British sports, may I say a word upon baseball? It seems to me that in those Press comments which I have been able to see too much stress is laid upon what may appear to us to be a weakness or a comic aspect in the game and not nearly enough upon its real claim on our attention. I fully agree that the continual ragging is from a British view-point a defect, but baseball is a game which is continually in process of development and improvement, as anyone who reads Arthur Mathewson’s interesting book on the subject is aware.
The foul tricks which were once common are now hardly known, and what was once applauded, or at any rate tolerated, would now be execrated. Therefore, this rough badinage may pass away and it is not an essential of the game. What is essential is that here is a splendid game which calls for a fine eye, activity, bodily fitness, and judgment in the highest degree. This game needs no expensive levelling of a field, its outfit is within the reach of any village club, it takes only two or three hours in the playing, it is independent of wet wickets, and the player is on his toes all the time, and not sitting on a pavilion bench while another man makes his century. If it were taken up by our different Association teams as a summer pastime I believe it would sweep this country as it has done America. At the same time it would no more interfere with cricket than lawn tennis has done. It would find its own place. What we need now is a central association which would advise and help the little clubs in the first year of their existence.
Yours faithfully,
ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE
Conan Doyle was a keen sportsman who had played first-class cricket. He also helped to introduce skiing to Switzerland from Scandinavia, and so popularise the sport in Britain.
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Long Lives in The Times
1 January 1925
Sir, On the front page of The Times last year there were reported the deaths of 402 persons of 90 years of age and over. Of these 123 were men (including 18 clerks in holy orders) and 279 women; of the latter 178 were married. The number of those who reached their century is eight; of these two were men and six women, two of whom were 105 and had been married. Four others (two men, one a clerk) were 99. Besides the above named, 95 attained their 90th year, 28 men (six clerks) and 67 women, of whom 30 were married. The number of nonagenarians who have died in the last ten years is 3,153, a yearly average of 315, ranging from 263 in 1918 to last year’s big total of 402. The number of centenarians for the same period is 55, the most in one year being 11 in 1923.
In other parts of The Times deaths have been reported of 40 others who had been born before or during 1824. Of these four were 103; six, 104; one, 105; four, 106; and one, 107. Under “News in Brief” on 16 August, John Campbell, of County Antrim, aged 112, is reported dead; and on 18 August, under “Telegrams in Brief,” the same is told of Alexa Vivier, of Manitoba, who had reached the, nowadays, patriarchal age of 113.
I am, etc.,
C. B. GABB
Ten years later, Mr Gabb wrote to The Times to mark its 150th birthday. He noted that Zaro Agha, a Turk who had recently died, supposedly aged 157, could (and undoubtedly would) have read 46,950 issues of the newspaper — had he not been illiterate.
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All Greek to me
22 January 1925
Sir, Reading with great interest the pleasant controversy between the Headmaster of Christ’s Hospital and Mr. Austen Chamberlain, I have noticed that my own beloved and reverend headmaster, Mr. J. S. Phillpotts, is as alert and vigilant as ever.
The issue that has been raised is an old one, and as false as it always has been. Controversialists start on the wrong tack when they assume that learning and teaching grammar must be dull and unstimulating. Nothing is more untrue. There is everything in grammar, the accidence as well as the syntax of language, to make it as stimulating to thought and the imagination and as full of humour as any instrument of education. Witness the inexhaustible romance of the verbs in -μι, the miraculous history of the Greek preposition, or the indefinable wonders of the subjunctive mood!
HUBERT M. OXON:
Hubert Burge, Bishop of Oxford
Replied on 23 January 1925
Sir, The Bishop of Oxford’s letter gives a delightful picture of cultured boyhood. We see him indulging in a hearty laugh with his headmaster on the vagaries of εἰμί, or walking, a slender stripling, in a summer sunset, tracing with wistful eyes the romance of the subjunctive mood into the glowing West!
I began teaching as an Eton master in 1885, and taught classics there for nearly 20 years, starting with a whole-hearted faith in their merits for educational purposes, and coming gradually and reluctantly to a very different conclusion.
The average boy without literary and linguistic aptitude never seemed to me to get within reach of Latin and Greek as living things at all.
I am, &c.,
A. C. BENSON
Master of Magdalene College, Cambridge
Hubert Burge had been headmaster of Winchester, which no doubt explains his and Benson’s differing success rates with their pupils. The latter perhaps exerted more influence over the heirs to Greece and Rome by writing the words to “Land of Hope
and Glory”.
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Witnessing the Russian Revolution in 1917
9 March 1925
Sir, Saturday was the anniversary of the outbreak of the Russian Revolution. No one who was present in Petrograd at the time is likely to forget it. During the morning and early afternoon, sullen crowds thronged all the main streets. Mounted police moved quietly among them. There was no disorder, all seemed to be waiting for something; they might have been workmen outside the gates of a factory before opening time. Nevertheless one felt instinctively that the atmosphere was charged. It reminded one of the strange, gloomy silence that so often comes before a storm.
I boarded a tramway car to visit some people near the Nikolai Station. It was very crowded, but I was able to stand in front near the driver. As we proceeded up the Nevsky Prospect I became aware that a lady I knew was a fellow-traveller. I suggested that she should stay with the friend she was on her way to visit, and not attempt to return, as I felt there was going to be trouble.
I had hardly spoken the words when there rose a dull murmur, and one caught snatches of “Give us bread, we are hungry.” The tramway car was not travelling fast owing to the crowds. A university student jumped on to the footboard, said something to the driver, and then turned to the control lever, and the car came to a standstill. This held up all the rest, so my friend and I got off and walked. I took her to her destination, and begged her friends to keep her for the night, and then returned to Nevsky.
There I found everything changed. The placid dullness of these sullen crowds was replaced by alertness and excitement. As I neared the statue of Alexander III, a workman ascended to the plinth, and began to address the people. A policeman approached and remonstrated. The speaker refused either to get down or stop talking, whereupon the policeman drew his revolver, and shot him. It was the match to the fire; the smouldering fuse had reached the powder, and it went off. The Revolution had begun. In 20 minutes there was hardly a vestige of that unfortunate policeman left. Men, women, and even children fell upon him and literally tore him to pieces. One could hardly
believe that those sad, silent people of half an hour before could have
been suddenly transformed into such savages, lusting for the blood of the wretched man.
After this the crowd moved down Nevsky in one solid mass, were met by police, and were fired on. Every one knows the rest: innocent and guilty alike were shot down until the troops joined the people, and the so-called “bloodless Revolution” began.
I am, etc.,
B. S. LOMBARD
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A Swindle by Telephone
16 January 1926
Sir, I wish to warn your readers about a swindle, which has trapped even astute men of business. The modus operandi is a telephone call from a person claiming to be a friend or to have a business or personal connection with the victim. The gentleman is in distress, having been robbed of his purse.
Would his friend help him with a telegraph remittance in the nearest post office to enable him to return to his home in the counties? This in itself sounds bald and unconvincing, but is elaborated with sufficient circumstantial detail to make the story appear genuine. The device comes from America, where it appears to be very successfully played, and is a very profitable transaction for the swindler, who will continue to make a handsome revenue if the public is not warned.
The most effective answer is to promise the required help and then, immediately, to communicate with the police, who, if the case is genuine, can render the assistance needed, or, if not, can put a stop to these activities. No doubt the trick will appear in varying disguises, so as to keep it fresh, but the net result will be the same.
Yours truly,
VIGILANS
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Il Duce Writes
26 June 1925
Sir, I am very sensible of the fact that your most important paper attentively follows my political and polemical manifestations. Allow me, however, to rectify some statements contained in your last editorial.
It does not correspond with facts that the last Bills voted by the Italian Chamber are against the most elementary liberties, whereof you will be convinced by carefully considering the article of the aforesaid laws. It is not true that patriots are discontented. On the contrary, the truth is that the opposition is carried on by a small dispossessed group, while the enormous majority of the Italian people works and lives quietly, as foreigners sojourning in my country may daily ascertain. Please note also that Fascism counts 3,000,000 adherents, whereof 2,000,000 are Syndicalist workmen and peasants, these representing the politically organized majority of the nation. Even the Italian Opposition now recognizes the great historical importance of the Fascist experiment, which has to be firmly continued in order not to fail in its task of morally and materially elevating the Italian people, and also in the interest of European civilization. Please accept my thanks and regards.
I am, &c.,
MUSSOLINI
The Times had criticised Il Duce’s repression of the press and political opposition. Himself a former journalist, Benito Mussolini was keenly aware of the influence of the media on public opinion, at home and abroad.
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Making Proper Porridge
17 August 1925
Sir, The recipe given last Saturday for porridge is not very helpful, nothing being said as to the quantity of water or of oatmeal a person.
The time for preparation given as 1½ hour’s boiling, during which stirring is to be frequent and therefore attendance constant, is enough to scare off anyone not cursed with too much leisure from attempting to supply an article of food which has no need to be so costly of one’s time and for firing.
It is impossible to make good, appetizing porridge in a double saucepan, the only means of cooking it without stirring at frequent intervals, for the simple reason that it is not possible to bring the contents of the inner pan to the boil, and porridge that has not boiled for some time will not “set” when poured out: and if it will not “set” it is not nearly so palatable as if it does set. Porridge that is set will slide out of your plate a few minutes after being poured into it without leaving a smear behind. It is of a jelly-like consistency, not a viscous half-cooked mess. I repeat that it is impossible to attain this consistency with a double pan, and so far I agree with “E. E. K.” I merely mention this to emphasize it. Having, then, a single unjacketed saucepan of a capacity equal to twice the amount of water to be put into it — so as to avoid boiling over, which porridge is very prone to do — put into it, overnight if porridge is wanted in the morning, or, say, for six hours before wanted, for every person or for each small soup-plateful of porridge required, 2oz. of best coarse Scotch oatmeal, and not any of the crushed and mangled or otherwise pre-treated substitutes. Add one pint of water, and leave to soak. About half an hour before it is required bring it to the boil and take care that it does not boil over, stirring nearly all the time. Then keep it gently boiling for 20 minutes, stirring often enough to prevent sticking and burning. Finally boil briskly for five minutes and pour into a tureen or direct into the soup plates from which it is to be eaten. As much salt as will stand on a sixpence may be added per portion when the oatmeal is put into soak, or not, as desired.
To enjoy porridge properly it should be “set,” thoroughly swollen, and boiled, which the above treatment ensures, and eaten with plenty, say 1/3 pint per portion, of the best and freshest milk. There may be added salt, or sugar, or cream, or all three; or it may be eaten with treacle. Half an hour is ample for boiling, and I have cooked it satisfactorily in 20 minutes frequently. But it must boil, and not merely stew. Scattering the meal into the water is done to prevent it binding into lumps. It rarely does this if put into cold water for six hours before boiling begins, but it is just as well to see that there are no lumps before leaving to soak. I know of no reason why soaking beforehand should be objected to, and it saves firing and the cook’s time and trouble.
W. B. HOPKINS
Porridge, like trains, schools and the younger generation, appears to be a subject guaranteed to raise strong passions in the breast of every generation of Times readers.
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Cold snakes
13 April 1926
Sir, The truth of the statement in the last sentence of your note on Puff Adders and Pythons (The Times, February 13), about a cold snake being nearly always a relatively safe snake, is well borne out by an experience of my own.
While shooting in the Bindraban nala, in Pangi, in 1913, I was after a red bear one cold, drizzly, wet day. The bear was on a high, grass-topped ridge while I was on a lower one running parallel.
I had looked about for a good place from which to take a lying down shot, and, having found a flat rock with a nice slope, lay down. My knees — bare, as I was in “shorts” — were on the ground at the edge of the stone.
Having wriggled about until I was in a comfortable position, and after having sighted the bear, I concluded it was not good enough to risk a shot at that long range, so sat back on my “hunkers”.
To my very great surprise and fear, there was a snake coiled, sitting up and watching me from the very place in which my left knee had been pressing into the ground, and still well within striking distance of my knee! It made no effort either to strike or get away while I remained still, but when I sprawled backwards it made off.
When I had killed it with a stone, I found that it was a very good 26in. specimen of the Himalayan pit viper (Ancistrodon Himalayanus). The height up would be somewhere between 10,000 ft. and 11,000 ft., and it was, as I have already said, a cold day, with a thin rain falling every now and again; but as my left knee must have been actually pressing upon the snake, it was fortunate that it was a “cold” snake with which I had had to deal.
I am,
T. H. SCOTT
United Service Club, Simla.
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Mr MacDonald’s Honorary Degree
8 June 1926
Sir, Since the recent unfortunate occurrence may easily be misinterpreted outside, or even inside, this University, may I express what I know to be the feeling of others also, from the point of view of one who has twice voted for Mr MacDonald’s party at General Elections, but who would probably have abstained from voting either way on the question of his degree?
A memorial has been circulated in Cambridge deploring that this incident will embarrass, or even destroy, the convention of offering honorary degrees to politicians as such, apart from any direct services which they may have rendered to learning, letters, or art. Some of us, on the other hand, while deeply regretting this incident on other grounds, would welcome that result, and rejoice that some good, at least, had emerged from the present evil. Many, even among Mr MacDonald’s political opponents, have the greatest admiration for what he did, as Foreign Minister, in the cause of this country and of world-peace. They heartily regret that, practice in these matters having been what it has been, the first break in that practice during the last few years should seem to imply personal discourtesy to Mr MacDonald. But they cannot agree with the memorialists in branding the small group of determined opponents as persons whose political intolerance humiliates this University; they feel that this would come perilously near to denying the right of conscientious objection to all persons whose objections we ourselves do not happen to share.
Is there any real way out of this difficulty, so long as universities are in the habit of offering Doctorates in Law to politicians or soldiers as such? It is argued that the honour is here offered not to the politician but to the distinguished servant of the Crown, ex officio. If that were clearly understood on all sides; if it were generally known that the Prime Minister is thus to be honoured automatically, while others must take their chance of an adverse vote, this would certainly remove the misgivings felt by many at the present moment. Although an honour is certainly somewhat lessened by being automatic, yet such a clear understanding would relieve us from our present attempt to fly in the face of nature, and to combine the advantages of free will with those of absolute obedience to rule. We should be a very dead University if there were not strong differences of political opinion, accentuated by the present crisis.
Is it not a contradiction in terms to say that we offer degrees to politicians qua politicians, yet without reference to their politics? At least, this is contrary both to reason and to practice in normal cases, where the scholar, the littérateur, and the artist are chosen with the directest and most explicit reference to the value of their performances in scholarship, literature, or art. There are men here who joined in a similar public protest against Lord Randolph Churchill’s degree; this did not prevent Lord Randolph from receiving his degree on a majority vote. It is as certain as anything can be that Mr MacDonald would have had a sweeping majority; to doubt this would be to suggest, by that very doubt, the strongest possible justification for the opposers’ action. In the absence of absolutely clear understandings and precedents, this matter could not possibly have been emptied of all political significance. Some people (as things are at this moment) would have found political significance in the unopposed grant of a degree; even more will find political significance in the fact that it was opposed. Therefore (to repeat my earliest question in a different form), must not a politician be always ready to face a politician’s chances?
If universities deliberately intend that a certain studied gesture, when made to a politician, should mean something essentially different from that identical gesture towards a scientist, then ought it not to be understood beforehand, beyond any possibility of misconception, that this offer of a degree is simply an automatic sequel to the King’s offer of the Premiership?
Yours, &c.,
G. G. COULTON
Cambridge University had been debating whether to award the customary honorary degree to Ramsay MacDonald, the Labour leader, after he became Prime Minister.
Some dons took issue with his opposition to the First World War and his recent encouraging of the General Strike. MacDonald eventually let it be known he did not want the honour. Nearly 60 years later, Oxford would find itself in the same position – see page
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The Yale’s Horns
15 June 1926
Sir, A few years ago, when the King’s Beasts were placed on the bridge over the moat leading to the gateway at Hampton Court Palace, I was distressed beyond measure at the effigy of the Yale1. Both its horns were directed backwards! I drew the attention of the late Lord Harcourt to this on more than one occasion, and he was genuinely vexed and said that something must be done. But judging by a picture postcard I have recently received, nothing has been done.
My distress and grief have been increased by the action of those who are responsible for restoring the King’s Beasts on the outside of the Royal Chapel at Windsor, for here again the Yale has both horns pointing backwards. The Dean of Windsor kindly lent me for a day or two a little book which clearly shows this appalling lack of appreciation of what a Yale really is. For it is in the very essence of a Yale to have one horn pointing forward over the nose and the other horn pointing backwards. I have traced the history of the Yale back to the fourth or fifth Egyptian dynasty, back to the old kingdom, nearly 3,000 years bc. One finds them repeatedly throughout Egyptian art. Herodotus describes them as ỏπισθονóμοί, because their horns curve forward in front of their heads so that it is not possible for them when grazing to move forward, as in that case their horns would become fixed in the ground. Aristotle gives a similar account. Pliny describes their horns as mobile, so that should the front horn be injured in a contest the horns are swivelled round and the hinder horn now comes into action. But in spite of Pliny’s uncritical mind and unbridled fancy, he could hardly have invented the Yale. At the present time certain of the domesticated cattle in the great territory of the Bahr-el-Ghazal, to the south of the White Nile, have their horns trained by the natives, one to project forward and one to project backwards.
One of the Canons of Windsor states that the new King’s Beast on the outside of the Royal Chapel was copied from one in the interior of the chapel. Should this be the case, those who have been or are responsible for the King’s Beasts at Windsor are doubly guilty, for they are misleading the public not only without but within the walls of the sacred edifice. It is impossible to test the accuracy of this statement owing to the present reparations to the building. A distinguished archaeologist in the neighbourhood of Windsor who has been kind enough to inspect for me the false Yales on the outside of the chapel, writes that “we can do little but mourn.” But surely that is a counsel of despair. At Hampton Court Palace, and still more on or in the Royal Chapel at Windsor, under the very shadow of Royalty, we might at least expect a certain degree of historical and heraldic accuracy in such matters as the King’s Beasts, and the horns of the Yales should be set right.
I am, Sir, yours faithfully,
A. E. SHIPLEY
1 A mythical beast akin to an ibex used in heraldry and associated with the arms of the Royal Family since Tudor times. It also figures in those of Christ’s College, Cambridge, of which Shipley was Master.
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Timed Out
5 July 1926
Sir, The Eton and Harrow match is again at hand. May an imponderable quantity, who with countless other such, has suffered from four consecutive draws, venture a suggestion?
Whatever the rule, could it not be the practice in this match for the ingoing batsman always to leave the pavilion gate for the wicket as the outgoing batsman reaches the pavilion gate? Considering that there are 30 to 40 intervals on the fall of wickets, during each of which at least a minute (on the average) is lost, more than half an hour would be saved. Last year’s match would have been finished and not impossibly that of the year before. In fact, one has seen several draws in this match which another half-hour would have converted into a win.
This definite practice would have one other advantage: it would automatically save whichever side was tempted in that direction from lingering to the legal limit between wickets to avert defeat. Good sportsmanship, as a rule, takes care of that, but one remembers hearing shouts of “Hurry up!” The reasons against this saving of time no doubt will now be given to him, for they are with difficulty imagined by
Your faithful servant,
JOHN GALSWORTHY
The Nobel Prize-winning novelist had been captain of football at Harrow. His suggestion did not bear fruit until 1980, since when incoming batsmen can be given out unless they get to the wicket within a short time, now 3 minutes.
The annual cricket match against Eton was a highlight of the summer Season.
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Silly Point
11 August 1926
Sir, Down ’ere we be ’mazed along o’ they writer chaps an’ the goin’s on o’ they Testës. Laws be laws, an’ rools be rools, an’ they as makes ’em should keep ’em. Paarson — they sez as ’ow the rev’rend gentleman played fer the Blues afore ’e was so ’igh — tell’d us: “Once they arm-chair crickets gets yer into the papers, yer ’ave to be’ave yerself ’cardin’lye. That be the crucks of the matter.” I never learned French lingo, but we agrees along of ’im. So do Joe Rummery, as ’as umpir’d fer us nigh fitty yers.
Laast Saturday we at Firlin’ played a side from Lunnon — furriners, they be — an’ we ’ad two goes apiece, though I knaws we only played from foor till eight, cuz Farmer Beckley said Eb an’ me must finish that ten-acre field first.
I was out twice leg-afore, an’ it bain’t no use sayin’ “wot fer,” cuz Joe wunt be druv. “If it ’its yer leg, yer goes out, sartin sure,” sez Joe, who knaws the rools. Joe ’as the same coppers to count over-balls as when he started, with picturs o’ the Good Queen on ’em.
We thinks as ’ow they chaps at Lunnon be narvous, else ’ow should they be allus callin’ fer tay as soon as they be done dinner? An’ these paper chaps makes ’em wuss, a-tellin’ us wot it be about, pilin’ up pettigues (Paarson sez “worries”), till they batters wunt knaw whether they should be ther at all, or som’eres else.
Firlin’s played ’ere ’unnerds o’ yers, long afore that ther Mary Bone lady started ’er pitch at Lards in Lunnon, though we likes ’er, an’ ’opes she’ll keep purty blithesome an’ not fergit that we be cricketers too. We ain’t wantin’ foor stumps, as we finds three a plenty, an’ we ain’t thinkin’ that they pros an’ such like ’ave read the rools. If they did as Paarson sez his Irish friend did — when yer sees a ’ead, ’it it— ther wouldn’t be no cause fer this gurt talk o’ foor days.
I am, &c.,
F. CARTWRIGHT
It was felt in cricketing circles that, because of advances in preparing pitches, modern batsmen were scoring too freely off bowlers. Reforms to what was then regarded as the national game were mooted by correspondents to The Times. The options generally favoured were widening the wicket with an extra stump or extending the duration of first-class matches from three to four days in the hopes of enabling fewer to be drawn. In the event, no changes were made, prompting England some years later to target Australian batsmen rather than their wickets: see Bodyline p. 116.
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British Films
18 March 1927
Sir, I hope that Mr. Percival’s excellent letter in The Times last Wednesday will persuade those who still have minds to make up of the folly of the Government’s muddle-headed proposals for meeting mediocrity more than halfway. Professed patriots are at times very hard to understand. They prefer the word “British” to cover a multitude of sins rather than wishing it, as the more arrogant and less noisy of us do, to stand as a symbol of merit. Why a sandbag rather than a lantern?
On another page of your paper I read that a number of eminent authors and actors have placed their services at the disposal of a new enterprise called “British Incorporated Pictures.” This is, I think, the only country in the world that has not yet realized that films must be conceived and interpreted as films. None of the really great pictures have been adapted from books and few of the great performances, with the exception, of course, of Miss Pauline Frederick’s, have come from stage actors. Until literature and the theatre realize that the cinema is not a subsidiary concern to be despised intellectually and exploited financially we shall never get down to the real problem of producing good British films. After all, painters do not tell us that they are taking up the violin in order to help music!
Yours faithfully,
ELIZABETH BIBESCO
Elizabeth Bibesco was an author and the daughter of Herbert Asquith, the former Prime Minister, and his second wife Margot Tennant.
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hats Off
22 April 1927
Sir, A duty on hats would be no new thing. A century ago no self-respecting gentleman could visit France without bringing back a Paris bonnet as a present for a lady friend. But the gift was of no value unless it was smuggled. At the landing port a number of bareheaded women used to board the packet-boat on arrival. For a consideration, one would don a bonnet and go on shore with it thus making it free of duty. As soon as it was safely on land it was returned to its rightful owner. When I was a boy my father used to tell me stories of the filthy heads on which the Paris creations were brought on to British soil.
There is a legend that one of the Imperial crowns of Delhi, in the possession of an English officer after the Mutiny, was similarly brought to England, but on the head of the owner’s baby. That baby it is said, later became a distinguished General.
I am, &c.
GEORGE A. GRIERSON
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“Sarah was Right”
2 September 1927
Sir, Our weather prophets are sadly incapable of interpreting the future. I was confronted this morning with the problem of a hay crop that might have been carried but would be far better for a few hours’ sunshine. Daventry told me last night that I might expect two or three fine days. So did this morning’s paper. And the 10.30 broadcast gave a special message to farmers to the same effect. So I decided to wait a day.
But my cowman said: “Sir, you’re wrong; Sarah says it’s going to rain.” Now Sarah is a rheumaticky cow that has previously shown great talent in meteorological prediction, and she was very lame this morning. But I trusted the human experts.
Sarah was right.
I wonder if the Meteorological Office would buy her. Her lameness affects her milk yield, and her milk record this year is deplorably low.
I am, Sir, &c.
H. C. HONY
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Gone to the dogs
23 December 1927
May I be permitted to express, on behalf of the executive committee of the Girls’ Life Brigade, strong disapproval of greyhound racing and its appalling effect upon the girlhood of our nation? It has come to our knowledge that girls of tender years are to be found at the racecourses betting on the various races. If such things are allowed to continue, what can be the outlook for the future of womanhood in our land? We are firmly of opinion that immediate and strong action should be taken to protect the youth of our country from these new and growing menaces, and we should like to take this opportunity of associating ourselves with every effort made to resist the opening of courses at the Crystal Palace (where so many young people assemble) and throughout our land.
Miss DORIS M. ROSE
Headquarters Secretary, The Girls’ Life Brigade
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Elocution Lessons
6 June 1928
Sir, The subject of elocution in the theatre being closely akin to speaking in our churches, may I suggest some few useful rules?
(1) Read or speak so that a person sitting at two-thirds of the total distance of the space to be reached may hear.
(2) Stop at the mental pictures the words are to convey − the punctuation marks are mainly the concern of the grammarian and the printer, e.g., “There was a man of the Pharisees (slight pause) named Nicodemus.”
(3) The speaker should acquaint himself with the acoustic properties and peculiarities of the building.
(4) If we are young or not too old to learn, a visit to the Law Courts, there to hear our leading barristers, or to the theatre to hear Sir Johnston Forbes-Robertson, who tells us, I believe, that “our syllables should be like pistol shots,” would be helpful.
(5) Our pauses must be at the right pace, lest we say, for instance, “a man going to see (sea) his wife, desires the prayers of the congregation.”
I am, &c.,
REV. W. WILLIAMSON
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Sleeping Out of Doors
21 July 1928
Sir, I was much interested in your article “Sleeping Out of Doors.” As I have myself slept out of doors every summer since 1912, perhaps some personal experience may be of use to others. My house is just ten miles from London Bridge, and, fortunately, my garden is not much overlooked, although I live in the centre of Bromley, in the High-street.
I first tried sleeping in a hammock, but found it draughty and difficult to turn over, so I soon took to sleeping on a canvas Army bed, which is easy to pack up if required. If the weather is fine, I always sleep under the stars, with no covering on my head, in a sleeping bag, with an extra rug if necessary. If the weather is cool or likely to rain, I sleep in a wooden shelter I had made facing south-east, just large enough to take the bed. I begin sleeping out when the night thermometer is about 47deg. to 50deg., that is, as a rule, early in May. This year I started on 20 April. Having once started, I go on through the summer till October, and have even slept out in my shelter on into November, when the temperature has fallen as low as 25deg. during the night. If it should be a wet night I stay indoors, but then usually feel the bedroom stuffy, although the windows are wide open, and not refreshed as I do outside. If it rains when I am in my bag, I do not mind, and have often slept out in a thunderstorm. This last week I slept six hours without waking and got up feeling fresh and keen like a schoolboy, though I am well past 60.
Friends say, what about midges and insects? Well, all I can say is that in 16 years I have only been bitten once by a mosquito. As to midges, they are very busy up till 10, but evidently go to bed before I do. As to other animals and insects, they have never worried me, and the secret, I believe, is that my bed stands 1ft. from the ground. I hate the cold weather, and look forward to the spring that I may sleep out; and to hear the “birds’ chorus” in the early morning in May is worth waking up for; it only lasts about 20 minutes, but must be heard to be appreciated. In June it dies down, and few birds sing after Midsummer Day.
When sleeping outdoors I never get a cold. I do not require so much time in bed, and wake refreshed in a way I never do indoors, with such an appetite for breakfast as no tonic can give. I enjoy the best of health, and wonder more people do not try it. During this summer weather I have never had any difficulty in keeping my rooms cool. My study has never been higher than 70deg., while outside in the shade my thermometer is 84deg. and 88deg., simply because
I shut my windows at 9 a.m. and pull down the blinds, and open them at 8 p.m. and leave them open all night. I bottle up the cool night air and shut out the air which is baked by the hot road and pavement. My study faces due west and has the sun streaming down nearly all day. Bedrooms may be kept cool in the same way.
Yours faithfully,
H. WYNNE THOMAS
The writer was a former president of the British Homeopathic Society.
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Very Little Brain
23 August 1928
Sir, I must make my contribution to cricket history; the only one I am likely to make. In 1899 I was playing for Westminster v. Charterhouse, the match of the year. Somehow or other the batsman at the other end managed to get out before I did, and the next man came in, all a-tremble with nervousness. He hit his first ball straight up in the air, and called wildly for a run. We all ran — he, I, and the bowler. My partner got underneath the ball first, and in a spasm of excitement jumped up and hit it again as hard as he could. There was no appeal. He burst into tears, so to speak, and hurried back to the pavilion. Whether he would have run away to sea the next day, or gone to Africa and shot big game, we shall never know, for luckily he restored his self-respect a few hours later by bowling Charterhouse out and winning the match for us. But here, for your Cricket Correspondent, is a genuine case of “Out, obstructing the field.”
Yours, &c.,
A. A. MILNE
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Moral of the Story
19 October 1928
Sir, It is a curious thing that when they speak of “immorality” in literature our moral reformers seem to have in mind only one department of misbehaviour. They complain that they see nothing but “sex” in the modern novel: and serious writers are entitled to complain there is too much “sex” in many of their sermons. For the majority of the population are not reading books about successful sexual aberration: they are reading books, and seeing plays, about successful murders, robberies, and embezzlements, about charming crooks and attractive burglars. And if there is any substance in the view that the literature of wrongdoing has a demoralizing effect upon popular conduct, we should be suffering now from an unprecedented wave of crime (which is not the case), and Mr. Edgar Wallace should be locked up (which would be a pity). Does the Home Secretary think that so many murders are good for “the little ones”? For my part, I would rather give my children a book which dealt with the difficulties of married life than a book which illustrated the simplicity of homicide. But I do not give them either. And I wish to assure the Home Secretary that my wife and I are capable of watching over our family’s reading without any Jixotic1 assistance from him. But I fear that it is no use talking; and very soon, I suppose, we shall see him tilting fearlessly at John Stuart Mill.*
I am, Sir, your obedient servant,
A. P. HERBERT
* “We can never be sure that the opinion we are endeavouring to stifle is a false opinion; and even if we were sure, stifling it would be an evil still.”
J. S. MILL
1 The decidedly authoritarian Home Secretary, William Joynson-Hicks, was known as “Jix”.
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In praise of bread
10 December 1928
Sir, Among the various ways in which agriculture is encouraged by the present Government of Italy is the institution of a yearly festival for the glorification of bread, with a hymn in its praise, to which Signor Mussolini has appended his name. The festival is held on April 13 and 14, and the “hymn” is one which surely no one but a countryman of St. Francis could have conceived. It is printed on cards which may be seen on many cottage walls in all parts of Italy. Below is a translation.
I am, Sir, yours very truly,
G.H. HALLAM
S. Antonio, Tivoli (Roma)
IN PRAISE OF BREAD
Italians!
Love Bread.
Heart of the home,
Perfume of the table,
Joy of the hearth.
Respect Bread,
Sweat of the brow,
Pride of labour,
Poem of sacrifice.
Honour Bread,
Glory of the fields,
Fragrance of the land,
Festival of life.
Do not waste Bread.
Wealth of your country,
The sweetest gift of God,
The most blessed reward of Human toil.
Mussolini
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“Caddie!”
6 February 1929
Sir, This will never do! For five days in the week we avail ourselves of The Times as it so competently deals with the less important affairs of life: politics, domestic or foreign; the imminence, hopes, fears of a General Election; the arrivals or departures of great people; the steady depreciation of our scanty investments; another century or two by Hobbs; or a stupendous break by Smith. But on the sixth day The Times is exalted in our eyes; for then your “Golf Correspondent,” in a column of wisdom, humour, and unmatched literary charm, deals with the one real thing in life.
This week for the first time he has deeply shocked and disappointed us all. I am but a “rabbit.” I confess to a handicap of 24 (at times) and a compassionate heart (always). I cannot bear to see a fellow creature suffer, and it is for this reason among others that I rarely find myself able to inflict upon an opponent the anguish of defeat. To-day I suffer for a whole world of caddies, wounded in the house of their friend. They learn in a message almost sounding a note of disdain that the verb which signifies their full activity is “to carry.”
By what restriction of mind can anyone suppose that this is adequate?
Does not a caddy in truth take charge of our lives and control all our thoughts and actions while we are in his august company? He it is who comforts us in our time of sorrow, encourages us in moments of doubt, inspires us to that little added effort which, when crowned with rare success, brings a joy that nothing else can offer. It is he who with majestic gravity and indisputable authority hands to us the club that he thinks most fitted to our meagre power, as though it were not a rude mattock but indeed a royal sceptre. It is he who counsels us in time of crisis, urging that we should “run her up” or “loft her,” or “take a line a wee bit to the left, with a shade of slice.” Does he not enjoin us with magisterial right not to raise our head? Are we not most properly rebuked when our left knee sags, or our right elbow soars; or our body is too rigid while our eye goes roaming? Does he not count our strokes with remorseless and unpardonable accuracy, keeping all the while a watchful eye upon our opponent’s score?
Does he not speak of “our” honour, and is not his exhortation that “we” must win this hole? Does he not make us feel that some share of happiness, or of misery, will be his in our moment of victory or defeat? Does he not with most subtle but delicious flattery coax us to a belief that if only we had time to play a “bit oftener” we should reach the dignity of a single-figure handicap? Does he not hold aloft the flag as though it were indeed our standard, inspiring a reluctant ball at last to gain the hole? Does such a man do nothing but “carry” for us?
Of course, he does infinitely more. He “caddies” for us, bless him.
Yours,
BERKELEY MOYNIHAN
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The Telephone Kiosk
22 May 1929
Sir, If this letter should meet the eye of the Postmaster-General, perhaps he will explain why he has christened the telephone box near the Royal Academy a telephone kiosk! It would not be easy to find a more ridiculous word.
Yours, etc.,
ALGERNON LAW
Replied on 23 May 1929
Sir, To Sir Algernon Law’s question anent the name “kiosk,” as applied to the street telephone box, the Postmaster-General could reply with official hauteur, as did Humpty Dumpty to Alice, “When I use a word it means just what I choose it to mean, neither more nor less.” Actually the word has travelled from Persia via France, gathering en route a veneer of Western civilization plus Post Office vermilion and shedding some of its Eastern trimmings, such as its veranda and balustrade. When the out-of-door telephone call station (open to the public day and night, Sundays and early-closing days) had to be given a name, “box” was already assigned to the first-born, the indoor public telephone. The resemblance to the Paris “kiosk” paper stall naturally suggested kiosk as the appropriate name.
Yours, etc.,
H. S. POWELL-JONES
Secretary, Telephone Development Association
Replied on 24 May 1929
Sir, Mr Powell-Jones seeks to defend the Postmaster-General for the adoption of this ridiculously inappropriate name for an out-of-door telephone station by the irrelevant argument that it is applied by Parisians to a newspaper-stall and that the word “box” had already been applied to the indoor public telephone. But “box” is not the only word in the English language. For instance, “stall” or “booth” or, better still, “hut.” We shall next have the General Post Office called the Yildiz Kiosk and the P.M.G.1 the Padishah.
Yours, etc.,
ALGERNON LAW
1 The Postmaster-General
Replied on 25 May 1929
Sir, In voicing a horror of foreign word immigrants that one would scarcely expect from his distinguished career at the Foreign Office, Sir Algernon Law is hardly consistent. In his short letter he uses at least 13 words of foreign derivation which at some time must have been as alien as “kiosk” is to-day. He does not even boggle at “telephone,” though one might well fancy that with its Hellenic ancestry it would feel itself more at home in an Oriental kiosk than in a Nordic hut, booth, stall or byre. After all, does it matter greatly what we name their local habitation so long as we are provided with public call facilities on a more adequate scale?
Yours, etc.,
H. S. POWELL-JONES
Secretary, Telephone Development Association
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When London was Noisy
23 September 1929
Sir, What is all this noise about noise? Only a few genuine antiques like myself remember what London was like when there were no quiet motor cars running on wood or asphalt pavements, and when all the traffic was drawn with iron tires running on either stone setts or macadam. If you want to know what the noise was like in those days you have to go to the docks or to one of those stone paved streets in a factory town and hear the horse-drawn lorries.
In spite of the motor-omnibuses which make most of the noise, you can talk going along Piccadilly. When I was a boy you could not, because the crashing of the hooves and the rattling of the iron tires made hearing impossible. And in those times on a wet day the windows of the shops in Bond Street were splashed waist-high with mud squirted out of the puddles by the air compressed by the hollow hooves of the horses. People have forgotten all those unpleasantnesses.
And the congestion in the streets was just about as bad. A hansom for two took up more room on the road than the biggest Rolls-Royce. And a pair-horse carriage cumbered the earth more than does a motor-omnibus. The old horse-omnibuses took up nearly as much room as a motor-lorry and trailer. The shouting of drivers and cracking of whips and whistling for cabs made far more noise than does the mild tooting of motor horns to-day. Let us thank Heaven that we are quit of those bad old times.
Yours faithfully,
C. G. GREY
