G.K.C.

Auckland Star, Volume LXVII, Issue 141, 16 June 1936, Page 9

G.K.C.

MAN AND HIS MIND. AN INTIMATE SKETCH. AT HOME WITH THE AUTHOR. (By CECIL W. LUSTY.) And now G.K.C. is no more. The first time I saw G.K.C. was at the little Church of St. Theresa of the Infant Jesus, in Beaconsfield, Bucks. He never missed Mass; had he not arrived I am sure the service would not have been held, or at least would have been postponed. G.K.C. was more than an esteemed resident in Beaconsfield; he! was an institution, and one felt that without him this charming urban dis- j trict of some 5000 people would not exist, albeit Sir John Beith and Mr. J. L. Garvin have their homes near Beaconsfield. Mr. Chesterton arrived at "the church by a motor car which had specially-fitted wide doors, so that his corpulent figure could get in and out without undue difficulty. He wore a long, flowing black cloak that accentuated his figure. After the service the people waited, almost reverently, to see liim depart, for Chesterton was as beloved, as respected, and indeed hero worshipped, as any village squire of long descent. Was he not also honorary ale taster in Beaconsfield, patron of repertory and other societies, and, in fact, a veritable Pooh Bah? At "Top Meadows." I was delighted some months later to receive an invitation to spend an afternoon with G-K.C. at his home, "Top Meadows," Grove Road, Beaconsfield. I Was given a Chestertonian welcome. It Was the Chesterton whose elasticity of spirit and buoyancy of mind is so well portrayed in his own books—a Peter Pan-ish man, who apparently saw only the humour of life. His guffaw of rich laughter, as his chair creaked beneath him. disturbed the birds in the leafy lanes-of Beaconsfield. 1

Yet it seemed that I was talking to a mind, rather than a personality. G.K.C. interrupts his rapid flow of commentary, a mixture of cogent facts and penetrating witticisms, on all topics in the Alpha and Omega of life only to roar and 6hake with laughter —or to light another cigar, not noticing that he already has one smouldering in the ash tray. He was glad, he told me, that the world 1 economic conference had failed, as i its solution would be a palliative, not a remedy. It would give control a.gain to the "Goldsteins and Guggereteins" to make fortunes out of screws and boot tags. ~ Lord Beaverbrook, he said, was a "cheap journalist," who wanted English farmers to sacrifice themselves by exchanging Danish and Argentine butter for that from New Zealand. England should be self-supporting. "Why should it not be so," he said, pointing to his garden. "See, I grow my own potatoes, cabbages and fruits. I could shut myself up here, and still have everything 1 A this stage of the conversation GK.C. lit another cigar, but I dared not interrupt his oratory to ask where that expensive brand of cigar was produced. "Let New Zealand and the other Dominions work out their own salvation, he added. Passing of the "Mob." [ The passing of the "mob" in England was a great regret, he continued Theie were too many experts in officialdom. It was because of the experts that England did not understand India. They thought India was India, whereas it was Asia Mr Chesterton said lie would like to visit New Zealand some day. Travel was. a good experience. For instance, he was glad that he had visited the United States. Although he had never seen a gangster he could much better appreciate reading of their exploits after having been to the country of their reputed abode. , ~, The famous author and thinker did not like Fleet Street. "Thank God I have never been in the new palatial building of 'The Daily Telegraph' and ' The Daily Express,'" he exclaimed. "In the old days of Fleet Street we wrote our learned articles, in dignified prose of Ciceroanian style, amid frothing tankards in the Green Dragon, after which we went to our newspapers and gave the late ' copy' to a greasy looking person from the engine room. - And now-

young men of Fleet Street, such as you, seat yourself in halls of marble pillars and write articles on 'Do Film Stars Like Kisses ?'" When Fiddlers Played. Mr. Chesterton concluded with a plea for the return to the simple life. He was not a nudist or a Socialist, but he would sooner go to a picnic and stand 011 his head than go to a cinema. They were wonderful days, he said, those days of the old village greens, when the barrels of ale were broached on the green, and the fiddlers played, and they sang, danced and rejoiced in the fullness of life. Ae I regretfully took my leave, Mr. Chesterton gave me another cigar to smoke in the train to London. As he shook hands on the doorstep, he said: "Take a cigar to smoke in the train." Tales a-many were told in Beaconsfield of G.K.C.'s absent-mindedness. His was a mind so great, a brain so fertile and prolific, that his thoughts raced far ahead of him, and still further ahead of most of his generation. And now G.K.C. is no more. He will be buried with such honour as befits one of the world's most foremost men of letters, but somehow I think he would prefer to be laid to rest in some village green, quietly, unsung by the multitude, with his requiem played by fiddlers.