SPECIAL ARTICLE. MY LIFE ABROAD.

Press, Volume LXIV, Issue 19344, 23 June 1928, Page 13

SPECIAL ARTICLE. MY LIFE ABROAD.

[By W. D'A. CRESBWELI,.] 10 My sister's new home was in the rth of Hampshire, in a small village B ° eral mH es f rom tlie nearest railway. are I was B' ven a room overlooking winch in these English hbnseß is usually at the back, and encouraged by some weeks of perfect weav ther and by the charm of this outlook, r wrote "Tho Ghosts of Foam," as 1 thought, in fine style, submitting what '• I bad done each day to my sister, her husband, and their guests. By one of these a woman I need scarcely add, 1 *ss christened "the budding genius," T suppose in scorn, for my calm and satisfied acceptance of the term amused rher very much. This poem I speak of ffas in lines of irregular length with .irregular rhymes, and was the largest «id most ambitious thing I had yet attempted. Looking at it now I see ( that the action is staged in a crude ivA unconvincing manner; but while a • poor and presumptuous fancy was in . charge of this part, there is imagination in many lines. 11, Now as the time of the General Election drew near f was unable to relist the whirlpool of excitement into which the whole country was being drawn, but rushed into Wales, where the battle was hottest. This was early in November, 1922, the very eve of the poll. Mr Ramsay Mac Donald, whom 1 knew, had already left London for ■ffales, where he was to win a Tory eeat and be returned to Parliament for' the first time since losing Lei- . cester. He was shortly to become .Prime Minister of England, and there 'already surrounded him, not from his character but from the position .he held, a fervour and enthusiasm .throughout all ranks of the Labour movement that was almost idolatry indeed. Therefore it was to Aberavon I Went, between Cardiff and Swansea, on , the coast of Wales. 12. I had not been in Wales before, nor taken an active part in any election, and all 1 now heard and saw was novel and exciting. The most of it passed over my head like a tremendous storm, which I watched with astonishment and delight, doing what work 1 . was required to do well enough. It was the struggle as a whole that engrossed me, the noise and violence ot angry and embittered voices, the lightnings of grievance and passion, and an outpouring of leaflets and papers that was like the litter of a colossal circus, which, since what 1 was hearing in this corner of Wales kept me awake at night and deafened by day, would be making such a roar and thunder from the whole of England, Scotland, and Wales as the whole world was aware of. What you were hearing in New Zealand. I knew was' the total of this mighty sound of which I was deafened in Wales to hear so small a part; and my wonder grew to consider in how great a storm, and disturbance I was engaged. Something in me stood apart and feasted impartially on every aspect of tuis fantastic affair, the wild hillsides on which it took place, the town, the; shipping, the. awe-stricken slums, the windy seashore where I would disappear and shout my speeches, the fac- / tories and foundries whose open furnaces at night lit up the very clouds, and above all the men and. women, politicians and ordinary people, whom 13. I was certain to concentrate all. ' t *ft"and heard and saw on,some pergonal point, for nothing lives for me 1 unless. And so it was: for 1 met .a .. young miner on the night I arrived, ><4 and except when our duties took us» ;* apart we were together. ,He would *;' take me out on the hillside overlooki<' ing the town and the sea, and talk with " ' such passion of the poverty and wretchedness of life as he knew it, and of his ambition to succeed as an orator and improve his country, that I would " listen spellbound and feel near to weeping at his words. Or he would take me along the seashore and break into poetry about the sea and profess a > passion for its motions. A man of such primitive passion, eloquence and * energy 1 have never met. All that was tragio, violent and sad found a voice in his heart, made taut his handsome and massive figure as he told of it, anil drew such fire froni his eyes as I shall never forget. He moved me by quoting Milton and Shakespeare, he told me endless tales of the sea and themountains, of lighthouses, and oh wrecks. lam myself descended, on my mother's side, from the Welsh, and i this is .perhaps the reason why we agreed so well. On one occasion we journeyed to Cardiff to do homage to the statue of a member of my mother s " * family whoso deeds were thus commemorated in that city. We paid u more amusement than respect 1 fear. It was inscribed "The Friend of Freedom," and tho birds, as though they could read, had treated his black face * with a freedom that bordered on con--1 tempt. I never heard my friend the , miner speak in public, though he ardently desired I should,do so; nor have I seen him again, though he , promised he would come to London and see me there. But he •is a man I, shall never forget, nor ever cease to love. i 14. I addressed two meetings m the mining velleys, and thought myself a failure from the silence with which my speeches were received. But perhaps > this was due to the seriousness of my i*o rds. 'There was some clapping when I had done, but nothing like the uproar which was all that would con- ' tent me. Nor. was I satisfied to be ' thanked by Mr Mac Donald for haying done so well, for the approval of others toeans'nothing to me unless I first have the approval and satisfaction of my- " ftelf on whatever I have undertaken, after which the approval of others is much to be desired. 16. On the eve of the poll there were ' torchlight processions by both Parties &nd the excitement was intense. Before the result was announced, and for after, our committee-rooms were oeseiged by an enormous crowd, that ' jaised such an uproar when Mr MacDorialcj was seen to arrive there, it like a sentence of death, I thought, than a sound of victory. But , proves that these two are not, 6iJ be distinguished, which is-the best in these affairs, though this

> ?f«8 scarcely one of those great occasWM when the Fates with their hoarse , twees shout the most, for example *wn Napoleon was crowned at Notre c Dame. Now, on that occasion Napoleon - Was pale but calm, pale from fear, and ' s«m partly from courage, and partly . from having accustomed his thoughts ' , }?» *uch splendid scenes since childv {wod: But' Ramsay Mac-Donald, who '•k Had now obtained the leadership of the 1 , noß * Powerful Party in the State. fetoied elated to the point of madness,, 1 P*a scarcely knew what he did and who *«« about him, but looked on friends ." ff» strangers with an equal glance, , *JS« a man who is unprepared for . greatness of any kind. It is in the! "Jttr of success that a great man is pertain to be judicious and calm, hav- ' iSt what is his nature ( S"» his right, finding to himself noin where he is, as !r5S5f indeed as a duck, that having w«Wled and been laughed at for ' mi?!!s dlstan ce. to the envy and adoration of its pursuers at last puts ' of J? pon t he water - Tt is only in times » wrupgie and obscurity that a genius * of W B c « nnd wholly at the mercy cahnV ow men - T,le statesman who len 5? M nn Pert«rbed and passion,w».on the crowd that has raised him,

what is his worth? Ramsay Mac Donald, I thought, should have known he was winning, and was bound to win, and for what reason and by whatmeans; then there had been nothing for him to know or to exult in that night. So calm and so judicious was" Caesar, when he said in Roma: "I will not," being offered the crown, though ho intended to take it. This occasion in Wales was the first, and the last, on which I was active in political affairs. 1(3. The elections being over, I returned to London where I obtained a room, and was invited to Hampshire for Christmas a few weeks later. I had not yet informed Mr Murray of my return to England, either before being in Germany or since, and now wrote him a letter in which I said, amongst other things, that the New World had lacked'a great poet since Whitman, but behold! this want was now no more. And to make my meaning plainer, I reminded him or our meeting in 1919 and of my resolve to return to England when demobilisation in New Zealand was complete. I should like to read that letter once more. It was written with a sincerity and ardour that differ somewhat from presumption; but surely so great a claim was never yet founded on matter so corrupt and trifling as my early poems. I would be in London, 1 added, a few days after my letter was received, and would telephone for an appointment. By this means I prevented the chance of an unfavourable reply; for the letter post I have never found to be under the charge of Provident* but to be a favourite concern of the Devil; oven Ronald's letters got fewer, and ceased at last. So on icturning to London I telephoned to Mr Murray as J had said. He answered me m the curtestand coldest manner, as though tho matter was one of which he was indignant to bo reminded, but mi J de me an appointment, and I spent the time until then in reinforcing my belief in myself, to do which I had onry to vpA and reread my poems. 17. When the day arrived I dressed in the highest splendour, and taking my poems, which I had carefully typed aiid bound in an expensive case of dark crimson leather (since pawned in Lisbon), I duly arrived at Albemarle street, and was at once shown up the staircase to the famous library on the first floor, about which I had heard a good deal in the life of Lord Byron; and Lord Byron's birthday being on tho same day as my own, I mean on tho same date, I was not a little moved at this circumstance; indeed this was the reason, i.e., about our birthdays, whv I preferred to have my poems published by Mr.Murray rather than by any other publisher in London. Mr Murray was waiting to receive me, and in the most affable spirits, which grow more radiant as the interview continued. I had no suspicion that this was not in keeping with his feelings when ■I phoned, and was .quite at ease, in a moment another gentleman entered, whom Mr Murray introduced as Dr. Leonard Huxley, editor of the Cornhill Magazine I saw at once it had been arranged that he should meet me, and was highly pleased. Now though with a pen, which has no other purpose, l can freely express my feelings, I have little to say for. myself on such an occasion as this, and was" relieved to bring out my pooms and have Ut. Huxley praise me on their splendid appearance: in fact, they both observed their red cover and the remarkable huff paper which I had specially chosen in Germany, with expressions of delight, which encouraged tne very much. "Don't you often get an author's manuscript done up so well aa mine?" I nsked Dr Huxley, who replied, "Not quito so magnificent as this," and turned a few pages but read nothing then; nor did Mr Murray handle them at all. They both asked me about New Zealand, and about myself, and what relation these present poems bore to those I had left with Mr Murray; whereupon Mr Murray went to a cupboard, or a safe, I think it was a safe, and to my great astonishment drew out the very verses I had left with him four years earlier, which, from his manner when I telephoned for. an appointment, I hardly expected to find so carefully preserved but rather forgotten or lost. He now said he had invited Dr N Huxley to examine my poems and report whether they justified being published; and I took my leave.

18. Some -weeks later I was dismayed to have returned to me, with a letter from Mr Murray and a foolscap sheet of criticism from Dr. Huxley. Mr Murray confessed that, having been brought up in the old school of poetry, he had little appreciation of newer forms, such as those of Walt Whitman and others, and he advised me to test the public taste for my work by offering it to the literary magazines. It was a courteous and sensible letter, in viow of Dr. Huxley's report, but I thought it weak and evasive. When so much rubbish was being printed by every publisher, why was there no place for mine, in which it was declared in the plainest words that a poet of importance had arrived? With the New World so much in favour and in fashion, why was its spokesman not allowed to lie heard P In truth it had spokesmen enough of its novelties and very glad I am not to have been accepted as one of them, from which perhaps I was saved by remembering who had published Byron and taking my wares to the same market, that had never done business with cow-boy poets come to London and never would. I>r. Huxley's remarks were as follows: "The promise given by the sample poems submitted in January, 1919, is hardly fulfilled in the present collection, which contains, indeed, only some of those sent before, the author having weeded them out. The longest poems are the best, and give something of New Zealand atmosphere, but suffer from technical faults. . . The shorter lyrics on New Zealand themes are agreeable, but not great; open-air lyrics such as might belong to any English poet's cliine, only with New Zealand setting of names and places. . . As a whole this collection, in my opinion, has not the combined strength and distinction to stand out either as typically'representative of New Zealand or as a successful rival of the host of its competitors in poetry to-day." 19. On reading this I realised with disgust and rage that almost all the poems referred to bolonged to the earlier manuscript I had left with Mr Murray, while of my newest work, "Leaving New Zealand," "Words," "The Ghost of Foam," and others, in fact the bulk of my new book, which was certainly a great advance, nothing was said. Yet I found it had all been carefully read, the pages numbered faintly in pencil, which I had neglected to do, and in the same manner every mistake in spelling and grammar corrected. At this I wrote back, briefly but bitterly, and thanked them for the great care with Which they had attended to teaching mo grammar and spelling, and for the advice about the magazines, to which I said I would pay attention, I realised that nothing that was said about my work applied in any way to my future, or what it was my nature to become, which was latent in a centre of heat and happiness inside myself. 20 Such, then, was the fate of my first book; and of the book that was eventually-published only the first four poems belonged to this earlier time. So I laid my poems aside now, and thought no more'of tho present that treated me so ill but lived in the future where it was delightful to be. And for two vean after this T wrote more prose than verse. I knew better by now than to waste either their time or mine by fend ing my poems to the magazines, for poetry in London was a narrow fashion I never acquired.

(To be Continued.)