SPECIAL ARTICLE. A NEW CANTERBURY PILGRIM.

Press, Volume LXV, Issue 19622, 18 May 1929, Page 15

SPECIAL ARTICLE. A NEW CANTERBURY PILGRIM.

« BOUSES, PEOPLE, AND LANES. w*rrrs* ,a * ' M#3 ) [BY N«aio Marsh.3 LONDON. "JTlxHuet in England are warm , re warm, not a* we understand 2?i»N«w Zealand, but really warm they had an anim.il life <>l thuir * Not only do they have great fires in all their rooms, b<>at- « Slowing like pulses, but the> "L arteries running through them fa* their hearts, and these arteries Ifnll of hoiling water. I hate cold k/uiirt they are like dead people beautiful and peaceful, not ..gj JJOOJCKIHV. Oo# tlui Jl,vcli( ' :>t houses 1 liavo „ rW fkited is at Sandwich in Kent, Hli calM White Friars and is actually L rf an ancient monastery once built S Mossed by the white brethren. Z, walks down a little dark mysterious ~m t and pulls at an ancient bellliandlo in » lovelv old door that givevs diwotly to the pavement. I'resently <>» door is opened by a tiny man serJ.JI «o be »"«<• name of butler-who peers up jTrou with a friendly gnome-like littlo {«*. H» loads you through old, old Teomi with uneven floors, secret doors, and many ancient drowsing glories, qotil in a sunny oddly shaped drawingmnJ) you find your host, a very tall, wr * handsome old man, with long thin bands, a .iontush white beard, and Hit! upright figure with a kind ot elefflaiwe in the old fashioned cut of his You take ten with him—cakes made Vr tiro gnome's ivife, sandwiches like nfers, and Ire.it biscuits. Tho gnome IMtsta at tea, delicately handling china (lit i» » revel"tion ot loveliness. fhi the day 1 visited the master of m:t? Friars he took us into his garden •Ml walked down the old cloisters UW I across a l<»v field with strange laottnik) mark tug the centuries-old »tivi!3 vvliero the Brothers' bones lie fMtininK, in. tho most jealously-closed Orfer of all. Our host told us that s «nr ago the iwople of Sandwich deffjrf to have one of those

pifttDt* ill which self conscious »h«k*cpm *u >1 mildly amused landownm U*MK> about in mediasval guinents. thli particular pageant -mm to an incident in the lift of a fornu r Lord Sandwich a middie-Kngli-h Mayor. Tho u'.naiiisfn afkrtl if they might stage their show h* 1 folds it White Friars. I'ermnwon heine given, a band of workmen pratftierf dig holes for th« poles ni tht They had not worked /'or loin,' licfori' they unearthed a oollectlon «t blank tranquil bones that tho aiitiqiifflntns, alter much cogitation dedtM were tli" earthly remains of the vm JJovor who was the hero of the wwesnt." Li!»e sensible lei lows they rctlio real <!i<nitarv to his rich and inwrtt Imxtl and proceeded with their {Mtgeiii':. ii uhidi some worthy of Sandrsonated him, walking to and Ins blind skull, playing his 'Wljfto ilio bi'.st of his ability. j; IKa Colonies oao heav.s n very d:.-al <>i talk about tho difference -Jfcmpi'i'ament and character between Mi English-born and live English, after hav« tutttewl such variations of liVr. ■ i'm ntul view* as are engendered by half a century's erloniaaMmi. l*crloiutllv, t ilutik tho ditferonces ate hu<>. i ■ i,'il ami (wing differences of num.. i- rather than of character, are more obvious than significant. Tho first tlnn r : one notices ia the speech of the averago i*!mm. I remember before I left New Zealand someone had said in publie that 'he average New Zealunticr spoke with a faulty accent and tome..if elso had angrily written to the nniK'i's tc protest that the inhabitants of Uml'-j Own Country used the purest M'l u..>,t faultlew of accents, and m--4«etl spoke rather better English than tlw tfiflish themselves Thia, *8 a MUH-l N( .V Zetilamler, I venture to say U ni.uviw The a vera go educated Knirltehmim speak* with a far more just u» of vowel sounds than the educated X.'H- /enlander. It is absurd to U'.'tiv thw. I have met a great many children I have been here, most .it Ji.'in .i- ilu- private school and the* St.. .nib a delightful purity and <i'i-vin i.! a H'et'tsition. The exaggerated "K-iglihli a<vent." which is some- . tinws facet luuslr burlesqued by people whese own vowel sounds aro pretty comic, Is. I. am sure, a product of the Btquc-hnlU rather than of the public «iho«U. Among tho. working classes it is. "broadly speaking." a case of Wlj-Rfty. You may think a throaty twrnig prettier than a harsh dialect. It i* a mutter of teste.

'it London, th© "Man in the Street" mysterious personage whose hii'unty I .mi never sure of) is reh>r his civility and kindness. 1 bat* jiked my way—having no bump >n toculiU of many dor ens of Lon<Wr», ranKin-* from road sweepers to o'wwus I'itv magnates, and they have »k<fcaJt patiently with mo. For some "i** No* Zoalandart are phenomen- % iUfmltir in Ellwand. I have list« globing tributes from a -"rffflft-aj;. ! (iu.irdsraan, from the wife Physician, from an ex--w#l offic.-!. and from my hairdresser. 1 had no until I came to England, han!-n.M-k : jig, how loyal, how inand advanced we all were, or Uat our int.-xntv and progress were 10 w«arkaKr Are we, indeed, such •> nchln pc.,p|,. '■> Evidently. I know u«e New Z«.ibinder who prefaces all "NKjuiripj mid requests with" the re- *•*!(> "I've come all tho way from Zealand," because she finds it *«rk*( to marvellously. »* I dared, after a few months, to «ltn a nor ids sy, I should say thut tjj* {Snjdi.i'i iovo politeness and hate *#««verity Kut m this is not an ■ !*si'r\ ,is ion, I ahnll labour it further, vollcf-uwlv atul individually, they *jj »«ir,Uy interesting. I aay "weirdreally in the aggregate *** it littli- v r no fundamental differi£®V n hn,/ji>ii at Home from th® "JBw'j ,-.. i abroad, and yet for *** Mi,> passengers in a tube ,i/ ria R <> :, 'i' '"I '-li more intriguing than I oners m an overseas tram. iVL-I tll^3 a * about 7 ™ck m th.- , vening. The other night t> ts !>>h- [ was making my way s&i '"dijli to Brompton road. It J* ;t r-) W , evening, the streets irf ft; w ' : '' rain, s»ud the light® ~J -"'tiHy t'.n-us were nebulous and 1 w«'iit underground at the til*. the iniddile of the <«r+k V ' st tube station on , tß jf i *as built down there 'h.- t I i the streets with ♦Li " { r' a nee of t he traffic * tntmbled tnnndered overhead. Intl.-- archer of Piccadilly, syj?? rur ;!.v :ited his perch in the *Wl'' :liu ' throOffb a ,4 a *■ Tils square hundreds r ** were removed, thoti-ifl-L l ' : " t(V! firilfrs am l trillions of *»b L 5 '" w ground. Now you * down off the hubbub

of the Circus by a narrow flight of steps ami you find yourself in a huge vestibule where a magic looking map tells you that you are in the hub of the world. From here you slide further into the earth by two moving stairways and through strangely scented warm tunnels. And there, on a subterranean platform, you land up amongst the rumbliug traffic of the trains.

On this particular evening the tubes were very crowded. In the corner of my carriage were two girls t overBtnartlv dressed with blue eyelids and shiny lacquered lips. A pale, stooping clerk clung to a strap over their heads and looked with a pathetic mixture of cynicism and furtiveness lit the tops of their hats. He was hemmed in by a gigantic labourer, an elderly lady with a mass of Christmas parcels, a young blood in opera hat and black coat, and an extremely aged charwoman. All the faces seemed pale and drawn, in the curious lighting of the tubes; all with the exception, perhaps, of the charwoman's, were sophisticated, patient, and close looking, like houses whose blinds are drawn but whose lamps shine dimly behind them. As wo gathered way, all these figures moved very slightly and spasmodically, for all the world like the masked jigffiug puppets in Mr Noel Coward's satirical sketch, "Dance, Little Lady." As one does in the tubes, I sat idly speculating about my fellow travellers for three miles under the earth. For a few minutes we stared solemnly into each other's faces, and then were rapidly and efficiently ejected upwards into the freezing night air. I had been enormously entertained for five minutes —but whv?

I»aaes. In winter the lanes in England look like tho delicately fragile pencil drawings that 'one sees occasionally in children's books of the late Victorian period. The lovely trues stretch their bare, smoky limbs against a misty sky. Oaks, ashes, beeches, and olms—there they stand by their ancient fields and hedgerows, seized of the turf of England, as were the squires and yeomen who planted them. The trees of England are so lovely that one almost grudges them their green frocks in summer. At tho feast of Christmas especially they btand dreaming in the frozen air, and the pattern they make is so beautiful that in seeing them day after day one experiences that curious fe'elinsr of emotional pain that is perhaps a kind of regret for the confused desires that separate mankind from the things of the field. The lanes themselves are alternately glassy and muddy, and along them hurry robust pedestrians, tramps with their painiully inadequate wares for sale, labourers with steaming horses, tradesmen's vans stuffed with goods, and cars and cars and ears. The house I ani staying at is near Dunham, which is nearly spoilt by being mrcMantly described as ''the loveliest village in England." But even that tiresome label cannot undo the amusingly sentimental charni of the little winding lane, the duck pond. the row of perfect cottages opening straight on to the road, the flapping inn sign, and the ranks and ranks of ancient, dreaming tree*.