John Buchan

Press, Volume LXXII, Issue 21908, 8 October 1936, Page 6 (Supplement)

John Buchan

John Buchanan, the writer, now Lord Tweedsmuir, Govemor-Gen-eral of Canada, was born in Perth, Scotland, on August 26, 1876. Hia father was a minister, the Rev. John Buchan, whose ancestors had been famous in Scottish history for many generations; his mother was a cousin of Gladstone. In those days it was the custom for most clever Scottish boys to become ministers. As soon as John Buchan showed in school that he had wit and eagerness for learning, his parents decided to have him educated for the church. But soon the young man grew so vigorous in learning that he led his classes in the university. So from Edinburgh he went on to Oxford and became *well known there as a brilliant scholar. Before he fin-

ished his degree course at Oxford he took the Newdlgate prize, a coveted prize for poetry written by Oxford undergraduates, and was President of the Oxford Union, one of the most famous debating societies In the world. His degree was taken with first-class honours in history. From Oxford he went on to London to study law in the Middle Temple. He was called to the Bar, but probably spent more time writing than in practising his legal profession; while he was still at Oxford he had put out two books. The popularity of “John Burnet of Barns” made him particularly welcome among young literary people Of London. From 1896 onwards,

WRITER AND STATESMAN

THE EVENING PRIMROSE

therefore, he was writing books, stories, and magazine articles. For two years after 1900 John Buchan acted as secretary to Lord Milner, High Commissioner in South Africa. His experiences made it possible for him to write two boolks about that colony. And then he wrote his famous “Prester John,*’ the Zulu.

Back from South Africa in 1902 and into journalism again, Buchan joined the staff of the London weekly, the “Spectator.” He reviewed books and wrote essays and did some of an editor’s work on this journal, until the European war broke out Then be spent a very exciting period working for the British Government as a secret agent, and in other official positions. ' Through these trying years he wrote some of his most interesting and exciting stories-—" Green Mantle,” "The Thirty-nine Steps,” and "Mr Stanfast." “Green Mantle” he said, “was scribbled in every kind of old place and moment, in England and abroad, during long journeys in half hours between graver tasks.” And his 'experience in official positions gave him the knowledge he needed to write his "History of the War.” Those who know John Buehan’s books well will realise that at the time he wrote them he thought war rather a splendid and romantitK affair. So he did. He has stated that he did not denounce war. “The horrors of war," he sgsd some years ago, are obvious enough; but it may reasonably be argued that they are not greater than the horrors of peace. The true way In which to ennoble war is not to declare it in all its forms the work of the devil, but to emohasise the spiritual and Idealist element which it contains. It is a kind of national sacrament, a grave matter into which no one can enter lightly, and for which all are responsible.” These words v T ere written years ago. John Buchan has since changed his mind about the wars men wage in our times. He has only horror for them now. Before the war, and since, and before he went to Canada, John Buchan was an active partner In the’publishing firm of Thomas Nelson and Rons. When his appointment to be Governor-General of Canada was announced, many readers were disappointed; for they thought that John Buchan, now Lord Tweedsmulr, had come to an end of his writing. But it was not so. A new book is out now, end the novelist GovernorGeneral will probably have an eager public waiting *to read his novel. If it is as good as many of the old exciting ones it will be very good indeed.

When once the sun sinks in the

west, And dew-drops pearl the evening’s breast; Almost as pale as moonbeams are; Or its companionable star, The evening primrose opes anew Its delicate blossoms to the dew; And. shunning hermit of the light Wastes its fair bloom upon the . night; Who.bllndfold to its fond egresses. Knows not the beauty he possesses. Thus it blooms on till nigpt is bye And day looks out with open eye. Abashed at the gaze It cannot shun. It faints and withers, and Js dona. ' “"JOHN CLARE.