MR EDEN PREPARES FOR DOMINION TOUR

Press, Volume LXXXV, Issue 25713, 27 January 1949, Page 4

MR EDEN PREPARES FOR DOMINION TOUR

A WINDOW ON LONDON

[By HARVEY BLANKS.]

London, January 15.—He hves m a beautiful old house in Chesterfield street, just behind Shepherd’s Market, in Mayfair, that once was the home of Beau Brummell. His living roorn lS small but exquisitely furnished in Regency style, lit by two elaborate gilt wail candelabra each side of the marble fireplace, each holding seven white candles of finest, translucent wax. Over the mantel is a single small painting of the facade of an old house. In small cream alcoves each side of the fireplace are two small antique plates, rich red, deep blue and gold, on a cream ground. Three or four antique chairs, covered with richlywrought maroon and white tapestry, are scattered round the room on the deep plum carpet. There is no other The room, like the small entrance hall, with-its single gold-framed Venetian mirror and Sheraton table, declares the perfect taste of the owner. And his dress, as might be expected, is as immaculate as that of the ’ Beau of an earlier century who made tne dwelling one of the most famous m all London. „, , . „ His name is Anthony Eden, and during February, many New Zealanders will become acquainted at first-hand with this famous British personality, who still carries, at the age of 51, the title of “the world’s best dressed man.” He is tentatively due to arrive at Auckland, from Canada, on February 3. and before he leaves for Australia, 12 days later, hopes to visit the four main centres and a number of the small provincial towns. This week, Anthony Eden invited a small group of Dominion press men to his home to drink a glass of sherry with him and discuss his four. We were received at the door by his son, and a few -minutes later Mr Eden joined us. His hair is quite greymuch whiter than appears in most of his published pictures, and his neatlyclipped moustache also is turned almost completely grey. Wnen he speaks, his voice is deep and Purposeful, and his height and p.owerful build add to the force of his personality. He has a delightful smile, an infectious laugh, and in ordinary conversation exercises an irresistible charm. A Personal Tour .... “My tour is quite personal,” he told me, “and I have no intention of commenting during my jjisit on any country’s internal politics. In fact, he smiled, “I've plenty of politics to keep me occupied at home. Probably I shall be asked to speak in various centres —l'know there will be a State reception in Wellington, and civic receptions in Auckland, Christchurch and Dunedin—but generally I want to assimilate rather than give out. It is 24 years since last I was in the Dominion, and on that occasion I didnt get to the South Island at all. I want to check up on development and find what people are thinking and get an idea of the problems that are exercising their minds most at present. “Is there rtill a Mount Eden in Auckland?” he asked, and then grinned as he added, “I probably shouldn t comment on it, but I was very keen to see it .last time, and now all I remember about it is that it’s famous or infamous —for its gaol. “I hope to have my first day m Auckland entirely free, without appointments or functions of any kind. I shall be tired after my Canadian tour and the long flight across the Pacific and shall certainly want 24 hours to rest. Some time, too. while I’m in New Zealand I want to try my hand at catching some of your famous trout. It's the sort of visit every true fisherman dreams about. I only hope that your Government, when it is planning my itinerary, makes provision for me to spend a day at Taupo.

Six Miles of Tears For Britain’s listening millions this week there was no Thursday. For the Man Who Was Thursday. Tommy Handley, was not there to cheer, encourage and make them laugh. Instead of the gay opening bars of that irrepressibly cheerful tune, “It’s That Man

Again,” there was the voice of the 8.8.C.’s director-general, Sir William Haley, to speak the tribute that was the whole of listening Britain's. “To-night,” said Sir William, “we cannot present ITMA. Tommy Handley. that man, that humorous, ebullient. -kindly, man. around whose personality it was built, and whose art held it together, is dead.” I have never seen such amazing scenes in London’s streets as marked this great comedian’s funeral. Tommy Handley, when he was alive, could never believe that he was so popular or famous as the 8.8. C. insisted he was. He lived quietly in North London, and answered all his “fan-mail” with his own hand. He used to walk about the streets unrecognised, wander into the law courts often to watch the human dramas that were played out there, drink a glass of bitter in a dozen little suburban “pubs,” unmindful of the fame that was his. Six miles of North London streets, grey and damp in the depths of Britain's winter, were lined ten-deep with weeping men and women as his funeral qortege passed to Golders Green Crematorium. All traffic came to a halt. Bus drivers stopped their vehicles and sat motionless in their cabs with' bared heads. Shops closed and customers left their places in queues where they had been waiting for upwards of two hours, to join the throngs that paid him tribute. Along the whole length of the cortege’s route, there was scarcely a dry eye. Three thousand people waited outside That Man’s home in Westbourne Grove. Five thousand thronged round the chapel where the funeral service was held. The wreaths and flowers were stacked 10 feet high in great tiers, bearing notes from listeners all over Britain, and from overseas as well. A bunch of crushed wallflowers carried a card in shaky almost illegible script, “To the late Mr Thomas Handley, from a blind woman to whom he gave much pleasure.” A bunch of golden daffodils came from his aged mother, unable to travel from Liverpool for the funeral. Dark red roses came from his widow, also unable to attend, because of her grief and illness. A great shower of red carnations came from the ITMA team—“ Colonel Chinstrap,” “Sophie Tuckshop,” “Hotchkiss,” “Frisby Dyke” and the others. The Service The “Colonel” himself, Jack Train, was one of the ushers in the chapel, his eyes.red with weeping. All the famous 8.8. C. personalities were there, and the choir which sang “The Long Day Closes,” included such famous voices as Webster Booth, Parry Jones and Trefor Jones, Dennis Noble, and Walter Widdop. The final memorial programme broadcast privately from the 8.8. C. recalled high spots from 10 years of ITMA. The greatest tribute of all was unrehearsed. It was the announcer's breakdown when, husky with emotion, he declared: “There can be no more ITMA.”

Sir William Hanley summed up the genius of Tommy Handley and the grief that millions all over the world feel at his passing, when he said: “He was a true original. For the men and women—and the children—of this generation. to whom ITMA meartt something that no other show will evfer mean and who, to-night hold Tommy Handley in grateful and affectionate memory, there will never be anyone quite like That Man again.” The announcer, J«hn Snagge, closed the broadcast with a toast in which Britons, in homes all over the country, joined. He stepped slowly to the microphone, and said: “In memory of a good friend—our good friend—l give you a toast. Ladies and Gentlemen— ITMA!”

And while the cast stood round weeping and clutching their glasses, the orchestra leader, Rae Jenkins, his eyes streaming with tears, brought down his baton for the final crash of that never-to-be-forgotten tune.