LONDON TOPICS

Evening Star, Issue 21510, 7 September 1933, Page 14

LONDON TOPICS

ECONOMIC DRAMA [From Our Correspondent.] ~~ July 27. Not many people quite under,stand what tense drama is now being staged across the map of the world. In the East wo have Soviet Russia, a conscript dictatorship, pledged to the overthow of capitalism, and tho establishment of international Communism. In the West we have U.S.A., now a voluntary dictatorship, straining every nerve to rehabilitate itself ns tho greatest capitalist democracy in history. Which of these two protagonists makes best shape against the tide of post-war economic adversity, and whether President Roosevelt, manages to pull America through the crisis, may depend how tho rest of the civilised world will shape its future policies. Behind his bid, Stalin has the 0.G.P.U., equal to the suppression of any popular upheaval. Behind President Roosevelt, in the event of fiasco, is nothing but uncurbed mob impulse. KEEPING COOL IN HOUSE OF COMMONS. The House of Commons is sweltering in the heat wave, but the tropical dress brigade adds no new recruits to its permanent establishment. Year after year, as soon as there is a burst of summer sunshine, two or three members array themselves in tussore, pongee, or “ palm beach.” Their advent is invariably hailed with ‘ ‘ hear, hears,” but there is a quizzical note about the approbation, and somehow or other the fashion does not catch on. In point of fact, not one of these pioneers quite succeeds in getting the right effect. Tropical clothes, as worn in the tropics by_ men who pride themselves on their appearance, can be as smart as any apparel produced in the West End. It may be suspected that why the same suits lose their effect when imported to London is that there is no dhebie-men to tend to them. To bo immaculate three suits per day are required even in the clear and smokeless atmosphere of equatorial zones. Tho native laundryman washes and “ gets up ” a suit for tho cost of about twopence halfpenny, while in London the charge for the same operation varies from three-and-sixpence to half a guinea. . LORD BURNHAM. A very genial human landmark disappears by Lord Burnham’s death at the age of seventy. Only a few days ago he made a long speech in the House of Lords, an effort which much have been plucky enough in a man who knew he was far from fit. By Fleet street he will be best remembered as former proprietor of tho ‘ Daily Telegraph ’ and president of the Press Club. Politicians will date him as author of the Burnham scale of school teachers’ salaries. Ho was an enthusiastic Territorial officer, and had charge of a reserve training Yeomanry unit during the war. To all appeals on his purse Lord Burnham made invariably generous response. Latterly his figure sagged, and he lost his expansive smile. Thesewero the signals of failing health, but his sudden demise comes as a genuine blow to innumerable friends. MR LLOYD GEORGE, The spotlight moment at the Health Insurance twenty-first , birthday lunch was undoubtedly when Mr Lloyd George was photographed, with cigar, gazing at the attractive young woman with, horn rims who was the first baby to benefit under the Health Insurance Act. Mr Lloyd George was in his very best form, but said nothing better than his remark, _ apropos the grim political animosities of twenty-one years ago, that nowadays nobody was hated outside his own party. What really impressed mo was the truly remarkable way in which his appearance is more and more approximating to his caricatures. Is it artistic hypnotic suggestion, or does he deliberately play iip to the cartoonists? It may be, of course, that tho latter, after long practice at sketching his rather elusive physiognomy, are at last beginning to get to the heart of tho psychological mystery. BETTER BULLETS. It is just a hundred years since Col. Davidson, of the old John Company, experimented with an elongated rifle bullet. His aim, of course, was to secure greater accuracy and range than tho round bullet gave in the old muskets. As usual, the innovation encountered tremendous Brass Hat opposition, but in 1857 tho_ Government adopted tho long bullet in the Minnie rifle, which was _ succeeded by the Schneider, Martini-Henry, and various types of Lec-Enfield. Even to-day tho evolution is still -going on, and improvements are being made in the modern rifle bullet. • The now. mark 7 streamline, now being used at Bisley in place of tho .303 Magnum ammunition, has a range of 5,500 yards, as compared with 3,600 yards for the Magnum. And wo may not oven yet have reached finality even in this detail. RABBI PERLZWEIG. Lord Melchctt has denied tho romantic story that his formal adoption of the Jewish religion is in any way meant as a gesture to Teutonic Hitlerism.

lb is much more nicely to bo duo to tho brilliant personality of Rabbi Perlzweig, who is in charge of tho Liberal Jewish Synagogue in St. John’s Wood—tho largest place of tho kind in this country, Rabbi Perlzweig is tho most go-ahead figure in the religious life of London. He was a brilliant student at Cambridge, twice headed tho poll for tho Union Committee, and was pressed even in those days to stand as a Labour candidate for Parliament. Amateur theatricals and journalism wore amongst tho Rabbi's hobbies in his younger days, and he is a leader of the Jewish Liberal movement and head of the Jewish fraternal organisation. ST. JAMES’S SQUARE. Tho remorseless advance of tho postwar rebuilding movement, which is changing the familiar face of London, is marked by sky signs. Wherever you seo tho slim skeleton silhouette of a crane piercing the heavens above our roofs you may know that there the housebreakers are gathered together with pick and shovel. It reminds me of tho way that memorable German advance of 1918 that overwhelmed our Second and nearly our Third Army was signalled against the skyline by sausage balloons. I seo the crane hall mark above St. James’s square now. Once mighty mansions, tho scene of august social functions, are listed for sale or demolition. Amongst them is Winchester House, whence my Lord Chancellor Somers drove to his impeachment after his historic defence of the seven bishops, and where tho Bishops of Winchester once dwelt. Lord and Lady Aster are now almost alone in their St. James’s square glory. THE MOLLISONS. It is as difficult now as in R. L. Stevenson’s time to get any plain, unvarnished news from American journalism. We have two utterly conflicting versions of how the Mollisons finished their interrupted flight to New York. One story is that tho heroic couple, rising from their hospital cots against medical orders, completed their Odyssey in a borrowed plane with Jim at the controls. Against the inherent improbabilities of this, which suits Fleet Street’s craving for drama at any price, there is the simpler account, which says Jim and Amy finished their trip as passengers in a plane piloted by an American airman.' Even that demonstrates considerable pluck as well as a due sense of the dramatic unities. One recalls how both Jim and Amy, on their earlier single-handed big flights, rather came to grief on landing. Are they too highly strung to be good finishers? A DEAD CERT. Most people know the famous “ birdless avenue" on the Duke of Richmond’s Goodwood Estate. Driving to the racecourse from Chichester you pass along this avenue, which is flanked for nearly a mile by stately trees. But you will neither hear nor seo a solitary bird there. Various local legends explain this phenomenon, but the real explanation is probably that the avenue is very high above sea level and far from any water. Years ago a well-known bookmaker, Mr Charles Fly, who was one of a Goodwood house party for the race meeting, expressed at dinner his profound scepticism about this birdless theory, and a bet of a case of champagne was made on it. Next day the party made a special visit to the spot, and, to the utter amazement of all but Mr Fry, a number of small birds were twittering around the avenue. Only Mr Fry recognised them as London sparrows sent down in answer to his urgent S.O.S. ART MALCONTENTS. Until the present moment Mi; MacDonald has been persona grata with the artistic world, more „so, perhaps, than any other English Prime Minister. He has shown a greater interest in art, for one thing, and has also given art a bigger place in tho Honours List sun. But now at one fell stroke the Prime Minister has undone all this, and so far as the Bohemian art practitioners of Chelsea arc concerned, is decidedly unpopular. His declaration, at a public function last iveck, that “ anyone, after a few lessons at a night school, can paint a man with a pot of beer,” has outraged all the ..susceptibilities. Quito a number of notable Royal Academy paintings have had a. man with a pot of beer as their subject, and several famous Old Masters liked to let their genius play around that topic. Personally, I am with the Chelsea malcontents. A man with a pot of beer may, rightly handled, epitomise something more enduring than a politician with a pair of horn-rims. EVE OF TRAFALGAR. Amongst his many other benefactions Lord Wakefield has made possible the final possession of Nelson’s Victory log book by the British Museum. This small relic, which rather resembles a school exercise book, was left by tho great sea captain to his youngest sister, who was called Catherine, along with tho sword of honour presented to him after tho Battle of the Nile by the City of London. It runs from May 15 to October 20, 1805, and every entry is in Nelson’s own handwriting. Tholast entry of all is on the Sunday evening before Trafalgar, and it ends abruptly halfway down tho page. Tho rest, in Hamlet’s immortal phrase, is silence. It is good to know that such an intimate link with the Trafalgar square monument now reposes forever in Bloomsbury. The Nelson epoch is over. Trafalgar will in future probably bo fought in the air.

ZOOPEE! Nobody can say tho 8.8. C. lacks enterprise and originality. This week there was a wireless broadcast, actually from Broadcasting House, by selected Zoo stars. Miss Beatrice Harrison’s famous Oxted nightingales were, I fancy, the pioneers of this Zoo whoopee. One day tho Regent’s Park artistes attended, _ under strong escort, at Broadcasting House for a full-dress rehearsal. The concert party included a python, an alligator, a monkey, a cockatoo, and a mynah. How the 13.8. C. young gentlemen with tho tooOxl'ord accent hit it off with the python and alligator is a piquant thought. They had from the Zoo keepers, however, in the case of the python, the historic assurance that it was “only a little one.” As to the other artistes 1 know little, but the cockatoo*, a sixty-year-old ruffian christened Leonard Henry, and tho mynah are gifted elocutionists. AT LORD’S. Tho most English spot in London—perhaps in all England—is Lord’s. It is there, in that pleasant arena of welldrilled grass, one meets the Galsworthian Englishman. Old Soames sat next to mo to-day. Charmingly polite, but exquisitely aloof, he was a well-built well-preserved man of sixty, unmistakably of tire upper middle class, with the pink-and-white skin, Wellingtonian nose, and sea-blue eves that mark the typo. He watched the cricket, and enjoyed it, with keen unswerving interest, but without excitement. He brought his lunch with him. Neat sandwiches noatly packed in a case that fitted easily into Ins coat pocket. When ho left he first deflated, carefully so as not to disturb neighbours, a silk cushion that also packed neatly away into another case, like a tobacco pouch, and went into another pocket. I recognised the complete Lord’s habitue. KEEPING THE WICKET. I like even the Lord’s weathervane. It is curious nobody, so far as I know, lias ever written about that piece of M.C.C. furniture. Perhaps everybody takes it for granted nowadays. But what a most appropriate and even poetical weathervane it is. Behind a wicket stands, just slightly bent, like a good keeper, the figure of gaunt old Father Time. Whilst the cricket goes merrily on below, and the weathervane shifts in the wind, that grim old gentleman with tho scythe and hour glass stands faithful to his tryst. Is that weather vane merely intended, I wonder, to he symbolic of life, with Father Time patiently waiting to stump useach, in turn? Or, since they have put him just above the scoring box, has he a more instant and practical innuendo? Is he just an enigmatic hint to slow-scoring batsmen ? MELODRAMATIC BRIDGE. The experts will wrangle, as usual, but the plain fact about the AngloAmerican bridge match is that the bettor team won. The Americans were not only a little better in play, but had a decisive advantage when it came to slam bidding. In team work exact system bidding is essential to slamming, and the Culbertson method, though it will almost certainly kill bridge, is much the best. What struck me, however, was the serio-comic atmosphere of the match. Between hands Culbertson penned communiques praising his own play. The sacred cubicles where the players sat under observation through periscopes :by hundreds of perfervid “ fans ” sweating outside in a heat wave were cooled by iced ventilators. Mr Culbertson sometimes strolled up over an hour late for the kick-off. He has been called the “Napoleon of Bridge.” I should call him “Lo Petit Caporal of Big Publicity.”