LONDON TOPICS

Evening Star, Issue 22382, 4 July 1936, Page 9

LONDON TOPICS

[r*OM 0D» COKKMPONDMWT.T [By Aik Mail.] ROUGH STUFF. There is a crop of biographies about Mr William Randolph Hearst. This , Anglophone Yankee newspaper mag- : nate’s masterful career and off-with-’his-head manner no doubt offer attractivo quarrying. One episode in his strenuous story seems remarkably topical. During the. Spanish-American War, after Admiral Dewey’s naval gunners, mainly poached from British warships, had made mincemeat of the Spanish Armada in the Philippines, rumour came of another Spanish fleet, under Admiral de Camara, heading for the scene of action via the Suez Canal. No such diffidence as made the effete* old European Chancellories boggle over Mussolini seven mouths ago afflicted Air Hearst. He promptly cabled his London man to buy any old steamer and sink her in the narrowest part of the Canal, An old collier was chartered, and, under the Union Jack, got into the Canal. As the rumoured Spanish fleet was a myth, nothing happened. But, what a fine sohemozzle there might have been ! LITERARY CAVEMAN! Mr C. J. Cutlitfe Hyne, the novelist who created our old friend Captain Kettle with the torpedo beard, is now 70. But he is still publishing virile books. A West Countryman who went to school in Yorkshire, and at Cambridge rowed in the winning trial eight, Cutcliffe Hyne is not a bit Captain Kettle-ish himself in appearance, being a six-foot giant with rather leisurely ways and a by no means abrupt manner. He is a son of the rectory, has travelled far and wide, is interested in congenital deafness and cave-hunting, and shoots anything from big game in exotic regions to pheasants at home. Captain Kettle himself is now getting to be no chicken. He was born, in the printing-house sense, in 1898, and was perhaps one factor in spurring on those gay adventurous spirits who manned our minesweepers and our Kitchener battalions when the bell rttng for Armageddon in 1914. His creator is one of those lucky people who can write anywhere and under any conditions. He claims to have done it even leaning against a Bradford lamp-post! I HYDE PARK MELANGE. London is luxuriating, after months of bitter cold and depressing gloom, in warm sunshine, balmy airs, and blue skies unpatched with cloud. Londoners with judgment as well as leisure—and it is astonishing how many besides the “ idle rich ” now seem to have the latter—dispose themselves in parks and commons. Hyde Park looks its best now-. Added to a gorgeous riot of flower-beds is a thrilling fresh green of. trees and grass that may not outlast flaming June. Well-groomed

society folk sit cheek by jowl in the comfortable deck chairs with overdressed suburban dames and ■ negligesuited retainers of the Labour Exchanges. Duchesses and actresses, judges and barons, canter side by side dowm the Row. -In the shaded promenade under the trees patrician pekes and pampered pohis give Press photographers the haughty Vere de Vere once over. From the Lido, where mixed sunbaskers sizzle like sardines on toast, come the soothing sound of sculls, and an occasional plop as some overdone basker seeks the Serpentine s cool embrace. The band plays. The Guards march past. Life is good. CRICKET PEDANTS. Cricket enthusiasts in this _ country have little enough excuse to rejoice and be exceedingly glad. Whilst our M.C.C. pundits still go on mumbling their formulas, which reduce a lusty merry outdoor game to terms of chamber music, their, England sides get severely whacked by most comers. In succession the Aussics, the Springboks, and the Planters have shown them just where they get off the pitch and back to the pavilion. In this dire emergency enters young Gimblett, whose Very name somehow links him up with such a giant as Gvimmett, and this West Country son of Somerset makes glorious summer of the winter of our discontent with an average for the season to date of 201. Normal cricket connoisseurs hail another Jessop, Hobbs, or native Bradman. But the Lord 8 pundits and pedants shake their heads. Not only are they very certain young Gimblett “ cannot keep it up,” but they look sternly at certain unorthodox strokes he plays. Let us. hope the West Country farmer will go 6n making rude noises at the pedants by hitting sixes over the pavilion. ON EPSOM DOWNS. Derby Day started rather chill and dull, hut brightened up later, and the sun was shining on the silken flanks or the big field of runners Avhen they lined up for the classic event. There was the inevitable Derby crowd, millionaire sportsmen and Epsom gipsies jostling each other in the throng, anu, though the occasion lacked Royal patronage, celebrities were galore. Lord Derby, most popular of veteran sportsmen, . came in for a genuine ovation, and thd racing crowd had a cheer, too, for favourites like the German tenor. Richard Tauber, and Ins delightful film-star fiancee. An early .win by Gordon Richards seemed to promise well for Taj Akbar, who was succeeded as favourite for the big race by P<vy Dp, and his backers took heart accoidingly, notwithstanding the eleventhhour mysterious rush to “get on Boswell and Carioca. These movements must have made the Derby a happy race for the hookies. Amidst great excitement, intensified still more by the openness of the race, the glistening luxury horses lined up, and once more that old shout, “ They re _ off, thundered across the Downs. But Snurkc, who had choice of the Aga Khans three Derby mounts, showed Jus shrewdness. Ho raced home winner on Mahmoud, with. Gordon Richards plodding just behind on Taj Akbar, and the North Country horse Thankerton third. We may have some keen discussion as to the wisdom of multiple mounts in the same colours. Many sportsmen favour the Continental system of backing stables in big races.