LONDON TOPICS

Lake Wakatip Mail, Issue 4324, 27 July 1937, Page 7

LONDON TOPICS

BIUTAIH'S DIFFICULT ROLE SM SPAIN IS STALIN'S STAR SETTING ? June 17. It is fatuous to allow political sympathies to blind ns to patent facts. Somebody is holding a candle to the European war devil, and sticking at nothing to provoke trouble between the non-* intervention Powers. Madrid denies the report of the submarine’s torpedo attack on the German cruiser Leipzig. But so did Madrid deny the unprovoked bombing assault on the Deutschland. Whether the ulterior object of these mischief-makers is to create another European conflict favourable to revolutionary propaganda, or merely to confuse tlie issue in the Spanish civil war. the situation is equally serious, and calls for the most delicate, yet promptly efficacious, handling. Unfortunately, the interior political entis in both Russia and France hardly strengthens confidence in those Governments, and Mr Eden must at this juncture be almost wishing that Great Britain was not cast for quite such a prominent role in European affairs.

BEHIND THE VEIL. Events in Russia are mystifying even those best informed about affairs m Moscow. One theory is that Stalin, who is said to be suffering severely Irom blood pressure, has developed a form of persecution mania. But behind the veil that hides the drama from outsiders there seems fairly clear evidence of a death struggle between the 0.G.P.U.. or whatver the secret police are now called, and the Red Army. This has been precipitated by highhanded O.G.P-U. arrests of popular army figures, and the resultant uneasiness amongst soldiers of all ranks. In this conflict, popular sympathy will be strongly with the army, whose officers are now being cheered when they appear in the streets. Still more significant is the fact that “ Down \\ ith Stalin ” placards have appeared from nowhere on the walls. Stalin s star seems to be setting blond red. and the two rising comets are \ oroshiloff, the popular army chief, and a dark horse called Yoshoff. who now holds supreme control of the O.G.P.U.

CADRE NO IR. The large audience at Olympia for the opening night of the International Horse Show obeyed the request not to applaud the performance of the famous Cadre Noir horsemen during operations. But they made up for it when the number was over. And, indeed, it was a fine show. There was no galloping and no jumping. The horses were kept almost entirely at the walk or trot. But the evolutions they performed were remarkable, especially the precision of their “crab-walk.” What was most admired, perhaps, was when the baud broke into a popular air, and the sagacious animals literally danced! These instructors, from the famous French riding school at Saumur, are exclusively cavalry officers of the French army, and still wear the black uniform and black Napoleonic hat introduced in 1824. With the addition of old epaulettes, their ensemble has more than a suggestion of a naval touch. I noticed that, when filing past the Royal box, the officers did not. as might be expected, salute. Each one gravely raised his hat, and then passed on.

GENERAL SMUTS. General Smuts, whose frank criticism of recent gold share movements has caused some sensation, is certainly at this epoch the most impressive figure amongst our Imperial -statesmen at Home or overseas. His career has bec.'i an amazing romance, for he was a brilliant enemy commander in the Boer War before he became one of our few brilliant British generals in the Great War. The way he cleaned up the Germans in Africa was masterly. Hut he figured, behind the scenes, in even more romantic Great War episodes. In 1917 the British Cabinet had some faint hopes of concluding a separate peace with Austria, thus detaching Geiinauv’s most powerful ally. AMr John Christian Smith, whose initials correspond with those on General J. C. Smuts’s linen and clothing, undertook the delicate mission, travelling to Switzerland to talk things over with Count Meusdorff, a former Austrian Ambassador in London. Nothing came of it. but Mr J. C. Smith —who reverted to General J. C. Smuts on his return to London —could a tale unfold.

ATHLETIC COURTIER. Sir Frank Mitchell, who has just been knighted by the King, is about to give up his post as His Majesty’s assistant private secretary. He was at Windsor last week, on what may be his last tour of duty, chiefly as secretary to the Order of the Garter. Sir Frank is the son of a famous Eton housemaster and cricketer, the late R. A. H. Mitchell, and himself won distinction as cricketer, hockey player, and golfer. Twice he played for Eton against Harrow at cricket, he captained the Oppidans, was skipper of Oxford golf as well as tennis, and played three times for England against Scotland at golf. When he joined the Royal staff Sir Frank was often called upon by King George V. to give him a hard game of tennis at Buckingham Palace. He was with Lord Milner in South Africa, and during the Great War was assistant director at the Press Bureau. In 1921 he succeeded tiie late Mr Sam Prior as Press secretary at Buckingham Palace, and six years ago. on Lord Stamfordham’s death, became assistant private secretary to the King.

GREAT FRENCHMAN. With the exception of Poincare, who was never so popular, no French President of our time exercised the sway of Gaston Doumergue. who has just died at the age of 73 Of typical French peasant stock, but a brilliant scholar, Doumergue began his career in the colonial service. It was his funeral oration over a relative, who was a deputy, that led to the future “ smiling President ” entering political life. He became Premier the year before the war, but was defeated over his plea to extend the army service to three years instead of two. As Foreign Minister during the war he visited Petrograd, and high Russian officials rejected his earnest warning that there would be a revolution within

a month. Doumergue was right to a day. He became President in 1923 following Millerand’s resignation, and greatly enhanced the influence of that often figurehead office. He was keen on sport, both football and tennis, and a devoted admirer of Defoe. He was pressed to serve a second term as President, but instead married an old friend who had become a widow.

BILBAO. As in the case of so many Spanish towns, there are two Bilbaos. On the right bank of the River Nervion, eight miles inland from the Bay of Biscay, is the ancient town, founded by Don Pedro Lopez de Haro in 1300. It is a picturesque place of stone buildings and narrow streets, and its projecting eaves testify to the strength of the Basque sun. The new towny winch stands on the left bank of the river, is a modern creation of line parks and public buildings. Its importance grew immensely during the latter halt ot last century. It may comfort those who are weak in their spelling, and thereby subject to the contumely of sin ole-t rack pedant minds, to know that originally Bilbao was spelt Bilboa. Which shows how foolish are the pedants. From early days it was famed for the excellence of its sword blades, and remains still the centre of the Basque steel and iron trade. Its original name links up this Spanish town with the Old English word for sword —“ bilbo ” —which was still in use in Shakespeare’s time

GOOSE-SKIN ASCOT. The weather was far from kind to the Ascot crowd. There was little sunshine, rain always threatened, and it was bitterly cold. Some of the Royal enclosure ladies, in fact, who wore little underneath their Ascot frocks, turned goose-flesh blue. In spite of that the fashion parade was the most elaborate for many seasons. There were lots of beautiful women and pretty girls, but most of them gave one the impression of a rather overdressed musical comedy chorus. Male attire was strictly uniform, dark or grey morning dress with grey topper. It has not changed for two generations. Yet, on the popular side of the course masculine fashions have completely revolutionised since King Edward’s day. There are other changes. Tipsters no longer suck throat lozenges, but use up-to-date loud speakers. So do the vendors of magic charms. Tho tipsters are unchanged, however, in one respect; they still tip every horse in the race, and thus truthfully claim to have “ given the winner.”

STILL UNCONQUERED. A fine comradeship of high endeavour inspires all mountaineers, whose calling or hobby obeys a primeval instinct of mankind. Thus general sympathy, without thought of race or flag, goes to the German party which mourns seven gallant members lost in the attack on Nanga Parbat. Though over 2.000 ft short of Everest's summit, the former is the highest mountain in the British Empire, and one of 50 Himalayan peaks over 25,000 ft, of which only one, Mount Karnet, has ever been climbed by man. The first attempt on Nanga Parbat was 32 years ago, when a famous British climber, Mummery, Lost his life. Latterly, according to the chivalrous etiquette of mountaineering, the Germans, having concentrated on this peak, have been allowed a monopoly of Nanga Parbat. This is their fifth attempt to scale its 26,629 ft. the last one being three years ago, when a blizzard overwhelmed them within 600 ft of the summit, and they lost three Europeans and six native porters.

SUICIDE CORPS. A machine-gunner looks back, in the current issue of ‘ Twenty Years After,’ to the clear dead days beyond recall. He indicates why the Machine Gun Corps, formed in October, 1915, was christened the Suicide Corps. In 1918 in numbered 158,000 men, and its casualties totalled 71,919. Nearly half who served in it were hit. Among instances of individual gallantry the writer mentions “ a young company leader, whose command had been reduced by half, who at Polygon Wood in, September, 1917, turned defeat into a notable victory. He reorganised his machine gun batteries and pressed forward to the attack. Although assailed from the air by low-flying German machines and subjected to a tornado of shellfire, wave after wave of enemy infantry were hammered as they rose to counter-attack. One German regiment sustained the loss of 16 officers and 1.250 other ranks in casualties. That officer is now a bishop, with the D.5.0.”

BEAU GESTE. Everybody is trying to guess the identity of the anonymous patriot who has given a cool quarter of a million sterling towards strengthening the bonds of Imperial kinship. Nine out or ten guesses pick the same multimillionaire, a famous titled captain of up-to-date industry, but they are probably all wrong. It is doubly approppriate that Karl Baldwin, whose title, by the way, links up with pre-Norman England of Harold’s day, should be chosen as dispenser of this princely gift. Not only did lie serve the Empire manfully and skilfully during a unique dilemma in its history, but after the War he himself gave anonymously a quarter of his fortune, which was not less than £IOO,OOO, towards debt reduction. He did so in the hope that it might start an epidemic of similar generosity and patriotism, but here Mr Stanley Baldwin characteristically overestimated the milk of human kindness. Has the present donor done the same?

SLIMMING THE QUEEN MARY. Somewhat drastic changes are being made in the Cunard-White Star liner Queen Mary. There is no mistaking the fact that this great vessel has been a bit .of a disappointment to a perhaps too expectant public. But after the alterations now being made in her, she will probably recover the Atlantic blue ribbon wrested from her by the trench liner Normandie. Increased forced draught, secured by an ingenious system of ventilation, will enable her to get fuller power out of her enormous engines, and her funnels are to be reduced in size. These huge smokestacks, so strongly in contrast with those of the latest German liners, offer an immense resistance to the air, and their reduction alone is believed to be capable of adding two knots to the ship's speed. In those days of streamline locomotives, trains, and cars, it seems odd that shipbuilders should still stick to great tall funnels some at least

of which are merely duds, and not used as smoke-stacks. ‘ PETER PAN.’

A good many accounts as to the origin of Barrie’s ‘ Peter Pan ’ are current, and probably all of them have some degree of truth. It was at least 20 years before the play was produced that Barrie, walking in a Scottish woodland l with a friend of mine, outlined its theme. The poverty which Barrie experienced during his early years in London was never more than comparative, especially for a man of his modest tastes. He wrote a weekly column of theatre gossip for a provincial paper, and his casual writings brought him a decent income, which soon increased after he came in touch with the late Sir William Robertson Nicoll.

BEARD PROBLEM. Some slight tremor lias been caused by the semi-official announcement that gas.masks cannot be worn with beards. Though men with beards are now a small minority in this country, their number includes some distinguished exhibitors, and all of them are deeply attached to their adornments. The brilliant but irreverent author who used to call beards and moustaches “ face fungus ” is no more, and that rude game, said to have been invented at the University of Oxford, known as “ beaver spotting.” has happily died out, too. But the harsh alternative of either sacrificing a long-cherished beard or being poison-gassed is one that must give pause to even the most stoical of Poloniuses. The very fact that Whitehall adopts this autocratic attitude and attempts no special design of gas mask for bearded citizens suggests how democratic ideas and veneration for elders are on the wane in this country. Characteristically', Mr G. B. Shaw takes the bull by the horns. He was interviewed, probably over the phone, immediately the official ukase was known. He declared emphatically that he would “ take his chance,” come what may, without a gas mask. But G.B.S. added that his beard had saved him a lot of valuable time. Here, with great respect, 1 think the superman is in error Shaving averages rather less than 10 minutes a day. A fair estimate is 60 minutes a week, or 48 hours per annum. Over a shaving lifetime of from 20 to 70 years of age this totals up to over three months dedicated to scraping one’s face. But is that time really wasted? I think not. It is about the one daily interlude, especially in these safety razor times, that our hectic hustle allows the average man for quiet contemplation. 1 feel sure Mr Gandhi would agree with me rather than with G.B.S.

SOME ORDEAL. A journalistic friend, who made his first appearance on the Alexandra Palace television last week, gives me an amusing account of the ordeal. At the studio he found a dressing room, numbered and bearing his name. In this retreat two charming ladies proceeded to make him up for the televisor. To his relief one of them observed that his was not a face that required much treatment, and he got off with some slight daubs of yellow ochre. More trying was the brief rehearsal in a special apartment, where he was confronted with formidable mechanism in the presence of a number of men in white coats, who gave him the impression of surgeons about to operate on a major scale without anaesthetics. What was specially impressed on him was that he must on no account sway. This, my friend explained to me, accounted for any stiff-neckedness he may have exhibited on the television screen. As testimony to the perfection of the transmission I may stgte that peqple in the Press Club, some distance from the room in which the television set is, actually thought he was talking in the club.

GREAT EXPECTATIONS. In moments of high sporting ecstasy L.G.’s compatriots sing hymns. The majestic cadence of ‘ Land of My Fathers ’ resounded through Harringay Stadium as Walter Neusel, blonde locks dishevelled, blue eyes fixed, looking like Byron’s dying gladiator, was limply counted out. It was a convincing end, clean and workmanlike, to three rounds of realistic scrapping. The funny tiling is that all the alleged boxing experts agreed that, though he might win on points, Tommy Farr could never knock out the German. This was on a par with the utter failure of these same experts to spot in this grim-look-ing young Welsh miner the likeliest British heavy-weight since Bob Fitzsimmons. Farr not only combines strength with skill, toughness with cunning, but he is a born fighter. We must not forget, however, that to beat Neuscl is not to qualify for the world's belt. He was trounced all oyer the ring by Schmeling, whom America has euchred out of his pugilistic rights. But good luck to Tommy Farr! He is no “ horizontalist ”!