CURRENT LONDON TOPICS

Taranaki Daily News, 3 January 1935, Page 6

CURRENT LONDON TOPICS

THE MERCHANT SERVICE FLOW OF CADETS INCREASES. STIMULATION OF AMBITION. (Special Correspondent.) London, Oct. 11. It is remarkable that the flow cf cadets to the British merchant service training ships, notably the Thames’ H.M.S. Worcester, shows a slight increase. This in spite of the severe depression in our shipping industry, and the fact that we have vessels sailing from London and Liverpool and other ports with fully-fledged master mariners signed on as ordinary forecastle. hands. I am told that the popular excitement aroused by the great new Cunarder, for one thing, has stimulated youthful ambition for a sea career, and the superintendent of H.M.S. Worcester, who is Captain Steele, V.C., asserts that no difficulty is experienced even now in finding jobs for suitable cadets, on passing out, with the big shipping companies. This is in some degree due to improved system of promotion for ships’ officers in the principal lines. But nowadays the quarterdeck man in the merchant service has to achieve a much higher general standard of education than formerly. Whether they are better sailors is another story.

Ex-Kaiser’s Favourite Grandson. Prince Louis Ferdinand, who is now on a visit to London, is a tall handsome young German with an intellectual head and face the austerity of which is usually defeated by a most charming and good-humoured smile. He is the second son of the ex-Crown Prince,' popularly known amongst ex-servicemen as “Little Willy,” and the report is that he is the ex-Kaiser’s favourite grandson. Should Nazi Germany ever grow tired of Herr Hitler, the one-time house painter and lance-corporal of the Great War, and decide to revert to monarchy, Prince Louis Ferdinand might be the chosen Hohenzollem for the big job. He must be somewhat of a democrat. For two years he worked as a fitter in the famous Ford works in America, when he made his workmates call him simply “Dr. Ferdinand.” From fitter he has been promoted to be a sort of trade ambassador for the Ford car. He talks most European languages with remarkable facility, but his English is strongly Americanised in form and accent. Fun at Swindon.

The Swindon by-election will arouse exceptional interest. It is a straight test between a Labour and a National Conservative candidate, and, far more interesting, whilst the former is Dr. Addison, L.G.’s former henchman, the latter is the redoubtable “Wakers.” Mr. W. W. Wakefield, who now makes a political debut, is known wherever Rugger is played as one of the greatest forwards of this century, and a captain who led to victory not only the London Harlequins, but the RA.F., Cambridge University, Middlesex, and England. How he shapes on a platform we' shall see, but everybody knows how he shaped in a Rugger jersey. Before he won fame in the Rugger field “Wakers” was a pilot in the R.A.F. during the war, and gained great repute as a flying instructor. His personality, backed by his Rugger fame, ought to give even so old a hand as Dr. Addison a run for his money. Brass Hats and Frocks.

It is strange how L.G.’s picture of the army men in his Memoirs differs from the late Sir William Orpen’s in “An Onlooker in France.” Sir William met both the big commanders and the big politicians, and his judgment should be impartial. He tells us that at the Peace Conference all these “frocks,” as Sir Henry Wilson called the politicians, seemed to him very small personalities compared with the fighting men he had known. “They appeared to think so much—too much—of their own personal importance, searching all the time for popularity, each little one for himself, strange little things. One was almost forced to think that the frocks won the war. The whole thing was finished. Why worry now to honour the representatives of the dead, the maimed, the blind, or the living that remained?” Bitter words from a civilian. Bluff and Breezy. Admiral Sir Roger Keyes* naval memoirs, in the typical bluff and breezy navy style, make interesting reading, but add little to what we already knew. He pictures old Jackie Fisher as a grim autocrat, a friend to his friends and a relentless foeman to his foes, who took the quarter-deck manner to his Whitehall desk. He once told a high official, who was responsible for submarine contracts, to keep paper and red-tape methods out of his work, or his wife would be made a widow and his home a dung-hill. But at the moment our needs were pretty desperate, and Lord Fisher knew the bureaucratic mentality. Sir Roger backs Winston’s Gallipoli adventure, and contends, with good reason, that properly launched and supported it would have been a huge success, and shortened the war by years. Sir Roger does not like the pacifists much, and holds that our race touched its zenith of prestige in 1914-18.

Diplomacy and Sport. Nothing will persuade the majority of cricketers that it was not direct or indirect action by the Government, through the persuasive voice of Mr. J. H, Thomas as Colonial Secretary, which dictated the M.C.C.’s policy in the recent cricket Tests. Though we have had the usual and doubtless technically correct official denial, I am inclined strongly to agree with this theory. Now comes a suggestion that the Foreign Office may have intervened to secure an absence of recriminations following the America’s Cup fiasco. It is said that Mr. Nicholson, the designer of Endeavour, who admittedly nurses a big grievance, wanted to unburden himself about American yachting manners on his arrival here from New York, but suddenly and abruptly changed his mind. Even though this may have followed a wireless message from Mr. Sopwith, it does not imply that official influence has not been brought to bear.

Painter of Royalty. It went without saying that Mr. Philip de Laszlo would paint a full-length portrait of Princess Marina. During the past thirty years this Court artist has painted more royal portraits than any other man living. Almost all the crowned—and also recently uncrowned—heads in Europe have sat for him. Amongst other illustrious sitters he has had Pope Leo XIII. He works with incredible rapidity, and makes lifelike portraits. But the advanced Bohemians of Chelsea would call him merely a photographer in colour, not a great painter of portraits in their sense. In art and literature, however, the Royal taste is perhaps more suburban than highbrow. This is one of many homely touches that make for the immense popularity of our Royal Family to-day. Its outlook reacts to the views of the many, not of any exclusive coterie of art. All the same, it would have been rather thrilling to have had a few royal portraits by Augustus John. He could perhaps have done for Prince George’s Princess what he did for Madame Suggia.

STERLING FOR SAFETY

SUDDEN CHANGE OF MIND. MARSEILLES MURDER SEQUEL. London, Oct. 18. A curious sidelight on the way Europe instinctively looks to Britain for safety and stability in times of crisis was afforded when the news of the Marseilles outrage spread abroad. During the early part of Tuesday of last week the foreign exchange markets would have nothing to do with sterling. It was sinking to new low levels, and found no buyers anywhere, except our own authorities, who were operating the Exchange Equalisation Account with a view to ironing out of the worst steepness of the decline. Then rumours of King Alexander’s assassination began to filter through the Continent. With them went panicky whispers of a second Serajevo, and exchange dealers hastily modified their views of the pound. It was the “better 'ole,” the one safe spot in a bewilderingly explosive Europe. Francs, and all the queer-named currencies of the lesser Continental nations, were feverishly discarded in favour of sterling. In a few moments the Exchange Equalisation Account authorities found their services no longer needed. The pound automatically regained its proud position of the world’s safest money.

The Marseilles Drama. One needs to remember the inner history of the Great War to appreciate what manner of monarch the late King Alexander was. He was a real soldier, with something of the indomitable spirit of the great Marshal Foch, far more than titular leader of the gallant little Serbian army. Even in the darkest hour, when the odds on Germany seemed overwhelming, he kept both his head and his heart. Since the peace, in handling as explosive and difficult a situation as any in Europe, he has shown the same qualities. He well recognised in what deadly peril he lived, and his will, naming his regents, has almost a Caesarian ring about it. Most tragic of all the published pictures in the newspapers is not that of the murdered King lying in his car, but his small son and heir—a, charming little fellow—being hurried away from a happy English school into the bitter maelstrom of Central European intrigue. A point that puzzles police experts here is how the assassin got right through the cordons and on to the Royal car’s runningboard without being stopped or cut down.

Home From Turkey. There is one small restaurant at the West End, between Soho and Seven Dials, where a comparatively tiny staff boasts between its members a colloquial acquaintance with no fewer than thirty different languages. These include some esoteric tongues in the Asiatic as well as the Balkan languages, and, of course, all the chief European ones. I sampled no more than a cup of admirable coffee at this cosmopolitan resort, but I gathered that its menu has been carefully matched with its linguistic capabilities. Almost any stranger from the ends of Europe or the East can be pretty sure of finding some item of food that reminds him of his own country and people. The place is, in fact, a sort of gourmet’s Lea'gue of Menus, and it attracts not only the alien from afar, but also the Cockney suburbanite keen on mixing with strange people and queer dishes. Anything exotic appeals to stay-at-home Londoners. Yet, if compelled to travel abroad, they promptly pine for fish and chips.

No More Cockney. The fiat has gone forth. Londoners must cease to talk Cockney. Teachers in all London elementary and secondary schools are to take firm action for its suppression, and gramophone records, exemplifying the best brands of public school accent, are to be pressed into service. It is curious that it should be a Socialist L.C.C. that launches this rather belated campaign, but it is inspired by no snobbish or aesthetic objections to the London Doric, and merely signifies that Cockney is realised to be a handicap to ambitious Londoners who talk it. Yet not long ago some distinguished people were telling us that Cockney, as spoken in the Mile End Road to-day, was the polite speech of Elizabethan England. The L.C.C. has embarked on a big task. Because four out of five L.C.C. teachers themselves possess rich Cockney accents. It is distinctly a case of physician heal thyself.

Reverting to Hun? Many people regard Mr. Churchill’s statements about Germany's military activities as unduly alarmist. But I met a friend to-day, an intelligent and quite unsensational business man, who has just been spending some weeks in Germany, and he had a very remarkable story to tell. He states that intensive drilling was going on all the time he was In the country. But it was all done at night and under cover of darkness, and elaborate precautions were adopted to keep strangers at a distance. My friend who had special means of noting this phase of things, also assured me that the German ports are congested with cargoes of imported ore suitable for use in the manufacture of armaments and munitions of war. Without any pretension to knowing anything of inside politics my friend came home gravely impressed by what he observed.

Shipping Subsidy. Discussions are still In progress regarding the details of the Government scheme for the subsidy of tramp shipping. Mr. Runciman is determined that the liners—although they are also hard pressed by Government-aided foreign competition—should receive no share, and that the money should not be used merely to' lower freights and intensify the struggle for the amount of trade available. He is anxious that the British tramp fleet should be brought ut: to date. The shipowners are eager to help him, but the interests which have to be reconciled are many and conflicting. It is hoped, however, that a scheme will be evolved in time for legislation early next session.

Red Bargain. There is nothing ill the terms mentioned to suggest any doubt about the settlement of the Lena goldfields’ claim. By a meticulous system of intimidation and terrorism, using the dreaded Cheka with the utmost adroitness, Moscow confiscated property in which millions of British and other foreign capital was invested. An impartial tribunal awarded the shareholder claimants the sum ot £13,000,000. So if Moscow has now compromised the claim for somewhere between two and three millions, as re - ported, it may be counted an extremely good Soviet bargain. When the property was confiscated by the Russian Government, the company developing the goldfields had spent about £3,500,000 on their investment. They were reckoning on a return eventually of about £2,000,000 per annum. So, according to the terms now mentioned, Moscow gets the whole caboodle at one year’s purchase, without any count for original outlay.

Reformed “Pirate.” It is understood that Baron von Neurath, the German Foreign Minister, has played no small part in persuading HenHitler and his friends to a ca’ cannie on the Lutheran Church question. Possibly the Foreign Minister’s attitude may have been influenced by Dr. Martin

Niemoeller, pastor of a parish church in a smart suburb of Berlin, which Baron ven Neurath attends regularly. This earnest Lutheran pastor has a unique clerical record. During the War he commanded one of the German U-boats, and so successfully that he won the Order Pour Le Merite. After the Armistice he went in for the Church, and has become famous as a courageous and trenchant critic of political interference in ecclesiastical matters. He preaches to a crowded congregation, many of whom are important people. But it would be hard to imagine a greater contrast of activities than those of a post-War parish priest and a wartime U-boat pirate engaged on a spurlos versunken campaign against merchant ships.

Honoured by Hitler. On November 6, the day after oui Guy Fawkes’ festival, Herr Hitler, the Nazi Fuhrer, unveiled a memorial to Lieutenant Karl Hans Lody in his native town of Leubeck. The memorial stands in one of the old town gates, and consists of the figure of a stately German knight. It is just twenty years ago since Lody, whose execution caused a great sensation at the time, was shot by a platoon of Guardsmen in the Tower of London. Lody, a plucky German Army officer, came here on espionage disguised as an American business man, but our Secret Service ran him to earth, and Lody paid the penalty accordingly. Feeling ran much too high at the moment for much popular sympathy to be extended to the German spy, but those who took part in the death sentence were deeply impressed by Lody’s calm courage and sportsmanship. He smoked a last cigarette, tossed away the end, smiled at the officer in charge, and faced the firing party with perfect sang froid.

Purely Social? It is interesting to hear that, though there have been no official meetings between Mr. J. H. Thomas and Mr. Dulanty for many months, our Dominion Secretary and the Irish Free State Commissioner in London have recently met more than once socially. It may be hoped that, despite the. close official reticence observed, this really indicates some attempt to escape from the existing deadlock. The quarrel over Ireland’s repudiation of the land settlement annuities has now dragged on for a long time, and its reactions are almost equally damaging to both belligerents. Its solution would help the prosperity of both countries But unfortunately Mr. de Valera’s . political henchmen are so wedded to the old anti-British. vendetta that, even if he desired to, the FreeJState President could hardly venture to bandy olive branches. Air-Minded Air Ministers.

Although one expects the political chiefs of a Government department to associate themselves closely with the activities of their department, the Secretary of Air (Lord Londonderry) and his Under-Secretary (Sir Philip Sassoon) carry out this tradition, not only in the letter, but in the spirit. Both take every opportunity of going into the air, and Sir Philip Sassoon has just returned from a tour which, for distance covered and the number of hours of flying, is probably unprecedented in the case of a Minister of the Crown. When I met Sir Philip Sassoon the other day, after his return from his 19,000 miles trip, he gave me the impression of having enjoyed every mile of it, despite landings and takings-off in the dark. One of the wealthiest young men in this country, Sir Philip Sassoon is also one of, the most unassuming. His sober clothes, black tie and impassive demeanour give him an air of gravity fit for an elder statesman instead of a younger one. He permits himself only one sartorial concession—a red flower in his buttonhole.

Cockney Elections. There were some quaint happenings in the present municipal election contests which have just taken place in London. A friend of mine, who was one of the three Municipal Reform candidates in a big industrial suburb, was slightly embarrassed to find, amongst three Socialists opposing his two colleagues and himself, his own charlady. In the event of the latter defeating him, which my friend considered quite probable in view of the strong sympathy she was bound to arouse amongst proletarian women voters, the awkward contretemps would have presented itself*of a full-fledged borough councillor cleaning the front steps of a vanquished “bloated capitalist.” Canvassing the constituency requires tact My friend knocked at the door of one modest house, and, after what seemed an interminable delay, the door was opened by a very tousled and disgruntled lady, who ejaculated, when the candidate gently broached his subject, “My God! Don’t talk, about municipal elections to me! My kitchen boiler’s just burst!” As my friend observed, “If only I had been a plumber!”