A Shaw Interview.

Star (Christchurch), Volume LXVI, Issue 20273, 6 April 1934, Page 6

A Shaw Interview .

“ Same Old Tosh

How the London Dailies Wanted It. 'TMIE OVERSEAS MAN who goes to London looking for a job has first of all to get himself a new sense of news values (writes Brian Penton in “The Journalist, the official organ of the Australian Journalists’ Association). What Northcliffe was supposed to have said about the man biting the deg was all poppycock. He meant it the other way around. The English public are conservative, sentimental and dumb. The cynicism of the Australian and American journalist is lost upon them. And the writer gees on to describe an interview in London with George Bernard Shaw, the world-renowned playwright, who is now visiting New Zealand. I was doing the “ literarv ” features f<*»r one of the gaudier London dailies. Tlbis job was not quite so highbrow as it sound.-*. It might even, be described as literary' gossip for the submerged two million, something like this:— “ Go and See Shaw.” Shaw’s severity-second birthday came along, and the news editor arrived bursting with one of his mightv ideas. “Go and see Shaw. Make him talk on this question: ‘Have you enjoyed life?’” I didn’t think it was such a good ques tion to ask an aged humorist at ten o’clock at night on his seventy-second birthday, but I rang up and got his secretary out of bed. She went and roused Shaw and returned to say that under no circumstances would the great man see a reporter from my paper. The news editor got a second inspiration: “ Tell them vou’re an Australian.” So I told them I was an Australian, and the secretary returned to say that if one circumstance was wanting to make Shaw lock and bar his door against me, it was just that fact. “ Well, go and get the story,” said the news editor. Getting the Story. I went. I crept to the doors of Shaw's Flat in Whitehall Court and knocked. It opened upon the secretary, who tried to shoo me away, but I hadn’t the courage to go back and tell my news editor that his colossal idea had miscarried. So I argued. And while we were disputing in the doorway a ghastlv yell shivered the silence of that eminently respectable block of flats, and an amazing apparition appeared in the passage. It was a lean, long man in a white nightshirt with two yards of beard and the red nose of a life-long vegetarian. He was clutching chunks out of the air and positivelv gasping for oaths. I thrilled, getting my first glimpse of the great humorist. “ Mr Shaw,” I said, “ I have* been sent here to ask you if you have enjoyed your life.” Shaw tottered. " Ge-get out,” he bellowed. “ Get out before the liftman chucks you out.” “ Have you enjoved your life?” I insisted in a steelv voice, like an avenging Mephistopheles descending upon a poor Faust. T knew, incidentally, that the lift had stopped ‘running and that the liftman was asleep manf floors below. The Upshot. Shaw darted at the door, shoved me out and shut himself in. “ Sorry, Mr Shaw,.” I apologised through the letter box, “ to have upset your apple cart.” and returned to my office with what I conceived to be a good story. Consternation and furv greeted me when I ptit my copv in. “ What, you call this a birthday story? About Shaw —Shaw, the funny man?” And I had to rewrite my storv to say that Shaw had shook his head sadly when J asked him the question, and had said. ‘Alas! Eheu fugaces. Time flies, life is not all beer and skittles,” and more tosh to that effect. That was. T discovered, the new old storv which was dished up every time Shaw had a birthday. It was what the masses expected.