A LETTER FROM LONDON

Wanganui Chronicle, Volume LXXXIII, Issue 19504, 3 February 1926, Page 10

A LETTER FROM LONDON

NOTES BY THE WAY

{Special to ■"Chronicle.” —All Kights Reserved.]

Prince and East Africa. LONDON, Dec. 17. The Prince of Wales has had his passion for travel stirred afresh by the accounts the Duke and Duchess; of York have given him of their experiences in East Africa. Though no plans whatever have been made as yet, I should not be at all surprised to hear of the Prince paying a visit to Kenya next winter. He has always had a hankering for big game hunting, and the opportunities he had in South Africa were curtailed through the pressure of social engagements. Quite a number of people in what is known as the Prince’s “set” have now visited East Africa, and ♦hey all give him glowing accounts of its charm and fascination. Thwarted “Der Tag.’’ A sensational political trial at Munich has revealed the official German plan, approved by the cx-Kaiser, for a last desperate throw by the German Navy during the final phase of the Great War. Admiral Von Scheer’s plan was to lay five barriers of fifteen hundred mines, supported by five lines of massed German submarines, across the British Fleet’s southern track down the North Sea. Into this unsuspected danger zone the British Fleet was to be drawn by a simultaneous attack on the Thames and the Belgian coast by German cruisers and torpedo-destroyers. The German Grand Fleet was to await the British Fleet asc it emerged, heavily weakened and much confused, from running the gauntlet of the fivefold mine and torpedo menace. Then was to ensue a main sea action, which was to be the real German “Der Tag.” Mutiny by the German sailors alone prevented this roup being tried. It affords a fine problem in history’s might have-beens, T ut it may be added that Admiral Von Scheer’s coup was precisely what the British naval command always anticipated. Lord Oxford’s Health. Lord Oxford, who has been talking on the new health movement, is well entitled to address a conference on ' health, for. as he said, few men living 1 have given or had cause to give less attention to the subject. When near the end of his ten years of continuous •dice, including the most strenuous period that ever a British Prime Minister had to go through, he had to resort to a doctor, it was his first illness ; for over 30 years. A year ago his friends were a little uneasy about him, ■•ut their disquiet has no longer any ground. He takes the present troubles , of his party with the utmost composure, i ami is. I believe, hard at work on the j book of reminiscences which will be one of the literary events of next year. A Duke’s Outburst. The late Duke of Montrose’s politics ' never rose above the level of the I country squire’s. In the pre-war days | his pet aversion was Mr Lloyd George, and in the course of a speech one night |he declared that no doubt that statesman was enjoying himself in some pot-

WEEKLY FUND OF GOSSIP

house with companions fit for him. When he opened his paper next morning he found that Mr Lloyd George had been dining in a certain Fleet Street restaurant with Mr A. J. Balfour (as he then was) and others scarcely loss famous. The Duke owned about 150.000 acres on the east side of Loch Lomond, more picturesque than productive, and for a Duke was a comparatively poor man. His successor, having married the only child of the late .Duke of Hamilton, will be much better off, for she is the owner of the island of Arran, certain fertile lands in the South of England, and, more important still, coalfields in Lanarkshire. The new Duke, unfortunately, is very and so can take little part in public lie life. But he scandalised his friends lately b yemerging as an advocate of Home Rule for Scotland. Chess-Playing Legislators. The visit of Senor Capablanca, the world’s chess champion, to the House of Commons this week, is a reminder that the game which, with the exception of its humbler sister draughts, is the only one allowed within the Palace of Westminster, has quite a few votaries there. Perhaps it has none at present of the standing of Mr Bonar Law and Mr McKenna, who were in the first flight of amateurs, but Sir Richard Barnett is a sturdy exponent of the game. The others are of the soso class, including, I regret to say, Sir John Simon, whose chess is about on a level with his golf and his pianoplaying. and marked by more enthusiasm than skill. It gives the average player a pleasant feeling when he finds that a man who can earn £40,000 a year at the bar is nothing like so adept at pushing about a few pieces of wood on a chequered board. Lasker and Capablanca. It is suggested that the money should be put up necessary for a world’s championship match to be played in this country, between Capablanca and Lasker or Boguljuboff. The former was a frequent visitor to us before the war. and though his attitude was bitter while the struggle lasted there is no reason to suppost that he would be unwilling to come if the attraction were sufficient. Boguljuboff is a big burly Russian who made himself liked during the London tournament some years ago. It is doubtful, however, whether he is better than his fellowcountryman, Alekhine, who is now settled in Paris, but did not go to Moscow, as he is not an admirer of the Soviet Government. I am told that the authorities there did the visiting players well, no doubt as a matter of propaganda. Mr Cyril Reardon. Mr Reardon, the young city man who was found shot in Kensigton, was at one time, I am told, worth something like £500,000. The money was made out of South Wales shipping, the greater part of the great fortune being lost after the war. During the last few months he had been engaged in ■ the city marine insurance, and usually

quented by shipping men, just off Leadenhall Street. The tragedv is the more surprising because he was always regarded as a man of particularly cheerful disposition. William Gillett’s Friends. The late Mr William Gillett had, I hear, written his memoirs, though not with any intention of publishing them while he lived. They should be very readable, if only by reason of the brilliant and interesting personages he met. How many people he knew in a general way may be gathered from the fact that he missed few functions of any sort. He once said that he knew a thousand members of the Bachelors’ Club, and “they all introduce me to their sisters and cousins, which. I suppose, makes another two thousand.” He added that he knew also two thousand members of the Carlton Club. Bereaved Statesmen. Among the politicians who hope to seek the sun during the Parliamentary recess is Sir Robert Horne., I believe he contemplates a visit to Egypt, to which he is attracted by the fact that he is a director of the Suez Canal. He will probably be accompanied by his sister, who was the devoted companion and nurse of her mother in her recent illness. It is a curious fact that no fewer than four of our leading statesmen have lost an aged and revered mother within the last few months — Lord Haldane (whose mother was a centenarian), the Prime Minister, the Lord Chancellor, and Sir Robert Horne. All four were women of great force of character, and justly proud of the eminence attained by their sons. Lord D’Abernon’s Return. A movement is on foot, I hear, to enertain Lord D’Abernon at a public dinner on his return from the British Embassy at Berlin. He has held that post during a period of unprecedented difficulty, and has contrived not only to establish friendly relations with Germany, but to make important contributions to the solution of the European problem. His earlier training in finance enabled him to play a great part in the Dawes scheme. He and Lady D’Abernon (who as one of the Duncomes is closely connected with London social and political life) have made the British Embassy in Berlin a centre for a wide variety of activities, musical, artistic, and social, and their departure will be deeply regretted by the Germans. Lord D ’Abernon’s return, I suspect, is delayed owing to the difficulty of finding a successor. An Ominous Tune. Not a hundred miles from St. Paul’s there is a genuine “Bolshie” club. Its membership is not exclusively Russian .though it includes most of the Soviet’s London staff and Moscow’s commercial entourage in the city, and presumably its tenets are sea-green incorruptible Bolshevism. The walls bear portraits of Lenin and Trotsky, and, when the latter hero was recently somewhat under a cloud in Russia, I believe there was a great conflict in the club over his retention or removal. Like all Russians, the London Sovieteers are great singers. They practice some weirdly beautiful Gipsy folk songs, and sing them admirably for hours. But their latest number suggests a rather sinisiter innuendo, considering the grissly annals of the existing Moscow regime. It is the familiar air of “Down Among the Dead Men“! Can it be their appropriate way of speeding some valued members about to return to Russia, In Good Time. It is usually a condition of an insurance policy that notice of a claim must be given promptly, but a woman who a short time ago made a claim on I a well-known London office must have created a record in promptness. She called at the insurance office and said she was making a claim on her husband’s life policy under which she was entitled to some £5O. She was given a form to fill up and put in the time of her husband’s death as on a date still a week ahead. The manager pointed out this discrepancy and suggested she had made a mistake. “Oh dear, no,” she assured him, “he’s to be hanged on that date.” The manager assures me that the lady did not seem unduly upset by the prospect. The Broad Arrow The decision to remove the broad arrow from prisoners’ clothing has given rise to some controversy about the famous symbol. What, in fact, w r as its origin? Wrapped in obscurity, it was, in the late seventeeth century, the armorial cognisance of the Earl of Romney, Master of the Ornance. In 1698 the Government prosecuted a marine store dealer for “employing the mark of His Majesty to distinguish his wares.” The dealer escaped punishment curiously. He merely remarked that it was passing strange that the King and he should both favour the same private mark! Ancient Icelandic Sagas speak of the “great triple god” and, bearing in mind that the broad arrow, in such connection, signifies a harpoon and therefore a means of obtaining a livelihood from the waters, its ancient importance is made manifest. A Convict’s Return. I wonder if it has even been the lot of a convict before to be welcomed on his homecoming by a beflagged street and a prodigious amount of neighbourly hand-shaking. This was the experience of a man in London yesterday when he returned to his humble rooms after completing seven years penal servitude. I was not able to ascertain the man’s whole story. But he must have had some fine traits in his character to hold local sympathy of this sort. The mean slum street in which he lieves, looked, which flags and its bunting, as though it had been prepared for a Royal procession. Men’s Fashions. West End tailors now busy with Christmas orders are not sorry the double-breasted jacket has gone out of fashion. The suit most in demand is single-breasted and requires less material than the double-breasted effect of last season. It is usually made with three buttons, of which only the middle one is used, but there is a tendency to return to the two-button style, the upper one being high up to give a “lacedin” appearance. The outside breastpocket, which must contain a white handkerchief with a coloured border, is an inch higher up, and the sleeves are being cut rather smaller. With these new suits spats appear to bo absolutely essential, and are perhaps more fashionable than ever. It is not unusual for a young man to have as many as fifteen pairs—in colours to blend with the shade of each suit and overcoat in his wardrobe. A few execessively smart men have been wearing white spats with evening dress, but this is a fad doomed not to become universal.

There is one thing in the new fashions for, which the Old School is grateful. The soft silk shirt with evening dress is dead, and no man now dare appear in public after dark except in the starchiest of shirts. The Zoo’s Latest. Last week-end I spent a most interesting afternoon at the Zoo, w’hich has special attractions in the winter “off” season, not only in the way of hibernating peculiarities on the part of‘ the “exhibits,” but because there are no festive crowds, the animals arc normal and good-tempered, and all sorts of unexpected and engaging notabilities arc to be encountered outside the cages. The latest Zoo development is artificial sunshine for the more Equatorial animals. It has not quite got as far as ul-tra-violet rays yet, but a monkey-house annex is being tried experimentally with make-believe sunshine. The monkeys just love it. They are, like so many of their degenerate human relations, intensely temperamental people, and feel the British climate adversely in the dreary winter months. But now they are suddenly encountering brilliant sunshine in mid-winter, and the home-from-home feeling is manifested by a wonderful cheering up even of the most despondent apes. The question arises, could the venerable tortoise be “spoofed” thus into metaphorically coming out of his winter shell? Worth It! The outstanding hero of the ’Varsity rugger match was W. E. Tucker, of Sherborne and Caius, the Cambridge captain, who was undoubtedly the best forward, whether in the scrum or in the loose, on the field. He is sure to make the fourth successive Light Blue skipper who has stopped straight into England’s international side during his ’Varsity fame. lam wondering whether Tucker’s magnificent game, which was played with amazing speed and elan from start to finish, was to any extent inspired by something more than mere sportsmanship and pride of ’Varsity. Because Tucker knew then, w'hat I have learned now, that his father, one of the finest forwards the Light Blues ever had, and in his day too, captain of the team, was looking on. Moreover, Tucker pore had travelled from Bermuda, some thousands of weary miles, just to watch Tucker fils on the great day. In the circumstances of this interesting hierarchy, and seeing the way Tucker fils acquitted himself in honour of the family tradition, I would wager that the Old Blue holds exultantly that it was worth it. The Ex-Service Man. The big crowd for the ’Varsity rug ger match always attracts a variety of wayside entertainers to Twickenham. This year a new performer stood out conspicuously among these Bohemians of the open-air vaudeville. He was a handsome young man in the twenties, obviously ex-service ,and probably of commissioned rank. He was wearing the correct attire for athletic sports, his running singlet and shorts being spotlessly white enough for Queen’s arena. By the roadside near the rugger ground he had erected two upright wands with a loose cross-stick placed at 4ft Bin. And, despite the fact that his right leg had been amputated at the hip, he was lightly clearing the bar with a leftlegged jump. He stood with his crutch, cast the latter under the bar, took two hops on his one leg, and sailed over faultlessly. He made no oral appeal to the crowd. But I fancy they made a good response to his gallant silence.