IA Letter from London

Wanganui Chronicle, Volume LXXXIII, Issue 19919, 15 August 1927, Page 10

IA Letter from London

Special Correspondent.

AH Rights Reserved.

LONDON, June 30. Her New Home. No doubt the chief joy of the little Duchess of York’s homecoming was her baby. She had been separated from Princess Elizabeth for six months, leaving her a wee infant of eight months, and returning to find her a lisping child of fourteen months. That makes all the difference in the interest of childish personality, already beginning to dawn in the small Princess, who manifests a pretty little imperious way not unlike either Queen Alexandra her great grandmamma, or Good Queeu Bess, of Armada fame, her illustrious Royal namesake. But after her delight in being proudly greeted by her baby with au eager “Mamma!” the Duchess must have turned with feminine instinct to survey her London home. The Piccadilly mansion was a bare house in the decorators’ hands when she and the Duke left for their Australasian tour. The Duchess found it furnished, -under Queen Alary’s attentive orders, with everything spick and span, and all the wedaing-present penates cleverly disposed to advantage. Lord Oxford. From the fact that Lord Oxford did not attend to take part in the House of Lords debate on {Second Chamber reform, his friends draw the inference that his state of health is worse than they have been led to believe, in view of His special responsibility in conneo tion witn the problem, he would certainly have travelled to London if he could have done so. 1 understand that he has been suffering from a sc-{ vere and painful attack of neuritis in the leg, and that he is forbidden any movement which can be avoided. His general health, however, is quite satis- ’ Laulory. Second Chamber Socialists. If the Government scheme materialises for the supplementing of the hereditary peers selected by their fellows with a certain dumber of nominated Socialists, the first to be chosen will clearly be Mr. George Bernard Shaw. He did once secure admission to an elected body—the late London School Board —but that was by appealing for “the support of the cultured few,” and such, was the eagerness to be in that company that he had a comfortable majority. But in a House predominantly aristocratic, he would find his old colleagues of tne Fabian Society, Air. Sidney Webb, who by means of the microphones with which the House of Lords is equipped might be audible, as he has never yet been in the Commons. Messrs. Cole, Tawney and others of the intelligentsia might be sent to bear them company. Anything would be a relief to the dullness of the present Socialist peers.

Drawing Moscow’s Teeth. From a well-informed source I hear that, alarmed at last by the persistence of the Russian Soviet’s suuterranean attacks on Western Europe’s existing civilisation, an important decision has been reached between the chief Chancellories regarding common policy. As the result of recent revelations and earnest conversations, what may be termed an economic entente cordiaie has been formed, and Moscow will fin-1 its vital economic development perilously jeopardised by lack of financial backing unless there is a genuine change of heart on-the part of the Soviet leaders, in plain words, Russia will not be permuted to continue to wage secret war against States who are, if not friendly, at least strictly neutral. So long as the Soviet tolerates militant Communism against its neighbours, Moscow will be subjected to a sort of economic blockade. Germany and Italy, as well as France and Britain, will tacitly co-operate in this significant policy, which is the only answer to the Soviet s unprecedented “proletariat war.” A Unique Anniversary. On Wednesday, June 29, the venerable Minster of Fork —one of the glories of the North Country—was the scene of the celebrations of the 1,300 th anniversary of its foundation. The celebrations are to last for seven days. Of course, the present Minster is not so venerable as all that, and all the present fabric is of a later date than the Norman Conquest. The history of the Minster, however, can be said to date from 627, when Edwin, King of Northwas baptised in a small wooden church, which he erected for the purpose. A well in the crypt of the Miuster as it stands to-day is pointed out by the verger as the probable site of Edwin’s baptism It has been said, “Happy is the country that has no history.” To acquire history, however, is a risk all good Americans are prepayed to undertake. They make no sq cret of their envy of our venerable and historical buildings. In London they covet Westminster Abbey; in the West country, Webs Cathedral, and in theNorth three of the buildings they would like to transport across the “herring pond” are York Alinster, Durham Cathedral, and Holyrood. Many Americans who have preserved their lineage visit these shrines because their forbears came from those neighbourhoods. They aspire to share the pride w-e all feel in our antiquities, and it would be churlish to do otherwise than sympathise with their aspirations, io yield to them, would be another matter; and, to do them justice, would only earn their contempt.

A Cow-boy Cure. Americans now on wholesale visits to this country, mainly in Students Clubs, confirm the report that, by going to h-s ranch jn Alberta as often as he can, the Prince of Wales has set a new fashion which will derive all the more force now that he is due there again this summer, when he crosses the Atlantic in company with Mr. Baldwin. Nowadays, it seems, business men from the States are taking a sort of cow-boy cure in Canadian ranches, and find an outdoor existence in sombrero and “shaps” very good for nerves lacerated by daily hustle on Broadway and elsewhere. So large, it is said, has this invasion become that ranchers over the border are laying out their homesteads

to receive them, and providing them with suitable horseflesh for this characteristically strenuous application of the simple life to tenderfoot magnates. St. Stephen’s Hall Pa.int.-mgs.

The St Stephen’s Hall paintings, which the Prime Alinister unveiled this week, are a great success. Probably the favourite canvas will be that of Mr. A. K. Lawrence, a young artist, who depicts Queen Elizabeth and Raleigh, but many will admire still more the serene ajid placid beauty of the landscape in Air. George Clausen’s picture of the Wyclifites. Mr. Charles Sims’ “King John at Runnymede” is a little disappointing—too worried and incoherent for a mural work. As a whole, however, the scheme, which is said to be the most important of the kind undertaken in this country since the ALiddle Ages, is a noble enrich-* meat of the Palace of Westminster. Since he was el acted to the Speaker’s Chair, Mr. Whiney has taken a keen interest in the interior decoration of the House of Parliament. It is mainly to his initiative that we owe the four mosaics recently placed in the Central Hall and St. Stephen’s Halt These were presented by members of the House of Commons—Sir William Raeburn, Sir Patrick Ford, Sir Joseph Walton and Sir Robert Houston. The eight paintings have been given by peers, but six of the donors sat for a good many years in the other House—the Duke of Devonshire, the Earl of Derby, Viscounts Devenport, Burnham, Fitz Alan

and Younger. The other two are the Dukes of Portland and Bedford. In spite of political difference, members of Parliament have a strong corporate pride in the institution to which they belong, and Air. Whitley is to be congratulated on the success with which, he has appealed to it on this occasion. Jazz! There is now on furlough in London from Northern Rhodesia, one of those countrymen of ours, “blooded to the open and the sky,” who are the rivets of the links of Empire. For over a decade he has lived away in the wilds, a policeman with a beat of a thousand miles. When he left his distant station, the natives, lined up squatting on their hams, gently beat their hands as he walked past them as a tribute c.f respect and good will. When ue dressed for dinner on his homewardbound Castle liner, the feel of a stiff collar was almost intolerable. But what was really intolerable, to this dusky forelooper, was the band after dinner. It was his first introduction to jazz, and its obvious nigger origin and import revolted him. It struck him as a racial indecency, and filled his mind with unpleasant thoughts of another Babylon tottering obscenely to oblivion. Symptoms! The impressions of this pioneer from the African wilds, who has just worn his first linen collar for three years and heard jazz for the first time in his life, are amusing to post-war moderns here at home. But not entirely negligible perhaps. What reminded me of them was the news of the latest Paris sensation over the marriage of Josephine Baker, the coloured dancer at the Foiies Bergere, and Count Repito di A lbertini, whose father is an old patrician Colonel in the Italian Army. I have seen the beautiful ancestral Palace of the bridegroom’s family, one -'f the oldest of Italy’s proud aristocracy, in Palermo—a stately home of ancient dignity. The last time I saw the bride, a shapely Aphrodite with a gleaming coffee-satin skin and immense clan, she was attired in a cincture of bananas amid the blaze of footlights. The vivid apotheosis of jazz! A Profitable Deal. I hear that a Scottish member of the House of Commons has just cleared a profit of nearly three-quarters of a million on a transaction in artificial silk shares. He got in early and on the ground-floor, and his confidence had been justified by results. He was already a wealthy man, and he had sunk a considerable part of his new acquisition in the purchase of a beautiful estate in Perthshire. At least, so his colleagues say. The Heaven Dog’s Feast. It must be accounted a merciful dispensation of Providence that this eclipse of ours was not visible in China. The Chinese at the best of times always make a big fuss over eclipses and comets and such like phenomena, and, when they happen to coincide with national crises, they are prone to create unpleasants incidents. Even an ordinary eclipse of the moon is an occurrence which turns the whole teeming population of Cathay into a state of wild excitement. The idea is that the Heaven Dog—a kind of Pekinese of gargantuan proportions—is attempting to swallow the heavenly regulator of the calendar. From the first moment that the shadow falls upon the orb, everybody is out in the open spaces or upon the house tops, and trying to do his bit to scare the celectial puppy from his ill-con-trived repast. If the eclipse is only partial, the hullabaloo created by the beating of gongs, metal washbasins, and other household crocks will probably prove sufficient to save the situation. When the disappearance of the moon is total, however, nothing short of gunpowder will meet the case, and a barrage of millions of fire-crackers has to he discharged to make the brute disgorge. Hitherto the event, for countless ages, has been countered happily, but even the most sophisticated Chinaman does not like to contemplate what might happen if the dog worried the moon when nobody was looking. A Great University. Another step has been taken in making London University worthy of the Metropolis by the completion of the purchase of the Bloomsbury site, at the back of the British Museum, from the Duke of Bedford at a cost of half a million. This has only been made possible by the munificent gift of £400,000 from the Rockefeller Founda-

tion, so that we are under a deep obligation to America. More than a quarter of all the Univcrsi.y students in Great Britain are in this university, and it is to be hoped that, despite recent attacks, it will maintain those truly democratic principles upon which it was founded. Joys of Shanghai j The British soldier is nothing if not ; at home wherever he may be. Shangi hai is not a summer resort by any I means, with 97 per cent, of moisture, and officers and men wearing rubber bands round their arms at mess to prevent the perspiration dripping on their food. Yet give him a chance of sport —of any kind whatsoever —and Tommy is happy, albeit he curses the other discomforts. At Shanghai the racecourse has been a perfect god-send. It matters not whether the animals be donkeys, transport horses, chargers, or polo ponies. They race; that is sufficient. So the Shanghai ‘Derby’ of 1927 will go down to history as one of the “classics” of the Far East, and a sweep with £25,000 for the winner. All the civilians were in it, and not a few of the Chinese, who, by the way, are coming back again to behave themselves sociably with the so-called ‘ ‘ British Imperialist tyrants.” Then there is the river, some wild duck shooting, a -little polo, and athletics of all kinds —even football in the heat. Each regiment has about 30 footballs, and if the men cannot play, they kick the ball about to* the great amusement of * the sophisticated Chink. The curfew is at an end for the time being, and the signs arc good that there will be no bloodshed —just so long as we are there. The Wimbledon Stars. It is one thing to win matches on the Wimbledon courts and another and perhaps more difficult thing to win the approbation of the countless multitudes who fill the seats of the centre court. Amongst the men, Borotra, I should say, is the “darling” of the crowd. The whole game is a huge joke to him, and his high spirits are infectious. Tilden, on the other hand, has never captured the hearts of the audience. He is the Hagen of American lawn tennis. By Contrast Helen Wilis is universally voted “a dear.” She is quiet, sweet, and feminine—very much to the court at Wimbledon what the “little Duchess” is to the Court . of St. James’. The Senorita de Alvarez, w'ho was everyone’s favourite last year, has been perhaps a little bit spoilt thereby. Both the German competitors, though they made an early exit, won a host of friends. The Authentic Thrill.

One heaYs queer tales of the exploitation of our cheerful and incurably inquisitive American visitors, of whom there are just now great numbers over here. It has been alleged that our Loudon crooks queue up at Southampton as the liners arrive, waiting for the Yanks, and assiduously polishing up their “gold bricks,” and other equipment for plundering the wealthy pilgrims. One enterprising concern in London has, I hear, hit on a most lucrative and amusing line. They are running, with the utmost secrecy and at fancy prices, regular East End rubberneck excursions; personally conducted, which include a midnight visit to an opium den. The thrilled Americans are, with a great hush-hush ado, taken stealthily ; into a most realistic “den,” where, they gaze with awe on recumbent vic- j tims of the De Quincy habit. Even ' after paying all expenses connected 1 with fitting up the cellar, and hiring the supers who enact the opium fiends, there is quite a handsome profit. “Coronel” Battle Film. No detail is being omitted to give the “CoronclT’ battle film reality and accuracy. One of the chief . parts is I being enacted by a dachshund, which 1 answers to the unimaginative name. I “ Simon-Toes,” and is supposed to have been Admiral Von Spee’s pet and companion during his exciting engagements at the Falkland Islands. 1 saw this canine actor at Waterloo last week with his master, Air. R... G. Glenday. They were, leaving for Weymouth, where “Simon Toes” is to contribute another incident to the spectacular film. In several of the scenes already “shot” he has played prominent parts, and during the next few days he will do a high dive from the bridge into the sea amid a number of struggling “German’ ’ sailors, supposed to have already jumped overboard from the sinking Scharnhorst. “Simon Toes” has taken to his new occupation with remarkable alacrity and skill, and when the whole film is produced his will not be the least effective part. Although Englishowned, the dog is a mixture of foreign production. His sire is a German and his mother an American, prize dachshund.