Another voice
A fairly entertaining organ
Auberon Waugh
Aude, France As the Jews never tire of pointing out on French television, most Frenchmen seem anti-Semitic in one way or another. This seldom takes the form of high- principled or 'serious' anti-Zionism such as one sometimes finds in fairly serious English journals of the libertarian right. Even in Petainist southern France, there is a general feeling (not shared by the French government) that the Israelis have done a grand job in the Lebanon, that they should have done it years ago, that, on balance, the creation of the State of Israel was one of this century's better ideas. Rather it takes the form of a certain wariness in their ap- proach to Jews where commercial matters are concerned, even scepticism in matters which do not, at first glance, seem to have any commercial relevance. Few of my military friends seem to have forgiven Dreyfus for whatever he did or didn't do. All of which is most distressing for a Fran- cophile. In vain I point to the discovery of Patrick Marnham (in Lourdes: A Modern Pilgrimage, Heinemann 1980) that the shrine of Lourdes, which has brought such enormous prosperity to the region, was largely the creation of a Jewish financier and former Minister of Finance, Achille Fould. Sad to say, they even question Marn- ham's motives for advancing this theory. In fact it seems to me that Marnham will have a number of questions to answer if ever he revisits these parts.
Perhaps I should have been more assiduous in my efforts to do justice to Marnham's point of view, but it seemed to me that after his preemptive speculations in Spectator's diary for 28 August about my likely subjects for discussion in this column, I had a certain duty to break new ground. I had intended to discuss the possibility of a February military coup in France. Then there was the fact that topless nudity on the Aude riviera has now spread to the lower regions of the body. We might surely have discussed that. Many, like myself, will welcome this development, since it transforms a spectacle which was vaguely distressing to the more chivalrous side of one's nature into one which is unmistakably comical to the baser, more caddish side.
Instead of which I find myself endlessly discussing Patrick Marnham. Some little time ago he uncharacteristically confided what hiS middle initial stood for. It is a con- fidence which I would happily betray, under the circumstances, except that I have forgotten what he told me. Was it Horatio? Hercules? Hannah? Hadolf? Hyacinth? Probably the last.
'I sometimes think that never blows so Red The Rose as where some buried Caesar bled; That every Hyacinth the Garden wears Dropped in her lap from some once lovely head.'
(from the Rubaiyat, I think) Plainly my last dispatch this year from France — smuggled at some considerable personal risk past the censors, bounced off a passing satellite to the SAS Headquarters in Chewton Mendip — cannot discuss any of the burning issues of the moment, since these have been preempted by Marnham's little paragraph in Spectator's Notebook. If I cannot discuss how France may seem to the Spectator, let me at least discuss how the Spectator seems from France, as it degenerates into the house magazine of a tiny group of friends endlessly making private jokes about each other interlaced with profoundly serious and responsible misgivings about Israeli aggression in the Near East.
The same issue that contained Marn- ham's deeply wounding paragraph carried a letter from Kingsley Amis, the middle-aged Tory who recently denied any claim to have been a Captain in the British army. The Spectator's coverage of the Falklands episode had cleared up one small point, he wrote: 'whether you run a fairly responsible journal of the libertarian Right or a fairly entertaining magazine. You run a fairly entertaining magazine.' He concluded that he would keep his subscription, 'though I suppose it is a bit frivolous of me'.
In 22 years as a professional journalist, I have often wondered what it is that makes people write to a newspaper, unless to cor- rect some point of information about themselves or reply to an attack. Where professional writers are concerned, it is even odder, since they are not paid for their contributions. Mr Amis's intention would appear to have been to register his dissent from the views expressed by various writers on the Falklands adventure. But I am im- mensely pleased that he decided we were a ' fairly entertaining magazine' rather than 'a responsible journal of the libertarian Right'. Nothing is more asinine, nor more stultifying than the deliberate adoption of a classifiable set of attitudes. It is the sign of the bigot and fanatic to process all thought through the same ideological mincing machine, and the sign of a fool to expect it to be done for him. What would be a responsible attitude of the libertarian Right towards topless bathing in the Midi, Jews, Arabs and Christians in the Lebanon, Argentinians and kelpers in the Falkland Islands? Oh, stuff it, Kingsley. There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamed of in any political philosophy. It is the voice of the old leftie seeking guidance, the convert ever anxious to be more Catholic than the Pope. The Falklands adventure was a ghastly gamble for no lasting advantage. The Royal Wedding was cheaper and more enjoyable. There is plen- ty of time to arrange a wedding for Prince Andrew or a State Divorce for Princess Anne before the next General Election.
But the sad truth remains that few people are prepared to be even so frivolous as Mr Amis in their choice of reading matter. An explanation for this occurred to me when I ventured into the beautiful country town of Castelnaudary last week, trying to buy a copy of the Observer to read Alan Watkins's Brief Life of Richard Ingrains• The only English newspaper available was the Sunday Times, which carried this brag- ging message on its front page: 'The business men and women who earn most, hold most directorships, fly most often, take most holidays abroad, invest most and hold most credit cards all read the Sunday Times more than any other national newspaper or magazine ... A new indepen- dent survey shows that 32.3 per cent of businessmen read the Sunday Times, which outstrips the Sunday Telegraph ...'
If this disgusting claim is true -- and I would not trust anyone to tell the truth who described himself as a 'businessman' — then the only conclusion to be drawn is that the wrong sort of people are getting to the top in business. No wonder Britain is in such dire straits. A leader in the same issue exactly portrays the sort of person who reads this muck. It is headed 'Redbrick prince' and urges that Prince Edward be sent to a provincial university, on the grounds that Oxford and Cambridge are bad for the country. This is how it starts:
'Many parents, in face of A-level results of the kind Prince Edward has pulled in, are this weekend gloomily reconciling themselves to their ewe lamb's passing three or four years at a university that is not Ox- ford or Cambridge; and that is what the ewe lamb will duly do ... ' I suppose Mr Frank Giles's baby female sheep are slightly preferable to Mr Harold Evans's baby goats, but it still won't do. If these are the sort of people who will be run- ning the country, the only thing is to get out of it, like my dear niece Emily (eight 'A', one 'B' at 0 level, four 'A' at A level, two 'S' levels, open scholarship in Classics to Balliol), who is now working for the Red Cross in Thailand.
In fact it occurs to me that with so many Marxist moles in the system, Prince Edward was lucky to get two 'C's and a 'D'. Oxford and Cambridge are quite right to pay little attention to GCE results, but they still ac- cept a disgracefully high proportion of in- adequate candidates from the comprehen- sive schools. When the highest ranks of all employment in the civil and diplomatic ser- vices, banking, insurance and, above all, business, are restricted to graduates from Oxford and Cambridge, perhaps a few more people will buy the Spectator.
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