MARGINAL COMMENT
By HAROLD NICOISON IHAVE been reading with respect and bewilderment the correspondence published in The Times newspaper on the subject of Mrs. Dale's diary. My respect is based upon the natural reverence aroused by anything that is printed in that august journal. My bewilderment is due to my inability to determine whether these letters had been written seriously or not. For years, in season and out of season, I have upon this page denounced thesense of humour as a flabby attribute, as an escape from difficult reality, as an indulgence destructive of concentration and will-power, as a pastime unworthy of an alert or logical mind. Yet I admit that there come moments when the possession of this sense may be of value in helping us to determine whether any given remark or letter is, or is not, intended to be funny. Did I possess a sense of humour I should be able without hesitation to decide whether Mrs. Shaw of Forkham, when she writes accusing Mrs. Dale of " paganism " owing to her forgetfulness of Easter Sunday, was really indignant or just being amusing. I should not be bewildered when Mr. Harrap of Chelsea asserts that he knows only one middle-class family and that the members of that family have never heard of Candide and the Unfinished Symphony. And I should recognise that Mr. Harrap, when he adds that indifference to psychology is a sign of "healthy thinking," is being deliciously jocose. As it is, I am completely at sea. I agree that it was careless of Mrs. Dale to remember that Monday was a Bank Holiday and to forget that Sunday was one of the major feasts of the Church. I agree that it is dreadful not to know about Candide or to regard psychology as "unnecessary." But I am unable to regard ignorance as amusing, and am saddened by these confessions, even as I am saddened when a music-hall comedian sings deliberately out of tune. Yes, there are moments when I regret that, unlike most of my compatriots, I am devoid of a sense of humour. * * * * The bewilderment caused me by these letters on the subject of Mrs. Dale, her family and her circle, was not diminished by the fact that I had never yet heard the lady reading extracts from her diary upon the wireless. I took immediate steps to repair this omission. My confusion became chaotic. Sud- denly, through the medium of a voice as comforting as that of the doctor who talks so confidentially to us on Friday morn- ings, I was transported into a new world. Mrs. Lawford, Tony Coppard, Bert Tompkins, Sally Lane and a whole cohort of unknown people were hurled into the room. All manner of things seemed to happen quickly to these strangers. Jenny had met. Peter and assured him that Bob had nothing to do with the rupture of their engagement. Miriam announced that, before leaving for Canada, she intended to take a house near Parkwood Hill. There was a long, and to my shattered mind, wholly incomprehensible passage about some orchids entrusted to a Mrs. Freeman. Miriam came to luncheon with Mrs. Dale and informed her that Alec had secured a three-years' appoint- ment at the Club. Mrs. Dale, so soothing in her ways, strikes a note of discord by asserting that she dislikes fireworks on Guy Fawkes day. And the whole time they seem to me to be chattering in different accents about jobs and money and dogs. Perhaps the sample that I selected for my instruction was not the best sample that I could have chosen. Perhaps Miss Carr- Jones, who writes Mrs. Dale's diary for her, waS on one of her off-days. But seldom, even in this age of cacophony, have I heard so much uninteresting emptiness discussed in a space of fourteen minutes. If as Mr. Harrap asserts, Mrs. Dale is "holding a mirror up to nature," then I agree with him that she does so with "uncomfortable fidelity."
* * * * I am assured that this daily diary is one of the most popular Of all the items included in the Light Programme. I am willing to believe that, if I possessed the industry needed to master these intricate themes and to become acquainted with the numerous characters, I also would want to learn on Wednes- Foreigners, when they wish to be disagreeable, sometime inform me that, as a nation, we have inactive minds. It is true I suppose, that we do not possess the ardent and restles curiosity that impels other peoples to assume that the ne must in its essence be more interesting than the old, or tha the large or the stupendous is necessarily superior to the sm or comfortable. But it is ridiculous to suggest that we, wh have produced the finest literature in the world and are greatest inventors, suffer from intellectual torpidity. It is rathe that the intellectuals in this country constitute a small, and i a way persecuted, minority and that the great grave mass- seldom think. This seems to me to indicate the excellent sense of proportion that underlies our political institutions, ou attitude towards each other, and our domestic architecture prior to 1850. We intellectuals, valuable though we be, happ as we are, ought certainly to be kept in our place. The example of France should warn us that it is a' dangerous thing for any country when too many of its citizens are clever; the exampl of the United States should warn us that it is also dangerous when the individual members of a community regard them- selves as the equals of even the most eminent of their com= patriots. It is surely better that the mass of the electorate should recognise that some people are more gifted than others and that their gifts, while often useful, are not quite so impor- tant as all that. I do not mind very- much if people have never heard of Candide; but I do mind when they pretend that they have read the book in the original, and have some right to express their views upon its style. Admitted ignorance is far less irritating than the false assumption of knowledge4 and we are " healthy " in regarding learning as the speciality of a small, harmless ad slightly comic minority. I am all for that.
Am I right therefore in agreeing with Mr. Harrap that the mirror held up to our society by the excellent Mrs. Dale reflects with "uncomfortable fidelity " ? From my very slight acquain- tance with her (an acquaintance which will now be allowed to drop) I agree that the reflection is faithful. But is it also; uncomfortable ? It saddens me, I admit; since I regret that more people do not share the excitement of my own interests.' Her diary causes in me' the depression occasioned by a rovk, of suburban houses. Solid, respectable, unimaginative, dull are Mrs. Dale and her friends. But they are sensible and not silly. They constitute a rock-foundation for the domes and pinnacles of the future State. day what really happened to Margaret Henshaw or Stan Skeats. I admit that there is something entrancing in every serial, and that, even if one is bored by the people and their adventures, there is a stirring of curiosity to know what happened in the end. I suppose also that, once one has got to know Mrs. Dale, her husband, her children and her friends, one acquires a sense of familiarity, and becomes interested in their perplexities and troubles. From my own slight acquaintance with her, Mrs. Dale seems a sensible woman, with sound views on life, a deep sense of duty and a rich maternal voice. But it is strange to me that so large a section of the British public should, when life can be so exciting and so various, become passionately interested in the doings and sayings of so dull a community. I know that the main component of the admirable solidity of the British character is our preference for recognition over surprise. We welcome the familiar more than we welcome the unfamiliar, and we feel more comfortable when we identify ourselves with people whose thoughts and feeling are similar to our own. Humiliation and a sense of inadequacy assail us when confronted by people who are better educated or more adventurous than we are ourselves. We actually enjoy the ordinary and are disconcerted by the extraordinary. I know all that. But it still puzzles me why more people do not find Mrs. Dale dull.
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