PRIVATE DIARIES SIR,—Many of your readers will have been entertained
by Mr. Harold Nicolson's article in your issue of January 2nd. No one will doubt that, with his exceptional powers of observation, deduction, and de- scription, and his special opportunities, he is producing a journal that will be valued by posterity, if not so certainly by his great-grand- children, though these may be thrilled to read that there was a time when he had as many as two eggs for breakfast. My own perform- ance has been on a far more modest scale, and I write for the purpose of reassuring those novices who started a diary on New Year's Day and have been sc friihtened by Mr. Nicolson's picture of typewritten sheets upon sheets that they have already abandoned their project.
From my i8th year to my 75th I have kept a :,ocket diary, recording my small doings day by day, the weather and letters received. It happens that I have at my command a tiny script, and when any- thing of special interest has needed registration, I have been able to write a good deal in a little space. This diary has been written up at any odd moment, and has been kept for my own satisfaction, without any eye on potential great-grandchildren, or on the general public, or on anyone at all but myself. Mr Nicolson, who writes with such 'enviable and prolific ease, would find it shockingly meagre. Nevertheless, such an imperfect chronicle has not only been of daily service to me for casual reference to events that may only have been a few days or a few weeks old, and for verifying names and dates, but, after a longer interval, has formed a sort of ladder on which re- collection could climb with sure feet.
In my old age I find it the most agreeable of pastimes to open one of these small volumes and to accompany my stripling self on some happy continental iourney, or his mature successor on a Mediterranean cruise, or a visit to Egypt, America or Australia. And yet these high- lights are scarcely more exciting to me than are plain records of every- day occurrences, of country walks, of great discussions, of plays seen and books read, and of first encounters with men and women who have afterwards become dear friends.
Memory is kindled by these jottings, incidents half-forgotten suddenly come alive. If I had the literary gift as well as the inclination (two very large " ifs ") I believe I could build up with their aid a narrative that my great-great-grandchildren might care to glance at. At any rate, it would have an authentic basis. That they may ultimately partake of pleasure like that I am now enjoying I would urge all faltering beginners to persist in their good New Year's resolution, and to use a pen and not a typewriter, if they can write legibly. Unfortunately this is also nowadays rather a large "if."—Yours faithfully,
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