City and Suburban
BY JOHN BETJEMAN IWAS one of the six thousand who visited Chatsworth on Bank Holiday Monday and was there until the gardens shut at six. I saw only seven pieces of litter in all the gardens and have come to the conclusion that people north of the Trent throw less litter about than those south of it. Here in North Cornwall, where I write this, there is paper everywhere, along the roads, on the beaches, on the cliffs. Of course, as soon as one goes away from the recognised beauty spots and with the aid of a one-inch map discovers the unfrequented places that are more truly beautiful, there is no litter. I suppose that is because the people who visit such places really like them. There was no litter at Pepper Hole near Padstow, which is the most terrifying cliff scenery I have seen in Cornwall. Suddenly in the turf one comes across a hole about fifty yards in diameter, where black slate veined with white and green falls sheer for two hundred feet, and at the bottom the sunlit Atlantic foams under an arch over unapproachable boulders. Whenever I see majestic cliffs like these. 1 long to visit the Shetland Isles. For if a mere 200 feet is so spine-chilling, what must the cliffs of Foula be like, that rarely visited island with its remote people, where the cliffs are 1,200 feet high? A friend told me he recently visited the remoter northern isles; Fetlar, which is so fertile, Outer Skerries, and so on. He even went to Fair Isle. The well- being of the community there depends on six young bachelors who do all the heavy work and man the weekly boat for Lerwick. The rest of the population knits and farms and feverishly knits again. But he never reached Foula because it is so difficult of access. He just saw the great cliffs.
SWAKELEYS
Middlesex still has a patch of real country north of Uxbridge and here is one of its few remaining country houses, Swakeleys, once a show place full of Elizabethan panelling and plasterwork. The Foreign Office Sports Association owned it from 1927 to 1954. The Army had it during the war and of course did much damage. Since then all the plumbing has been stolen, but not before the inside of the house was flooded from the excess of bathrooms put in by the Foreign Office and the inadequate guttering in the roof. The present tenant is the London Postal Staff Sports Association. The Harrington screen survives inside, one or two tine fireplaces, two pretty ceilings and some murals. But most of the house is in a shocking state from damp and neglect. Swakeleys is scheduled as an Ancient Monument; the National Trust has something to do with it, but I don't know quite what, and the Uxbridge Borough Council for a peppercorn rent keeps part of the grounds and the lake in a filthy condition. This place is precious because of its unique position as a country house near London apart from its undoubted merit and attraction. Perhaps the Minister of Works will be able to arrange concerted action among the many interested parties to save it.
ENGLISH PLEASURES
I conclude with a few extracts from summer holiday diaries along different parts of the coast-line : `After half an hour of beggar-my-neighbour those of us who were old enough played whist until it was time for lunch.'
`Because the towels were still wet from yesterday and the children had slight colds. we decided not to bathe in the rain.'
`All of us had seen the film at the New Era, but we thought it would be pleasanter than another walk in this high wind.'
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