SPECTATOR'S NOTEBOOK
J. W. M. TIIOMPSON
The big retrospective exhibition of Henry Moore's work which opened at the Tate this week is a breathtaking experience, an astonish- ing testimonial to the creative powers of one man. If you bear in mind as you go round the gallery that an exhibition of similar size and scope is on view simultaneously in Germany, the achievement seems all the more remarkable. All this, of course, is in honour of Moore's seventieth birthday—an arbitrary but con- venient opportunity to salute him, and one which is being seized in many countries. When, I wonder, was a British artist last accorded such international acclaim? Not since Turner, cer- tainly. Of course, the world today has shrunk and it is natural for big reputations to straddle continents; but by the same token the harsh winds of criticism and even fashion are likely to be felt more keenly. Moore's impressive achievement has been to build his extraordinary world-wide reputation steadily over the years without any sacrifice of his integrity or his independence.
One marvels, too, at the vigour and youthfulness with which he has arrived at this particular landmark of being seventy. He is an infallibly cheering and stimulating friend; in- deed, one can see that this open-mindedness and unflagging response to life are central to his nature, and are thus at the core of his art. There was a suitably cheerful birthday dinner for him and his friends at the Tate on Tuesday; I would guess that what pleased him most about it was the acknowledgement, offered by a young sculptor, of the debt which succeeding genera- tions of artists owe to Henry Moore—partly for practical encouragement, and partly because he lifted sculpture in this country from the depths to the heights. Meanwhile London this summer has a marvellous exhibition of a great man's life work.
Time out of mind
Largely unnoticed in the press of more clamorous matters, the Bill to introduce `British Standard Time' (which means perpetual summer time) slipped past its third reading the other day. The country is thus committed to a three-year experiment with the clock : and, as one Labour opponent of the measure re- marked, 'the people have not quite woken up yet to what it will mean.' It will mean, among other things, an extra spell of dark mornings to be endured by millions in the next three winters at least, and in the north the sun will not rise until ten o'clock or thereabouts in the depths of winter—which isn't going to be widely popular. The history of this 'reform' is indeed odd : it was initiated on the premise that substantial economic benefits would result, but in the course of the parliamentary discussions these began to look very dubious, and it was eventually conceded that the economic argu- ments were evenly balanced. Then it was said that the advantages of synchronising our clocks with Europe would be valuable, but these, too, were ultimately admitted to be minimal. In the end the Bill was pushed through by the use of the Government whips (surely a wholly in- appropriate application of party discipline) apparently in the vague belief that changing the clock had something to do with 'modernisa- tion' and 'progress.' Mr David Ennals, for the Home Office, ad-. vanced a number of bizarre arguments, includ- ing the unfathomable one that old people would somehow benefit. But amid various arguments that seemed trivial or silly, one which is actively distasteful emerged : the view that it was neces- sary to make the experiment for three winters, instead of merely one, because that would in- duce people to exercise their ingenuity and adaptability in changing their habits to fit the new time. This is an unpleasant 'social en- gineering' approach. First introduce an experi- ment for a hich there is no evidence of genuine public demand : then insist on protracting it so that people have no choice but to adjust their lives to conform. Not democracy, in fact, but government by the conditioned reflex.
Love me, love my car
Of all lobbies the 'motorist' lobby is probably the most preposterous. Even so, it doesn't often produce anything quite so silly as the protests against the recent increase in the cost of a driving test from £1 to £1 15s. In view of the fact that the country has actually been sub- sidising these tests to the tune of more than half a million pounds a year, this increase might be thought both modest and belated; no doubt it would have been so regarded had it affected any activity but the hallowed one of motoring.
The general intention of the motorist lobby seems to be to represent motorists as an ill- used and deprived minority, groaning beneath state tyranny in fiendish variety. The flaw in this picture is its complete contradiction of the truth: it's a matter of simple observation that there is scarcely any field of human activity which is not generally held to be inevitably subordinate to the needs of the motor-car. The curious fact is that, along with the general and unquestioned assumption that the needs of the motor-car must be paramount, there exists this parallel belief that the 'poor old motorist' never has enough done for him. Does this irrationality flourish because the act of driving a car in itself produces an isolated, illusory frame of mind, one step removed from the realities of life, its subject a prey to fantasies of power or victimisation?
Profit and loss Lord Thomson provided his readers with an in- teresting glimpse of the strange economics of newspapers this week. Every copy of his Sun- day Times, he said, cost is 6d to produce, and in return he received only sevenpence or eight- pence from the selling price of one shilling. The rest had to be made up from advertising revenue. I dare say this surprised some readers —as would Lord Thomson's sad observation that `every time our circulation goes up we stand to lose money.' But if they happened to see the Daily Telegraph account of these re- marks their tears at Lord Thomson's plight would remain unshed. The Telegraph added the feline footnote that 'average sales of the Sun- day Times for the first six months of this year were 1,460,994. Figures for the same period last year were 1,511,948.' Are we to assume that decrease came as something of a relief to Lord Thomson?
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