20 SEPTEMBER 1968, Page 7

SPECTATOR'S NOTEBOOK

J. W. M. THOMPSON

When a commercial enterprise is up for sale it is customary to include in the price a certain sum for the 'goodwill' the purchaser is supposed to be acquiring; and Mr Enoch Powell's whim- sical notion of selling off all the nationalised industries into private hands would presumably imply a similar calculation. I am afraid it would be a highly metaphysical appraisal, very much of t h e how-many-angels-can-dance-on-the- point-of-a-pin variety. Goodwill is the last thing to come to mind in this connection. The other day, after picking up the Select Committee's gloomy account of all these nationalised in- dustries, I tried to think cheerfully of one of our great public utilities which enjoyed any real measure of public approval and favour. It was, I regret to say, an unsuccessful attempt, from the appalling Airports Authority to the sadly discredited Post Office. It's not really surpris- ing that Mr Ian Mikardo and Mr Enoch Powell at least agree that some change is overdue.

Time was, of course, when the public looked fondly on the railways and was proud of the Post Office; yet as it happens these two monopo- lies have distinguished themselves by the unpleasantness of their behaviour lately. The Post Office has been acting like a sorry parody of Big Business, trying to gull the public into believing that higher prices for poorer services somehow represent a benefit. The railways, on the contrary, have been acting with classic bureaucratic arrogance over their new regula- tions: for example, one of these states that season ticket holders who travel first class be- cause no second class seats have been provided for them must henceforth pay double fares.

Meanwhile, for a fine example of private interests ganging up on the consumer in as bare-faced a manner as any state monopoly date adopt, see the banks and their Saturday closing diktat.

Norway's lead

Two postscripts to the proposal made in this journal last week that Russia, along with the other countries whose troops have invaded Czechoslovakia, should be expelled from this year's Mexico Olympics: (1) The Norwegian Olympics Committee has sent a resolution to the international body making precisely this pro- posal, thus forestalling the British committee but also presenting it with a clear lead; (2) It has become known that the Czech national commit- tee, in the dying days of freedom, itself put forward such a request. Can't the British Olympics Committee now please face up to its responsibilties?

Borrowed plumage

A man described as 'the sole repository of wit in the trade union movement' is clearly of . unusual importance. Mr Clive Jenkins came away from the recent ruc conference with this title affixed to him by one journalist, and various other tributes to his rare wit were offered by others. The only evidence of it printed so far, un- happily, is his remark that a previous speech 'contained every cliche from Prepare to. Meet Thy God to Kindly Adjust Your Dress Before Leaving.' To me this suggests only that Mr Jenkins is a repository of other people's wit. The joke was certainly current twenty years ago,

and was then supposed to have been said by Winston Churchill of a speech by Anthony Eden (and what more likely?). Whoever first said it, it certainly wasn't Mr Clive Jenkins.

Out of range

I felt a certain reluctant admiration when the British Concorde made its appearance the other day. If they have to spend our millions on such an object, then at least this modest, businesslike approach is the right one : far preferable to the comparable French ceremony, with its inter- minable speeches and absurdly irrelevant bands. It was, of course, no surprise at all when Mr Wedgwood Benn was reported to be 'hop- ping mad' about the episode, which in his eyes suffered from two grave defects: it lacked public relations showmanship, and it lacked the pre- sence of Mr Wedgwood Benn. I assume that the men working on the Concorde prefer to go about their business without either of these advantages, as would most sensible people; at any rate, the official explanation of the failure . to invite Mr Benn, that there had been 'a break- down of communications,' is surely either im- plausible or downright alarming—if they can't keep in touch with our whizzing Minister of Technology, however are they going to maintain contact with their brute of an aeroplane, making even more noise and travelling even faster? •

Diluvian days

A strange weekend. Arriving in a remote Pennine village late on Friday, we found the place agog over a sudden and destructive flood a few hours earlier. Small mountain streams had become torrents : gardens were swept away, furniture bobbed down the lane, the inn cellar was full to the brim. All was bustle and stir; to the visitor, the contrast between Megalopolis two hundred miles away and this upland com- munity battling with the elements was agreeably sharp. Saturday brought back bright and dry weather; but returning on Sunday. every mile, farther south seemed to be carrying us from a calm landscape into some immense storm. First, a spell of tearing crosswinds; then spec- tacular black clouds moved overhead and rain' began to fall, at first moderately then with force.. By nightfall it was plain that the northern village's own local flood was as nothing to the disaster which had come upon south-east England. By Monday morning the country around my village—on the fringe of East Anglia, not the worst affected area by any means—was transformed. Every road and lane was straddled by streams which had risen above their banks and commandeered the roadway. I stood on a bridge above a normally lazy river and watched the swollen flood hurl itself along. Every few seconds some large piece of floating debris would appear in the muddy water: a table, a fair-sized tree, a cluster of perhaps twenty motor tyres tied together, the remains of a large garden seat. And all around, the fields had turned into sheets of silver water. It was easy to imagine, for once, what England was like before civilisation laid its hand on the landscape, and moorhens still possessed the 'dripping marsh- lands which have now been turned into field and garden and the huge sprawling settlements of suburbia.