SK—The letter from the Rev. W. H. Oldaker really cannot
be allowed to pass without comment. Cer- tainly one may picnic at Glyndebourne—in the car park. A pleasant enough place, where you need offend no one. I have done it often, though not since Vernon Herbert took charge of the catering.
But to spread out your beastly bank-holiday mess in the garden or by the lake is the very bottom of bad manners. Grease-proof paper, orange peel and empty bottles do not sully the beauty of Mr. Christie's grounds, or diminish everyone else's pleasure in them, any the less for being encircled in ungainly attitudes by those who so deplorably take them there. Do such things go on at Cullompton, one wonders, when Mr. Oldaker has a garden party or a church bazaar at the Vicarage?
Believe it or not, I have actually found seats in the garden , and by the lake 'booked,' long before the first act, by a pile of picnic baskets, the whole taste- fully topped with a covering of dirty old mackin- toshes. (I mean Mr. Christie's seats, not the camp furniture Mr. Oldaker also imports amongst his other impedimenta; one reflects gratefully upon his self- restraint in not pitching a tent, in case it rains.) The perpetrators of this outrage, needless to say of such people, having erected their unsightly monument to ill-breeding, and having ensured, to their own sole and selfish advantage, that no one else could sit theru throughout the evening, were elsewhere—presunt• ably swilling tea, So far I have been restrained from throwing such offences into the lake, but I shoal dearly have liked to do so.
I must add that I have no knowledge of Mr. Christie's views in this matter. It is his garden and he is our host. But when we go there it is to share both his garden and his hospitality with several hun- dred strangers, most of whom probably count them- selves more than ordinarily fortunate if they go as often as twice a year; most of whom, more by token, would probably not rank as an embellishment to the beauty of the place the sight of Mr. Oldaker and his party partaking of their alfresco dinner. Glynde- bourne is 'another world than this.' If we go there for any purpose higher than the pursuit of the cachet of its snob value, we ought, surely, at least to pretend to as much sensibility as may dispose us to honour the privilege with the exercise of the best we can manage in the way of gentle and considerate behaviour. We ought to know what beauty is—and what it is not.
Mr. Oldaker seems to see a mental picture of nymphs and fauns revelling in sylvan glades, of great bunches of grapes and of crystal goblets brimming with nectar; and there may be half a dozen members of each evening's audience who could, indeed, delight us, if they would cast off at once their broadcloth and linen, their chiffons and their inhibitions, and remember the golden age. I should happily subscribe to their feast. But the rest of us should take a more realistic view of our limited charms. There is nothing in the least attractive in seeing ordinary people, however attired, guzzling once-cold collations out of paper bags. As an intrusion into the lovely picture so rarely provided for us at Glyndebourne by nature, by Mr. Christie and by Mr. Harvey's excellent art, the spectacle is offensive and unforgivable.—Yours faith- fully,
RICHARD GREET
Long Acres, I23 Andover Road, Newbury
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