QUEER ENGLAND
Snt,—I have recently returned from a holiday in England. I found the English individually charming and collectively incomprehensible. One night, returning to our flat, we brought in cooked food for our supper, sundry things from a delicatessen counter, but bottles of milk standing on the counter were forbidden us. " After hours," but we could go a few yards down the road and buy bottles of beer! Another time, at a week-end, we ran out of bread. I spent Sunday forenoon touring the countryside, finding to rr* surprise that, although shops were open and had bread, they were forbidden to sell it. I could have all sorts of edible and inedible luxuries—sweets, cake, chocolate, cigarettes, minerals int not bread.
I could never get an adequate explanation of this. I thought it possible that it might be that the British Govern- ment was biassed against the sale of milk and bread, favour- rather cakes and ale, until I remembered that the " Drink More Milk " campaign has the blessing of the Minister of Astriculture, and that subsidies are paid for the growing of wheat.
I was informed, rather half-heartedly by a friend, that these restrictions were designed to benefit shop-assistants, that it was intended in :his way to reduce their working hours and increase their leisure. But when I asked my informant if the girl in the delicatessen shop was, as a purveyor of milk, to be considered as being at the cinema or local dance hall, while in her capacity of seller of pork pies, she was still behind the counter, then my informant became less clear and went into a long, involved explanation, the drift of which seemed to be that things didn't turn out always as they were meant to.
Perhaps, Sir, some of your readers can enlighten me. The only explanation, admittedly fantastic, which I can think of, is based on the legend of the English capacity for " muddling through." Perhaps the English, exasperated at this recurring and only partially true allegation, have endeavoured to show foreigners what they can do in this direction when they really
try.—I am, Sir, your obedient servant, COLONIAL. G.P.O., Zomba, Nyasaland.
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