* * * * One reflection on the paper situation—papers
generally have now been cut down to a basic ration representing 221 per cent. of their pre-war consumption—presents itself. I picked up casually in a railway-carriage the other day a periodical new to me, left presumably by a passenger to whose tastes such things minister. It is published weekly at is., and a copy of it weighs (paper is rationed by weight) more than a copy of The Spectator. To quote its name would be to advertise it, and to quote its contents would mean descending into a region of semi- pornographic puerilities which readers of this column would not find congenial. The chief, very nearly the sole, theme is feminine underwear—brassieres, corselettes, panties or scanties, if precision is desired—discussed in con- siderable detail in relation to its wearers, obviously for the benefit mainly of male readers, by a series of anonymous correspondents who demonstrate among other things a re- markable similarity of literary style—if literary or style it can be called. The only advertisements are of books and photo- graphs of a certain character (" sophisticated books," " our latest range of alluring studies," " snappy Parisian lingerie studies ")—a sure indication of the character of the publication. I mention it, of course, for one reason. It is to provide paper on which this kind of garbage is printed that British sailors are risking their lives daily—aid it is that paper may be available for such trash that journals like the weekly reviews are compelled to make increasingly drastic cuts in both their size and their circulation with each new reduction of the paper-allocation.
Previous page
