Diary
have been leafing through the latest
Who's Who and wondering why on earth I am listed in it. Presumably it is because I was once the Literary Editor of the Spec- tator, which would also explain the presence in the book of Hilary Spurling, Karl Miller and Peter Ackroyd (who has an extraordinarily impressive list of publica- tions: it includes a book called I and II Chronicles and another called Ezra. I had always imagined these to be anonymous). But why do equally eminent figures, who were also Literary Editors of the Spectator, not appear? I am thinking of Maurice Cowling, Geoffrey Wheatcroft, Patrick Marnham and David Pryce-Jones, not to mention Christopher Hudson. The present Literary Editor, according to Who's Who, IS John Jacob Gross. There is surely something rather foolish about this publication. Anthony Blond was going to publish a book called Who's Real- ly Who. I don't know if he ever did. He was Partly inspired to do so because, extraor- dinarily, he wasn't in Who's Who. Why ever not? He is one of the best publishers in London.
Macmillans, who are no longer the best publishers in London, have sent Ole the proofs of Barbara Pym's letters and diaries which are to be published later this Year. Surely it is a bit soon to be revealing her intimate emotional history to the Public? Her young days were less maidenly than some of her admirers would suppose. Of course, she describes being in love with great pathos and comedy. For instance, When she was 25, she met an 18-year-old undergraduate at Oxford whom she
thought `a funny little thing but rather
fascinating'. He took her back to his rooms In Balliol and embraced her `with such force that he hurt my nose and made it crooked'. The editors have suppressed this Young man's name, presumably because he S Julian Amery, who was to become the son-in-law of the chairman of Macmillan, the Earl of Stackton Tressel. Speaking per- s°rIallY, I am grateful to the editors for their tact, of which that is but one example. I was dreading the disclosure (revealed to
bY a neighbour of Miss Pym's) that she d 'silk ed my novels because they were smut- ty arid disrespectful to the clergy. Now the Public need never know.
, While Mr Amery and I are spared, nowever, I am happy to say that there has be,en no mercy from the editors for Mr Tom ;v1.aschler, the chairman of Jonathan Cape. I is on - ly right that the public should be told shameful story of how he sacked from tLis list', without apology or explanation, 4,11e Woman we can now see to have been the "Pest comic genius of her generation. She also seems to have been rather a saintly per-
son. Her only revenge for 15 years of neglect was to invent a rather nasty- sounding milk-jelly called the Maschler pudding. If there is space I shall give the recipe next week.
T never read Nicholas MosleY's novel LAccident, but I enjoyed the film. It was based on an incident in the life of Raymond Carr at a time when he and his family were sharing the manor house at Great Milton in Oxfordshire with the Quintons. Now Mr Carr is Master of St Anthony's College Ox- ford and Tony Quinton is President of Trinity and Lord Quinton of Holywell. They are the two most genial heads of Ox- ford colleges. Their old home has had a face lift. Two Beautiful People, employed by a glossier publication than this, took me there the other day for lunch. It was something of a shock to turn up outside the lovely old house and find an excruciatingly vulgar sign reading Le Manoir des Qua!' Saisons. I believe that the Oxfordshire County Council has paid a grant of £800,000 so that this crumbly old house can be turned into a luxury hotel and restuarant. After a friendly jacuzzi bath together, the three of us descended to the dining room which was crammed with very fat rather disgusting looking people one of whom was saying, in a loud Yorkshire ac- cent, `I say this without fear or favour, I yield to no one in my dislike of the blacks'. When the food came, however, I forget my objections. I ate quails eggs, truffles, ar- tichoke hearts, followed by Loup de Mer en Croute and a wonderful cheese souffle. The butter on the table was a sculpture in the shape of a mermaid. The whole thing came to a mere £132 for three. Had it not been a Friday in Lent I should have tried the Tournedos which looked superb. M. Raymond Blanc, who cooked this meal and
is responsible for the whole set-up, is clearly a genius. In appearence, he is very young, dark and aquiline and looks as though he has never eaten a square meal in his life.
-Peeling very slightly sick, having guzzled so much, I staggered from the lunch table into Oxford where there was a meeting at the Town Hall organised by the Movement for the Ordination of Women. There were two main speakers: Lady Nairne, who thought it was a matter of urgency to ordain women to the priesthood now, and Father Peter Cornwell, who is the Vicar of the University Church and spoke very intelligently and fluently against. Lady Nairne seemed a very nice woman but her speech was extremely feeble. She said there were five reasons for the ordination of woman. I am afraid I can't remember any of them, but I can remember that they were not reasons. Father Cornwell pointed out that there was not such a thing as `Church of England' priesthood or `Greek Or- thadox' priesthood, but only the Catholic priesthood of Christ. The priesthood did not belong to national churches: it was their privilege to partake of it. They could not claim to be partakers of the Catholic priesthood if they chose to act on their own without reference to other members of the Catholic Church. I thought this was rather a convincing argument, but I was glad not to stay for the 'discussion' afterwards, since most of the enthusiasts on both sides seem- ed rather fanatical. It was a little difficult to tell whether some of them were men or women, so that the force of their arguments was somewhat blunted.
My regular lunching place is nearly one hundredth the price of M. Blanc's Manior. Today for £1.35 I get a superb minced beef pie, carrots, potatoes, parsnips and gravy, followed by rhubarb tart and custard. I could not reveal where it is or it would become too crowded. My companions there are mainly retired: a former bookie, an ex-ironmonger. But there is also an art historian and a library clerk. Everyone in the restuarant seems besotted with Torvill and Dean. Am I alone in finding them completely charmless? I rather hate the idea of skating indoors. And
don't see how you can give marks for ar- tistic excellence. But all the judges at Ottawa gave Torvill and Dean 6 out of 6 for their `artistry'. My wife, who follows these things, says that Christopher Dean is not nearly as good as John Curry used to be. I can't imagine why anyone should want to watch someone else showing off on an ice- rink. I am annoyed with myself for having developed a faintly prurient interest in Jayne and Christopher. Are they simply professional skating partners or is there something more to it? I think we should be told.
A. N. Wilson
Previous page
