DIARY
0th Liberal candidates in the by- elections, Mr Christopher Walmsley at West Derbyshire and Mrs Elizabeth Shields at Ryedale, are worthy persons. The Conservatives in the respective seats, Mr Patrick McLoughlin and Mr Neil .Bal- four, are not so worthy, and also provide a greater contrast to each other. Mr McLoughlin is a former miner who, unlike Mr Arthur Scargill today or those famous old Welsh performers of long ago, re- freshingly lacks any gift of the gab. Indeed — let me be frank — Mr McLoughlin can hardly speak English. He refers, for in- stance, to 'fragrant abuses'. Journalists covering the campaign do not report such malapropisms for fear of being thought snobbish. Mr Balfour, by contrast, is almost too fluent. A touch of the Jonathan Guinness, I said to myself as soon as I set eyes on him. Nor did Mr Balfour let me down. Instead of razor blades in the cell (though Mr Guinness tells me he has been misquoted on this over the years), we had a state of war with Libya. I am going for a Liberal double, chiefly because it will be a *good bet.
The English, unlike the Welsh and the They cheer up a bit, however, when they Irish, are unadept at coping with death. have a royal cadaver on their hands, because they can then indulge their liking for dressing up and pantomime. But no- thing has been able to make the obsequies of the poor, crazed old Duchess of Wind- sor other than sad and hypocritical. The Press has not distinguished itself either, serving -_ cated I was three, I do not remember the mashed potato. When Edward VIII abdi- crisis and, having now read several books about ir, I do not want to know much more: The only interesting remaining ques- tion. is either not asked or wrapped in Periphrasis. Why did the Duchess exert the Justified or not, about the size of the male hold she did over the Duke? According to an American producer who made a film about him, 'he had the smallest cock I've ever seen in my life.' Anxiety, whether common cause of sexual inadequacy or insecurity. At all events, the Duke had aPParently experienced difficulties in this member is, we are reliably informed, a the before the arrival of Mrs Simpson on s Practices . They just happened to hit it off. What could be more romantic than that? ome have, her skill in strange oriental e scene. There is no need to postulate, as up enormous dollops of cold Lord Cudlipp was saying the other day that he was surprised not at how much newspaper coverage the Satanist case had
ALAN WATKINS
received but how little, considering its extraordinary nature. As a Sussex resident, and the greatest popular journalist of his age, he was early consulted by the diocesan authorities as to the best way of handling the business. He said it was highly embar- rassing for the Church. What else could he say? The Reverend John Baker may be an estimable priest in some ways but he is clearly a bit of an old fool too. It is a sound principle to be suspicious of clergymen with moustaches such as Mr Baker. They are usually unbalanced evangelicals. The trouble is that the Church has not made up its mind on the Devil, Satanism or exor- cism. There used to be a Vicar of Putney who was a dab hand at exorcism, being called out to do his stuff with the evil spirits as if he were Red Adair the oil-well man. A majority of his fellow-priests thought — still think — that the Church should have nothing to do with such goings-on.
Lord Hailsham has been growing steadily dottier for a long time now. Fifteen years ago, during his first spell as Lord Chancellor, I remember his advice from the Woolsack to a peer who was experiencing difficulties with his teeth: 'If your choppers give you trouble, have 'em out.' Trying terrorists for treason and hanging them if they are found guilty, as Lord Hailsham recommends, not for the first time either, is not such a simple procedure. Resident aliens can, in law, commit treason, but terrorists tend to be non-resident or unlawfully resident. Citizens of the Irish Republic are, it is true, in a position both anomalous and favour- able to themselves, for they can come to Great Britain as they please and even vote in our elections, while we cannot vote in theirs. These privileges were granted per- functorily in 1948 by C. R. Attlee, who said they had always existed and that it would be a pity to terminate them just because Eire had chosen to become a fully independent state. So perhaps Irishmen could be deemed to be resident here. I am more doubtful about whether planting bombs amounts to levying war. Lord Hail- sham, however, is Lord Chancellor and head of the legal system, though you might be forgiven for failing to spot it. He should either put his ideas into practice or retire into private life and propagate them from there. It is now said that he will depart simultaneously with Sir Keith Joseph. I shall believe that when it happens.
he most interesting papers are now the two Telegraphs, with new editors and a new proprietor. Mr Max Hastings is no acolyte of Mrs Margaret Thatcher, as the Daily's initial (now somewhat modified) line on the Libyan bombing demonstrated. Mr Peregrine Worsthorne took the oppo- site view in his signed leader — a good innovation, I think — though last week he was rebuking her for failing to extract a better price from the Americans. He is no Thatcherite either. I regret that Mr Ian Waller has departed, or taken early retire- ment, from the Sunday Telegraph. He intends to apply his experience of politics for some time yet, somewhere else. Mr Conrad Black remains mysterious. He is a friend of Mr Malcolm Muggeridge, which is in his favour. He is also an admirer of Mrs Thatcher, which is not. But he has already been disappointed by her. An enthusiast for 19th-century history, he re- ferred during his recent audience to Glad- stone's Midlothian campaign and was shocked to discover that she had never heard of it.
Reading the autobiographies of Mr John Mortimer, Mr Eric Newby and Sir Woodrow Wyatt, I was struck by one thing they had in common. Their fathers, respec- tively a barrister, a businessman and a preparatory school headmaster, seemed to spend most of their waking hours in a simply terrible temper. 'Confound you, Sir, why can't you look where you're going?' or similar sentiments seem to have been expressed virtually hourly. A friend of mine says this disposition must have been brought about by constipation, ende- mic in the early years of this century. I favour a more Marxist explanation: Eng- lishmen of that class and generation felt sufficiently powerful and secure to be as rude as they pleased. Writing this diary can, I realise, induce similar exhibitions of bad temper. My general rule is to restrict myself to one grumble a week. But I thought it would be a nice gesture to end my stint with a short list of appreciations: Radio 3, Channel 4 News, Newsnight, Penguin Classics, Modern Classics and English Library, London taxis, the mid- Wales railway line, the Wine Society, Bill McLaren, Private Eye and, of course, the Spectator.
Previous page
