DIARY A.N.
WILSON
Irather admired a friend of mine who inherited a baronetcy this summer and decided not to use his title. He and his wife both lead middle-class lives in London and felt it would be vaguely ridiculous to dub themselves Sir This and Lady That. Such things are no doubt still a little different in the country, where one would consider it affected if those with ancient or grand titles chose not to use them. There is an inevitable embarrassment factor where titles are concerned; English custom lacks the handy French habit of referring to Dukes as M. de So-and-So. As with so many things in life, it is a matter of playing things by ear, but it is hard not to wince when the widows of knights insist on calling themselves 'Lady' This or That, or when the children of life peers deem it worth- while to dub themselves 'Honourable'.
n a Whig paper such as this, it probably seems paradoxical to lament the demise of E.P. Thompson, who waged war on Whig- gery and its abuses so eloquently for so long. The real political divisions in England (it is different in Wales and Scotland) have been between those who salute 1689 as the great turning point of democratic history and those who see it as the moment when Property became the English God. Thomp- son was not perhaps the last of the radicals, but he was one of the last of the red-blood- ed, one might almost say Roast Beef of Merrie England leftists. His desire to 'res- cue the poor stockinger, the Luddite crop- per, the "obsolete" handloom weaver, the utopian artisan from the enormous conde- scension of posterity' had as much in com- mon with G.K. Chesterton and Cobbett as it did with Marx. 'We are the people of England and we have not spoken yet' could have been his watchword. Now that all three political parties in England are indis- tinguishable in their aims and policies, it is hard to see where such radicals can look for representation, just as it is hard to see where the Tories, whom they so much resemble, might find a political platform. The great mystery to me is why English radicals like Thompson ever imagined that their Good Old Cause might be helped by flirting with Continental Marxism. But I suppose it is no more mysterious than why some Tories (not many) fell in love with Mrs Thatcher's Manchester Liberalism.
One of the things which explains the fascination of Marxism for radicals of the Thompson generation is the simple empiri- cal necessity of an organised trades union movement. And one of the oddest things about Kinnock's Labour Party was its timid acquiescence in Margaret Thatcher's hostil-
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ity to the closed shop. You can't have organised Labour without a closed shop. It is only when a thing is gone that you start to miss it. The closed shop in journalism seemed like an obvious abuse of freedom. Surely everyone should be allowed to express their views in print, regardless of whether or not they belonged to the National Union of Journalists? Yet, now that the closed shop has gone the way of the Berlin Wall and the Red Flag, I do rather miss it. I think it was here, in The Spectator diary, that the rot started, as a matter of fact. Now, all the papers have imitated the editor of The Spectator, and pine for columns written by people who are not journalists. Distinguished figures such as Sir Alec Guinness and the Duchess of Devonshire are wheeled out to do jobs which in the old days would have been done by poor old hacks. This summer, the News of the World, in the absence of Woodrow Wyatt — 'The Voice of Reason' — has employed some extraordinary odd- balls including John Major, to write the col- umn. Often, of course, the so-called ama- teurs such as the Duchess and Sir Alec do the job much better than the professionals, which is rather embarrassing for those of us who are supposed to earn our living writing for the papers. When the editor rings up these people — who have distinguished themselves in some branch of life other than journalism — and asks them to write a column, what can their motive be for accepting? It reminds me of the man in the Ivy Compton-Burnett novel: 'If I choose to behave in an undignified manner for a pit- tance, it is my own affair. That is the best definition of work I have heard.'
It has always interested me that college bursars at Cambridge and Oxford tend to be retired officers from the armed forces. There seems no logical connection between commanding a ship or a regiment and mak- ing sure that the undergraduates pay their battels. Clearly, however, college bursars do not always conform to a stereotype, and, as if to make the point, Commander Simon Stone, one-time flagship officer on the Royal Yacht Britannia and now the bursar of Exeter College, Oxford, has decided to break the pattern. Next term, he wishes to be known as Ms Susan Marshall. I bet most of the dons behave as if they have not noticed the difference. Some of them actu- ally won't notice. I am baffled by the fact that as well as changing sex the Comman- der has also changed his surname, but I dare say he thought he might as well change everything while he was about it. I wish him joy of his new life, though I can't help remembering another Ivy Compton- Burnett character (sorry to harp on about Ivy Compton-Burnett) saying, 'I cannot imagine any useful and self-respecting per- son of either sex wishing to belong to the other.' It provokes the inevitable response, 'I can't imagine him wishing anything at all.'
Call me old-fashioned, but I don't understand why the Revd Anthony Free- man, who has decided he does not believe in God (fair enough), wishes to remain as the priest-in-charge of St Mark's, Staple- field, West Sussex. The Bishop of Chich- ester has sacked him from some teaching post in the diocese but he has allowed Mr Freeman to carry on in his parish for a year. It goes without saying that Mr Free- man's behaviour is dishonourable. God, whether He exists or not, is not mocked. It also seems very hard on the parishioners to leave a man like Mr Freeman in charge of preaching and administering the sacra- ments. What I find incomprehensible about people like Mr Freeman or the Bishop of Durham is why, having decided that they do not believe in Christianity, they should continue to hang on to their jobs in the Church. If they were well-paid, I should understand it. Give me the RCs any day, rather than people like that.
A. this must seem rather trivial beside the great issue of where you stand on the Michael Jackson question. There have been riots and demonstrations one way and the other in most of the world's capitals this week. James Fenton in the Independent claimed quite inaccurately that no parents ever complained about Lewis Carroll's devotion to their children, so why should they be making a fuss about Jackson? I don't think it is a matter of evidence, or even of what you think of the fashionable matter of so-called child abuse, or black- mail. It is where you stand on the question of Wacko himself. Ever since I heard Eliza- beth Taylor say that Wacko was the least weird man she knew, I have been on his side, and that's where I'll stay for the time being. I wonder what E.P. Thompson would have thought. Alas, we shall never know.
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