Notebook

Lord Thomson of Fleet was much more than an important newspaper proprietor: he is to be numbered among the greatest of them all. British journalism—and thereby the nation—is deeply in his debt, not least for his services to The Times. He had become, moreover, a well-liked public figure, goodnatured, approachable, candid, straightforward. He was very important indeed— but without a touch of self-importance.

Lord Thomson's death has evoked many sentiments of respect, admiration and regard—from all except the egregious Cecil King, who has again disgraced himself. Mr King's remarks are not worth reproducing, since they are literally worthless. Has he no generosity of spirit at all ? Is he totally devoid of that quality ?

Cecil King was a salaried newspaper manager, never an owner, innovator or creator, however grand in style and title while he was acting (and that is the word) so loftily as the titular head of I PC. As a salaried manager, he was easily removable— and duly removed. Unlike Lord Thomson, whose memory he now derides, he made no contribution to speak of to the calling in which—by reason of birth—he found himself engaged.

Myra Hindley and Janie Jones are not the only 'names' among those inmates of HM Prisons whose work is on show in this year's Arthur Koestler Awards exhibition at the Reed Paper Group's showroom in Piccadilly. Another interesting name is concealed behind the anonymity of item No. 200, in the craft awards section: 'The Owl' by a prisoner at Leyhill open prison. Lady Casson was attracted by this glazed ceramic piece, gave it a 'commended' and would have liked to buy it—but it is not for sale. The craftsman, whose name was unknown to her when she was judging it ?T. Dan Smith.

The extreme savagery of the latest outburst of IRA rioting again raises the whole question of how security should be handled in Ulster. It suggests, too, some pertinent questioning of those who, in the recent past, and often with the best of intentions, have sought either to negotiate with them or even to give them platforms from which to air their views. Whatever can be said in defence of Mr Whitelaw or Mr Rees, who clearly felt that negotiation was their ministerial duty, surely little justification can be offered for the invitation extended last month by the Tribune Group MP Miss Joan Maynard to Mr Tomas MacGiolla, the President of the Official Sinn Fein—or indeed for those Labour members who attended the meeting he addressed at the House of Commons on 15 July? The Opposition spokesman on Northern Ireland, Mr Airey Neave, has vigorously attacked the connections enjoyed by the IRA with the extreme and extra-parliamentary left in this country. He would be within his rights to castigate Miss Maynard and her friends as well.

The joint editorship of Lord Blake and Mr John Patten has produced an admirable book, The Conservative Opportunity, a set of essays written by themselves and nine other contributors, with a foreword by Lord Hailsham. But the price is less admirable than the product. For the paperback edition Macmillans are charging the astounding sum of £3.95 (casebound it is 0.95). In the result, the book will surely have a smaller sale than it deserves.

The incursion of a gang of IRA thugs into the home of Mr Gerry Fitt on Sunday night—which ended with the brief hospitalisation of the MP and his wife and daughter —was a wretched affair, and typical of the increasingly wild and desperate tactics of the Provisionals and their allies. Mr Fitt showed considerable courage in holding off his assailants until the police, detained by a mob in the streets, arrived, and has demonstrated his customary good humour in discussing the affray.

He is not, however, the easiest of people to protect. When he was first given an official police bodyguard the officer entrusted with his protection found his task singularly difficult. Mr Fitt is neither the most disciplined nor the most efficient of men. He was inclined to wander, and inclined to forget that he had a bodyguard. At the beginning his protector believed that Mr Fitt would be safe once deposited in the House of Commons; but the SDLP leader was given to departing through obscure exits, and to taking himself off to social engagements in fits of absent-mindedness.

Eventually a network was created, consisting of MPs, barmen, waitresses and the policemen whose everyday duty it is to watch over the House: all were charged with keeping the bodyguard up to date on Mr Fitt's movements. Agreeable though Mr Fitt invariably was (in contrast to some politicians who enjoy the regular protection of the police), the task of looking after him is one involving some strain and—according to a previous guard—not a few nightmares.

As an amusing diversion for August we invite readers to compose a sentence which includes all the letters of the alphabet, each letter to appear only once. Imagining a female Norwegian rugby team with a flair for dancing, we offer as one example: 'Fjord nymphs XV beg quick waltz'.

The recently-installed chairman of the Domestic Coal Consumers' Council, David Tench, is deeply concerned that his watchdog body should not be overloaded with members whose interests can only be des

cribed as vested. Traditionally, coal merchants have enjoyed full representation on the council and it would be a naïve consumer who believed that the interests of his coal merchant and himself were in constant harmony.

Mr Tench himself, however, runs no risk of being biased, one way or the other. Last year, he had his solid fuel heating system taken out and replaced by gas.

In Khartoum a crowd of government supporters demonstrated in front of the British Embassy because, they shouted, Britain was backing the exiled Sadiq al`Mahdi. This news item, could they have read it, would have amazed our Victorian ancestors, for it was in Khartoum that General Gordon was killed by followers of the first and most fearful Mahdi, the prophet warrior. With the defeat of the Mahdi's army at Omdurman (a battle in which Winston Churchill took part), the family were disgraced but they retained the religious loyalty of scores of thousands of Sudanese peasants. When the Sudan became independent, the Mahdi family were not only a moral influence but a wealthy business organisation, representing conservatism in Sudanese public life. The family's present leader, Sadiq, who lives in London, is a man of intelligence and a commanding manner, which is no doubt why he is feared by the Sudanese government.

Mr Peter Parker, the new chairman of British Rail, has many big problems to tackle, but there is one small thing he can do at once to show that he means business. Will he please send a memo to all his staff, including more especially station announcers, instructing them to stop saying or writing 'service' when they mean 'train'.

'The next service to will leave frorn Platform 6', 'We regret that services have been cancelled'—this ludicrous phraseologY is an unnecessary marginal irritant to the travelling public. The word 'service' has a recognised place in church life, tennis, national defence and animal husbandry, but it is out of place in the sphere of transport, where simpler words are available and commonly used. Who would talk of running to catch his service, and what should We think of Patricia Highsmith if she had called her famous thriller Strangers on a Service, or of Christopher Isherwood if he had written a book entitled Mr Norris Changes Services? Let BR have the sense and decency to call a train a train.

With the most famous clock in the world registering an immobile 3.46, Timex vaulted lightly on to the bandwagon with a cornpelling advertisement : 'For everyone who being relying on Big Ben, may we suggest an alternative ... Timex. A watch you can really rely on'. While one would hesitate to carp at such imaginative publicity, it is perhaps worth reflecting that anyone who has ever owned a broken Timex probably still owns a broken Timex. Watchmakers, to a man, say that' unlike Big Ben, a Timex isn't worth repairing.