DIARY
PEREGRINE WORSTHORNE The BBC really does ask for trouble. On Sunday night I was maddened to hear the television newscaster suggest that the Reykjavik summit had been wrecked by American 'intransigence'. Then, next morning, on Radio 4's Today programme, I heard another BBC person say that disarmament might have a better chance soon under a more 'liberal' American President. Without perhaps being aware of what they were doing, both these BBC persons were echoing Soviet propaganda. For, from the American point of view, it is Mr Gorbachev who is being intransigent in his absolute opposition to Star Wars. And from the American point of view, there is nothing 'illiberal' about Star Wars, the whole purpose of which is defensive rather than aggressive. Of course, one does not want the BBC to take the American line uncritically. But how can one fail to be indignant when so often they seem natural- ly and instinctively to give the Russians the benefit of the doubt?
Anthony Eden had a grace about him which set him apart from, and above, most ordinary mortals, and it is this charismatic aspect of the man, so obtusely ignored by earlier biographers, which Robert Rhodes James brings out well in his biography. I remember seeing Eden enter the central lobby of the House of Commons in the middle Sixties, long after he had resigned from the prime ministership as a result of ill health and the Suez debacle. As soon as word got around of his presence, people started rushing in from all corners of the Palace of Westminster and in no time the former prime minister was surrounded in a sea of worship. No former prime minister living today has that kind of star quality. Robert Skidelsky, in his review of the Rhodes James book, says that Eden cannot have been a great man, because he was in Power during a period when Britain steadi- ly declined. That judgment seems to me nonsense, since it could just as well have applied to Churchill. George Weidenfeld tells an amusing story of how he first heard of Rhodes James as a biographer. He had read a short article of his on Lord Ran- dolph Churchill in History Today some 25 years ago and assumed — because of the erudition displayed — that it was written by some learned Cambridge don. Letters were exchanged, contracts agreed, for the article to be expanded into a full-scale biography. Only in the final stages did the author actually come to see Weidenfeld, who was amazed to find that the large advance had gone, not to some ancient academic, but to an 18-year-old under- graduate who looked nearer 12. Rhodes James's memory of that first appointment is rather different. He says that George failed to turn up and left the negotiations to his deputy, Nicholas Thompson, now Heinemann's chairman.
Iam in trouble with Princess Michael of Kent, because of something I once wrote in this column. Meeting her at a party two weeks ago, she accused me quite loudly of having tried to harm her children, and on my denying this, she became very heated. A few days later her private secretary sent me a copy of the offending Diary passage in the hope that on re-reading it 'you will better understand the distress it caused her'. I have re-read it and still don't understand how it can possibly be con- strued as an attack on her children. My point was that the Princess could not be entirely disassociated from the sins of her Nazi father, any more than any child can be disassociated from the sins or, for that matter, the glories, of his or her father. The point was general, rather than person- al. But if my remarks did cause distress, as they obviously did, then I would wish to apologise most sincerely and publicly.
Iwas very honoured last week to be given lunch at the Bank of England by the Governor himself. After luncheon, as is his custom, he escorted his guest through the magnificent staterooms to the Bank's main entrance on Threadneedle Street, where there were lots of reporters and photo- graphers waiting to hear the latest money supply figures, this being the day when interest rates were expected to go up. Naturally enough, the Governor's personal appearance at the top of the steps was taken to mean that something sensational might be afoot. Further excitement was aroused when he started walking down the steps towards the street. 'Where are you going, Mr Governor?' they all wanted to know. 'I am just popping out for a moment to buy my wife a pound of her favourite blend of coffee,' was his reply. In any other country such a reply, coming from the Governor of the National Bank on a day of crisis, would have been received incredu- lously, as a joke or a trick. But not in London where the reporters rightly accepted it as perfectly plausible. I think it was my stepfather, Montagu Norman, who first began the tradition which allows Bank Governors to behave a little eccentrically. But as Norman's portrait looked sternly down on us during lunch, I could not help suspecting that the sight of the present Governor wasting his time listening to me would have struck him as not so much eccentric as downright irresponsible!
At a dinner party the other evening, I said that a man we all knew was not physically interested in women. He loved their company but did not want to go to bed with them. All the women present, who were friends of the man in question, were up in arms, alleging that I had said something terribly malicious. Why mali- cious? I asked. Surely women were always complaining that men were only interested in their bodies and not their souls. Yet when I described a rare male paragon who is only interested in their souls and not their bodies, this was thought to be mali- cious. The truth, I suspect, is that women, for all their protestations, are really no more interested in platonic relationships than are men.
Ihave received a copy of a fascinating book called The London Dialogues by Tiresias. It is privately and beautifully printed and the only clue to the identity of the author is the reason he gives for insisting on remaining anonymous. It is because, being a public servant, he fears that his views on race would result in his getting the sack. His views on race, as it happens, are most thoughtful, original and stimulating, as are his views on all the other burning issues of the day. The book, in short, is a tour de force, and I long to know who the author is, if only to invite him to contribute regularly to the Sunday Telegraph. Although I have asked around no literary editor or anybody else has received a copy of this work and the only reason I have, it seems, is that the author thinks, quite rightly, that he and I share many views in common. The publisher is given as G. Hartley & Company, of Picca- dilly, about which nothing is known. Can anybody throw any light on this mysterious business? My guess is that the author is a High Court Judge or a senior civil servant or possibly a combination of the two. Nor does the nom de plume of Tiresias give much guidance, since little is known of Tiresias's life, and even the sex is indeter- minate, perhaps varying between male and female. So the field really is wide open!
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