LITTER
[To the Editor of the SPECTATOR.] Sin,—What puzzles me about this litter nuisance is that an appreciable proportion of the people who throw paper and other rubbish about and disfigure beautiful places are people who obviously ought to know better. TheY would not have been found, when they were young, in the elementary schools.
Let me give an example. I was staying in a house in one of the wildest and most beautiful parts of Surrey. One day a party of motorists came down our unfrequented road for a picnic. They were in an expensive-looking car, and they were well dressed. When I say well dressed, I mean that a cursory examination of their appearance did not at all suggest that they were vulgar—though I am bound to say that the fact that 'amid all that great tract of wildnesS they chose for their meal a spot almost in front of a' house—one' Of the rare houses in those parts—perhaps implied that they were not gifted with very sensitive apprehensions. Well, as they had thus imposed themselves upon the attention of myself and my friends, we could not help noticing that the whole apparatus of their meal showed what I may call a high degree of sophistication. Their sandwiches, their cakes, their fruit were all carefully wrapped up in oiled paper. They had a large number of papier-mdelte plates and an elaborately- equipped picnic basket, which, if it had been a dressing-case, would have done credit to a rich bridegroom. I thought to myself : " Anyhow, these people won't make a mess ! "
They made one of the worst messes I ever saw. They left empty tins and bottles on the ground, yards of oiled paper and about thirty papier-Indche plates which blew about in a high wind. They made no attempt to pick anything up. When they were on the point of departing, and I saw that they were actually going to leave all this mess behind, my feelings were so strong that I conquered a natural shyness and ran after the car which was just beginning to move. Although a steep, sandy pitch was in front of the car and it did not move fast, it nevertheless went too fast for me. I shouted, but was defeated in an unequal contest by the exhaust.
I do not think they ever suspected that anybody was after them. Even if they did they would not have expected me to say what I intended to say. Possibly they read the Spectator, though I do not imagine they do. If by good luck they see this letter I hope they will think it over.—
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