A SPECTATOR'S NOTEBOOK
READERS of this column have always been so tolerant of the personal note in it that I think I may go so far as to wish them collectively a cheerful Christmas and a better 1939 than 1938. I feel a little more hopeful of the latter than I did six weeks ago. To explain the reasons for that would take space, and they might not seem very con- vincing even so. Meanwhile we have a breathing-space in which to reflect that, vile though much in the world is, our own country is still not merely fit to live in but to live in with satis- faction. There are vile things, no doubt, here too, and people of a certain temperament appear to find pleasure in making the most of them. My own view is clear. On balance we are essentially a decent community, and I base that conviction not on the people I know (if that does not sound derogatory to them) but on the people I see in the street and the tube and on 'buses. It is a good country for children to grow up in—though we could do much to make it better. And it must be a good country to flee to from Czecho-Slovakia or Germany. For those whom fate drives here that way we could probably do something to make it better still. Their lot even here is in bitter contrast to ours.
* * * * Politics have been getting very Biblical these last few days. On Monday Mr. Chamberlain stood before the House of Commons asking for a sign, and while one set of commen- tators observed that an evil and adulterous generation had done that before, another set, less cynical, pointed to an emblem of brighter omen which the Christmas season inevit- ably recalls. Then on Tuesday Sir Archibald Sinclair and Sir John Simon went at it like born theologians (as they may both be for all I know) over the Book of Job. And on Wednesday The Times Diplomatic Correspondent committed himself to a rather odd analogy over the recent packet found by General Franco's agents in a sealed bag belonging to a British vice-consul. The latter (writes the correspondent), when called on to open the bag, did so as unsuspectingly as Joseph's brethren when challenged on the road home with their sacks from Egypt, when lo ! " the cup was in the sack, the package was there." Now, do we stop there or not ? In my version of Genesis it was Joseph's agents who opened the sack and Joseph who had put the cup there. If the analogy is carried to that length the gravity of the episode is obvious. And perhaps it, in fact, is grave.
* * * * Even in these stirring times there is always a chance of finding more interest in the law reports in the daily papers than in any other column. This week has been a case in point. Most laymen like myself must have been rather astonished to find that a lady who suffered mental shock from witnessing a collision between a car and a lorry (she was untouched by either) could be awarded £2,5oo damages, to be paid by the owners of the two vehicles equally. That was on Monday. Then on Tuesday there were Mr. Keary's bees, whose adventures, as described in the Court of Appeal on that day, demand more space than I can give them here. Briefly, they swarmed, not in Mr. Keary's garden but in Mr. Pattinson's next door. Mr. Keary asked leave to enter the next-door garden and take his bees, but Mr. Pattinson, who liked Mr. Keary less than he should, demurred. The next day Mr. Pattinson, half-relenting, told Mr. Keary that by going into Mr. Fenton's field, beyond his (Mr. Pattinson's) garden, he could reach in and take the bees. Mr. Keary, how- ever, hesitated to trespass on Mr. Fenton's domain, and a little later Mr. Pattinson, now in full contrition, said Mr. Keary might enter his garden after all. Unfortunately the bees by that time had vanished. Mr. Keary thereupon sued his neighbour for the value of the insects and their potential honey—L4—but the County Court Judge found against him. And on Tuesday Lord Justice Sksser, in a learned judgement, turning on the question of whether bees were ferae naturae, whether they were chattels and whether they were identifiable, confirmed the finding. Lord Justice Clauson and Lord Justice Goddard concurred. Mr. Keary might have found loss of honey cheaper than litigation. But perhaps he loved his bees.
* * * * Here is a story so singular that I had better begin by saying that I am completely satisfied of its authenticity ; it concerns a family whose name is known to everyone. A lady in London recently increased the wages of her Austrian (now, of course, German) maid to xs. a week. The maid, who had mentioned her rise only to a few friends, was almost immediately informed by the German authorities in London that she would be expected to pay them a tax of ys. a week. She refused, and was told that in that case it would be taken out of her parents in Vienna. That is not all. The same lady recently answered her telephone and was told to hold the line for Berlin. The connexion was made and a flood of German followed. The speaker was asked to talk more slowly, whereupon he broke into English, and proceeded : " You have a German maid in your service called —." That elicited a denial, which at first was disbelieved. " I have an Austrian girl," the lady explained, " but not of that name." " Is that true on your word of honour ? " Indig- nation at the London end. " And yet you are such-and- such a number ? " " Yes." " Then I must be mistaken." An abrupt ring-off.
* * * * There is one Englishman to whom Mr. Eden's triumphant success in the United States, and his contented return, must be undisguisedly bitter. That is Mr. Robert Dell, the well-known Left Wing journalist. In an article in the New York Nation, dated December loth—Mr. Eden landed in New York on the 9th—Mr. Dell devotes the whole of his not inconsiderable ability to detracting from the ex-Foreign Secretary's reputation, representing him as a Government agent pure and simple (" Neville Chamberlain could not have made a better choice ") and queering his pitch in America generally, ending with the reverberant warning " the American public will do well to be on its guard." When I have time I shall put on paper some reflective thoughts on " Nest-fouling as a Recreation." JANUS.
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