MARGINAL COMMENT
By HAROLD NICOLSON
GIFTED newspaper-proprietortold me that there were three subjects only that could always be counted upon to arouse the interest of the Great British Public. They were money, religion and health. I disagreed with him. In the first place, I pointed out that he had omitted sex and sport. It is ungainly for elderly gentlemen, when driving in a powerful motor-car, to discuss sex; I therefore concentrated on the theme of sport. I contended that in no country, not even in the United States, did so many people spend so much time in reading or talking about games or contests. It is true that we do not accord to the heroes of Helsinki the same hysterical adulation as was bestowed by the ancient Greeks upon those who returned crowned with the wild olive from Olympia, Corinth or Delphi. The Poet Laureate is not obliged to compose intricate memorial odes in honour of gentlemen who did well in the hurdles; nor will the lady who dived so giftedly be provided for the rest of her days with free meals in her local town hall. But none the less, I argued, the names and initials of those who figured in these contests are known and honoured by some 80 per cent. of our people. I illustrated my point by telling him a story. Only a week ago, at a function• in the West Country, I had found myself seated at tea beside thp widow of a rural dean. She was a nice woman, plump and conversational, dressed in a becoming chintz gown; the violet underlining to her straw hat set off her girlish complexion and her neat grey Curls; she seemed to me a model of English motherhood. She told me that she was attending two successive cricket weeks to be held in two different towns. I asked her whether her sons were playing in either of the contending teams : she answered that her sons were overseas. I remarked that I had not watched a cricket match for fifty years, and that I ardently hoped that I should never have to watch one again. She turned a startled gaze upon me, as if I had suddenly become unclean. " What then," she asked me almost angrily, " is your form of sport ? " " Javelin-throwing," I answered. A look of wounded disbelief swam into her large blue eyes.
* * * * The newspaper-proprietor was impressed by my story and consented to add sport to his list of invariables. I then went on to say that I did not think that most English people were really much interested in money. He was annoyed by this remark. Inevitably, I explained, we were concerned with our own incomes and earning capacities, since inattention to such matters exposed us to trouble with tradesmen, banks and the Inland Revenue. But I was certain that neither I nor my friends took anything but the most fleeting interest in the incomes of others. He resented this statement, and was left, as I could see, with the impression that the company I kept was low. " But, surely "—thus did I address the tycoon- " surely, the greatest of all modern bores is the man who tells us how many shillings in his every pound is taken from him by S.C.I.T. ? " He grunted disapprobation, and I passed quickly onwards to the theme of religion. I admitted that a hundred years ago men and women of distinction and ability were much preoccupied by problems of theology : that the days and nights of such estimable men as Dean Merivale and Arthur Hugh Clough were saddened by perplexities regard- ing the Thirty-nine Articles and the doctrine of original sin. I doubted, however, whether more than five per cent. of the modern generation ever gave such subjects a thought. I was not arguing whether such apathy was a good thing or a bad thing: all I was saying was that religion today was not a theme of universal interest. I saw that I had caused him pain. I was glad, therefore, to agree with him wholeheartedly on the subject of health. That assuredly remained a theme of universal preoccupation. We warmed to the subject. * * * I told him that, when I was a young man, I had suffered much from hypochondria. I remembered how, at the age of nineteen, I had paced the lawns of Oxford University, tortured by secret apprehension, distressed that my contemporaries should be so harsh in their unawareness of, in their indifference to, the fact that here among them was a promising youth, stricken with trypanosomiasis. I recounted to him the agony of a week-end, in the reign of King Edward VII, when I became infected with trachoma or Egyptian ophthalmia. A friend of mine, who had just returned from the Middle East, had developed a distressing affliction, known as Dhobi itch. Realising my sensitiveness in such matters, he warned me that it was a peculiarly virulent variety of Egyptian ophthalmia and most contagious. Within an hour, my eyes started to itch painfully; I winced away from the sunlight and shaded my eyelids when I crossed the Horse Guards Parade. That after- noon I had to travel to the country for a week-end : my eyes, by then, were so diseased that I was unable to read my book. I gazed in despair upon the fields and woods of England, bidding a last farewell to all their loveliness. How long, I pondered, would it take me to learn braille ? I decided that I must consult a specialist before my malady spread from eyes to brain : on reaching my destination I hurried to the library, in order to discover the next train back to London. In the shelf that contained the A.B.C. I found a fat green volume entitled " The Modern Family Doctor." I turned its pages with a trembling hand. " Dhobi," I read, " Itch." I then learnt that this affliction had nothing to do with Ophthal- mia, but was a rash on the inner side of the thigh. Miracu- lously my eyesight was restored.
* *
What is so comforting about adolescent hypochondria is that it passes from us in middle age. No longer, once a week, am I convinced that I am suffering from some mortal disease. It is not that my zest for life has diminished; it is rather that I have learnt that those who do not fuss about their health live longer than those who do. But I agreed with the news- paper-proprietor that an interest in medicine, even an amateur interest, is common to all mankind. In fact, I have often urged my publisher friends to contemplate a range of monographs dealing with the history and incidence of various diseases, on the analogy of " English Men of Letters." I am aware that the more eminent and authoritative doctors are averse from lending their names to works on popular medicine, but a little ingenuity should enable them to invent attractive pseudonyms and titles, on the analogy of the old Kegan Paul series " Today and Tomorrow." I look forward to the day when neat little volumes will appear,' bound in uniform cloth, and bearing charming titles such as: " Nessus on Nettlerash "; " Marsyas on Grafting "; " Sergei Voronov; a study by Tithonus "; " Danae or the development of A.I."; or " Discobolus on Lumbago." It is true that the perusal of such works might cause disquiet to the young, but what agreeable reading would they provide for the middle-aged ! The newspaper-proprietor, while agreeing in principle, seemed to consider my choice of titles and pseudonyms improper and abstruse. * * * * Am I wrong in all this ? Am I correct in thinking that sport and health provide in this country themes of constant and universal interest, whereas only a small proportion of people are today obsessed by preoccupations with religion or the wealth of others ? The old concentration on theology has been dispersed by new digressions into psychology, science and economics. Universal suffrage has certainly diminished the intense and informed interest formerly taken in pure politics, whether domestic, imperial or foreign. I have observed also that even the most enlightened newspaper-proprietors attach importance to what they call " news." What worries me is that they do not invariably see to it that their news is displayed in the correct order of importance. Which, to my mind, is hard on young and old alike. My companion was displeased by this comment : we journeyed on in silence.
Previous page
