DIARY
PEREGRINE WORSTHORNE Some sections of the brain drain matter more than others and I am very concerned to hear that my Daily Telegraph colleague of years ago, John O'Sullivan, is off to edit the National Review in New York. Of all Mrs Thatcher's close advisers in Downing Street, John is the gentlest and nicest, and his subtle ideological speech-writing skills will be greatly missed. Why he should want to leave Downing Street to edit a fairly obscure, right-wing American magazine is not immediately obvious. I suspect, however, that it is because he loves the excitement of living in New York, as do we all. The National Review was founded in the 1950s by the then enfant terrible of the American Right, Bill Buckley, Jnr, who had just sprung to notoriety by writing God and Man at Yale, the first detailed exposé from the inside of just how atheistic and socialistic Ivy League American universi- ties had become. The book caused a sensation because those universities were all funded by rich old alumni who were horrified to learn to what depths their alma maters had sunk. Bill Buckley's next book was even more controversial — a forthright defence of Senator Joe McCarthy, who was then at the height of his red-baiting career and a figure of odium to all liberal-minded citizens on both sides of the Atlantic, of which at the time I was one. It was at this period that I first met Bill and his statues- quely beautiful wife, Patricia, at a party in London given for them by the historian as he was to become — Alistair Horne. The encounter on a sofa was riot a happy one. In the course of a long harangue to me about the virtues of Joe McCarthy, Pat Buckley referred to him as the finest gentleman that had ever passed through her drawing-room, to which I rudely, if understandably, retorted: 'That tells us a lot about the standard of New York gentlemen,' or words to that effect. She was indignant and insisted on my being asked to leave the house. Next summer I was in New York and received an invita- tion from Bill to spend a weekend at the Buckley ocean mansion in Connecticut. Considering the circumstances of our first meeting, I was surprised at this and hesi- tated before accepting. Had Bill failed to realise that I was the chap who had insulted his wife, etc? The day in question was swelteringly hot and everybody was down at the vast ocean pool when I arrived. Would I care to change into my swimming suit and join them, asked the butler. This was in the 1950s, before the English were accustomed to the mores of poolside social life and the thought of arriving, all white and weedy, in the middle of a potentially hostile crowd of Great Gatsby-type Amer- !can athletes — Bill was already, as he still Is, one of the more glamorous American yachtsmen — seemed far more frightening than it would now. Properly dressed I just might be able to survive the humiliation of another put-down by Pat. But in bathing suit my chances seemed much less good. In the event I did not need to worry since Pat showed no sign of remembering that we had ever met before and immediately put me at my ease. Indeed, we have subse- quently become the best of friends, as often happens after a bad start. Years later, however, I asked her why she had ever thought Joe McCarthy such a wonder- ful gentleman. 'Compared to Gore Vidal and Norman Mailer, he was,' she said. With the benefit of hindsight, I can now see that she was right.
Ihave just heard that the complainants who were dragging the Sunday Telegraph up before the Press Council early in the New Year on a charge of anti-semitism have withdrawn the charge at the last minute. Our offence was to have printed an article pointing out that most of those charged with fraud in connection with the Guinness scandal are Jews. Truth to tell, I myself had not noticed this fact until it was pointed out to me by a very distinguished Jewish journalist, who added that the Jewish community was very worried about the bad impression this would make on public opinion. Interesting story, I thought, and asked a senior college if he could make inquiries. He confirmed that there was a lot of concern in Jewish circles and we ran a story to that effect. The Jewish complainants ask whether I would have run a story saying that most of those charged with fraud were Christians or Catholics or blacks. Yes, I would, if I had reason to believe that Christians or Catho- lics or blacks were themselves concerned about the coincidence. In any case, I do find it interesting that so many of the City gents so far charged are Jews, just as I find it interesting that such an overwhelming proportion of Nobel prize-winners and great artists and musicians are Jews, and if the Jews never seem to object when the latter coincidence is recorded — as it rightly is, very often — I don't quite see how they can legitimately complain about the former. But they have done, some- times in highly offensive terms. This is more than understandable, and I don't complain, since the dangers of anti- semitism obviously cannot be exaggerated. But in my judgment, anti-semitism today feeds more than anything else on the gentile suspicion of the existence of a Jewish lobby which prevents the media ever mentioning anything even remotely derogatory of Jews. Dragging me before the Press Council would have given subst- ance to that suspicion and I am very relieved that wiser counsels have pre- vailed.
A, a recent high-level conference ab- out crime prevention a lot of experts were going on about how crime figures had little relation to the size of the police force. According to one expert, crime in a Scan- dinavian country had actually fallen in spite of the police force having been cut by half. Ergo, Britain should cut its police force. Everybody in the audience listened respectfully to this nonsense and seemed quite irritated when a single sceptic pointed out the obvious fallacy in the argument. Of course crime rates fall if there are fewer police to bring any changes and would fall to zero if the police force was abolished altogether. Scowls all round. Hell hath no fury like an expert scorned.
The Daily Telegraph, the Guardian and the Independent all mentioned my birthday last Tuesday and I was duly flattered and gratified. But then I noticed that there was no mention of the event in the Times and this entirely spoilt my pleasure. If none of the papers had mentioned the event, that would have been all right. But for three of them to mention it and one not to, that was unfair discrimination and I spent the day racking my brains to think of what I might have done to earn the enmity of the editor of the Times. How perverse is human nature. One takes for granted the parties to which one is invited and only remembers for ever those from which one is excluded. And to think that this is still the case even at the relatively grown-up age of 64.
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