Diary
Ihave always found the nickname of nignog applied to blacks a friendly one, or at the worst no more derisory than frog, ParnmY, paddy and so on. School was the Place, and adolescence the age, which accustomed one to the invention and pro- liferation of the British custom of nick- naming. Weazel, piggy, toad, skunk, Boris (after Karloff) still ring in my ears. The origins and motives of such language were many — the exorcising of fear, the reduc- tion of bullies to size, the disguising of tenderness, and sometimes, it must be admitted, the persecution of the weak and Popular. I do not pretend for a moment that the practice is wholly admirable; and concede that to many it is infantile, to some °ffensive. And yet as one grows old many nicknames endure — and endear. Mockery Which was once rooted in malice flowers in .'llandshiP. Those who have never suffered a nickname now seem, in retrospect, to _have been deprived of a rite de passage of intitnacY. Whether we like it or not, the means by which we approach, and accept, strangers are cautious, bantering, defen- sive. Englishmen do not run to the finishing Post of friendship along the flat. Nicknames are one of the hurdles over Which they jump, and sometimes fall. A thousand pities, therefore, when some of the easier ones, such indeed as nignog, arouse the objection of the officious stewards of race relations. If there had been acruckname for Jews half as affectionate as ...nignog for black, this vaccine might have , 'ken at least some of the sting out of anti- sernitism.
Landed gentry who show you over their Property fall into two categories: those *h() Proudly point to the horizon and pro- claim 'all mine as far as the eye can see, and those (like my Oxfordshire host this weekend) who modestly murmur that they legard themselves merely as trustees for all the beauty they survey. Speaking as one 1:1/1143 owns no land, I tend to prefer the lat- ter.. way of thinking — it seems to give me a share in the undertaking, although I am not sure I wholly believe it. Humbug enters in. tic/ wever I had never expected to hear the Principle of trusteeship held to apply not Lcally, to land but to organs of one's Ow fl
friend as I did recently from a 'progressive
end who assured me, with an optimism tantamount to hubris, that he regards himself as merely the trustee of his kidneys, Which he hopes will serve others after his death as well as they have served him. Where will this end? Shall we all be expect- act to become public-spirited about our Private parts, and dutifully subscribe to an anatomical National Trust? T suspect that one of the more depress- ing aspects of the modern world has to do with its ability to correlate statistics on a national, as against a local, basis. A hun- dred and fifty years ago it would have been impossible to know how many alcoholics, for example, there were in Britain as a whole, or even in London, Manchester, Bristol, etc. The circumference of curiosity in those days was much smaller than it is to- day. One knew how many local drunks there Were, and that was that. The advan- tage of this • was that the problem seemed manageable. If the village put its head together something might be done about young Charlie, or old Doug. But when one reads that the total figure for alcoholics in Britain is, say, a million and a half, or some such astronomical figure, young Charlie and old Doug begin to seem just fdrops in the ocean. Being made aware of the scale of a problem induces defeatism. Tout com- prendre c'est tout abandonner. This is very much the case today with the problem of unemployment, which is soon expected to reach a total of four million, including more than half those just about to leave school. Clearly only the Government can cope with a problem on that monumental scale. Anything local is only scratching at the surface. Up to a point, this reaction is right, of course. Mass unemployment is a problem for Government. But if the total aggregate figure were to be broken down in- to its many component parts, with every village, small town, city district and so on given the relatively small number applying to it, might not particular localities be en- couraged to believe that they, too, could possibly do something, which of course they could, if only to the extent of ten more jobs here, 12 there? The truth is that such improvements would make a difference, and the only reason why they are not at- tempted is this sense of local pointlessness engendered by concentrating on the size of the national, or even international, pro- blem. How absurd, not to say presump- tuous, to try to fly in the face of a world recession. Macro-economics, like high-rise buildings, are on such a monumental scale that they quite dwarf the human spirit. How much better it would be if government departments were to break the statistics down into the smallest possible particles, to the point where the individual could once again begin to feel that small-scale amelioration is not so much wasted effort.
The 'great and the good' — those worthies from whom quango heads are chosen — usually think that discretion is the better part of valour. Not so Lord (Noel) Annan, who in recent years has begun to develop, and eloquently express in public, a Johnsonian hatred of cant. His letter to the Times last week exposing the hypocritical poltroonery of some of the Governors of the North London Polytechnic, who had sought to excuse the lawless students on the grounds that they were fighting racism, was truly splendid in its forthright refusal to be mealy-mouthed. Noel did not quite say that 'anti-racism is the last refuge of a scoundrel' but near enough to make no difference.
AA mole in the Observer management .1.tells me that during Donald Trelford's recent troubles with his proprietor, the lat- ter received several applications from other journalists eager to step into what they assumed would soon be a vacant editorial chair. What is more, one of these vultures was a highly respected, liberal pundit with a world-wide reputation for the sanctimony and priggishness of his sermonising prose. (Any guesses?) We know from Trollope that Anglican clergymen sometimes knife each other in the back for preferment. But not, in my experience, the denizens of Grub Street, although it has to be admitted that my experience, luckily, has never included working for a liberal newspaper.
London Transport is looking for some- one to head a new, strengthened Equal Opportunities Unit. Nothing surprising about that. Nor is it surprising to learn that 'the Head of the Unit will be responsible for identifying problems in a multiplicity of situations, convincing others that they exist, motivating change and positively pro- moting equal opportunity'. Even the specification that any applicant's 'ability to work within the procedures and patterns of a large, well established public service must be accompanied by the skill to bring about fundamental change in them' is par for the course, given the present complexion of the GLC. What did surprise me, however, was to find London Transport choosing to advertise for this trendy paragon in the col- umns of the Spectator. As well advertise for a new head of Alcoholics Anonymous in the columns of the Vintners Gazette.
Peregrine Worsthorne
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