Notebook
Standing in darkness on the white cliffs I.Jof Dover and looking out across the Channel, one can see a blaze of yellow lights at what seems like a distance of only a few hundred yards. It comes as something of a shock to realise that these are the lights of Calais. The view brings out — in my case, anyway — irrational feelings of aggression. How dare France be so near? Even from apparently isolated English country houses it is now quite normal to see an orange glow on the horizon, indicating the Presence nearby of a new suburb. Much as one may dislike it, one does not however feel affronted, for one shares responsibility for the desecration of one's own country. But the night view of Calais makes the blood rush to the head. How dare French interfere with the English view? It makes it Possible instinctively to understand why the French and the British hated each other for SO long. All of this is relevant to the present debate about nuclear armaments. There is a cogent argument to be deployed about the risk of Europe becoming a nuclear battlefield for America and Russia if European countries serve as nuclear bases for the super-powers. But, as someone halffrivolously suggested to me the other day, the debate about unilateral nuclear disarmament should not be exclusively conducted in the context of East-West relations and the dangers of world war. Is it conceivable that France should possess a nuclear deterrent and that Britain should not? I do not think so. It is to be hoped that our two countries will now remain friends for ever, but you never know.
The new wave of IRA bomb attacks in London is likely to make Christmas Shopping even more nerve-racking than usual, so one might as well try to do the Whole thing by post. A glossy Harrods Fatalogue has already arrived at home, but it is full of the usual expensive rubbish. Galloping to the rescue come the Earl and Countess Spencer, father and stepmother Of the Princess of Wales. They have jointly sent out a circular letter, signed ` Raine and Johnnie Spencer', but one can be in no doubt as to which of them wrote it. 'Dear Friend and Valued Customer,' she gushes, we do hope that you will once again choose Your Christmas presents at Althorp.' Then She lists with extravagant enthusiasm the presents on offer: We have a really exciting new selection of English silver plate, gilt and silvery animals; mosaic frames and boxes from Italy; hand-painted porcelain from Portugal; Herend from Hungary; china birds from Germany; ginger jars from China; exquisite pieces from Dresden; and a new range from the Imari specialists of Japan. Our hand-made chocolates now come from Audreys of Brighton, whose enchanting tins, china hearts of embroidered boxes filled with sweets, fudge, chocolates or sugared almonds are a perfect memento. We have interesting and useful glass from Poland, Italy and Czechoslovakia. Many of you have been kind enough to appreciate our Jewellery. This year our range is stunning and we have a profusion of bracelets, bangles, ear-rings, pearls, chains, necklaces and rings from 99p to £200. Some are handset and silver-plated, and many designs are derived from the greatest jewellers of the world. This autumn we are launching Althorp Champagne, a delicious dry champagne from the famous vineyards near Reims. The introductory price to regular customers will be £6.95 per bottle for one month from the date of the first party, thereafter £7.50 a bottle. It has our own black and gold label showing the house and the Spencer Crest, and would be an unusual Christmas Present.
If you can face any of these things, your money will not, of course, go towards the enrichment of Raine but 'towards maintaining and improving the beautiful treasures and the unique heritage which we are proud to share with you.' If they could, Lord Spencer's ancestors would no doubt be turning in their graves. But perhaps foreseeing the horrors in store, his father in 1947 secretly removed the remains of several of his ancestors from the family vault and had them cremated. He refused to explain why.
If, as you certainly did not do, you had turned on BBC2 early one morning this week, you would have seen something most extraordinary: an East German news pro gramme parading the achievements of the regime, including such things as the training of border guards for the `defence' of their country. What the programme was doing there I cannot say, but if the idea was to help people brush up their German, it was odd to use an East Berlin propaganda film for the purpose. Meanwhile, the British Government announced the closure of the BBC's foreign language radio services to Malta, Italy and Spain as part of savings amounting to a paltry £1 .5 million. We seem to favour Communist propaganda above our own more objective efforts to communicate abroad. The Italian service, for example, had an audience in 1976 of 1,200,000 people, and when its abolition was threatened in 1979, one Italian paper wrote that this `would place the foreign service of the BBC in the position of being under suspicion of being transformed into a propaganda station, broadcasting only to Communist and developing countries'. The prophecy is now coming true.
In his review three weeks ago of Lord Esher's book A Broken Wave about British architecture since the war, Gavin Stamp mentioned in passing how many architects of the period seemed to have acquired peerages or knighthoods. But he did not spell out the full enormity of this misapplication of governmental patronage. Outside politics, the civil service and the military, no profession can have been so showered with honours as that which bears a large part of the responsibility for the destruction of English cities by its efforts to create a brighter, better Britain. If, in recent decades, you were an architect or planner working for a local authority and generally progressive in your politics, you had an excellent chance of getting a public honour. The index to Lord Esher's book (he himself is an hereditary viscount) shows that 15 of his contemporaries were knighted and two of them made life peers. The two peers are Lord Holford, who designed the horrible St Paul's Precinct, and the late Llewellyn-Davies, a socialist who built, among other things, the latest Tate Gallery extension. Most of the knights are, or were, well-known if generally mediocre architects — Sir Ove Arup, Sir Denys Lasdun, Sir Philip Powell, Sir Basil Spence, Sir Frederick Gibberd, Sir Leslie Martin, Sir Robert Matthew, and so on, But what, one wonders, did the Architect to the GLC, Sir Roger Walters, do to deserve a knighthood? And the same question can be asked about his predecessor, Sir Hubert Bennett, who, readers of this column may recall, was the man who lost the Italian marble chimneypieces in County Hall. Even if one forgets the harm which modern British architects have done, the puzzle remains: why is their profession so privileged? Very few writers or artists, however distinguished, have been rewarded by the state in this way.
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