LETTERS TO THE EDITOR
[Correspondents are requested to keep their letters as brief as is reasonably possible. The most suitable length is that of one of our" News of the Week " paragraphs. Signed letters are given a preference over those bearing a pseudonym, and the latter must be accompanied by the name and address of the author, which will be treated as confidential.—Ed. THE SPECTATOR.]
THE VOICE OF UNDER THIRTY
[To the Editor of THE SPECTATOR.]
Sta,—I have been stung by your last article " A Word to Under Thirty " and by the series in general to burst out with my own views. Before, I may say, I have never considered my opinions to be of sufficient importance to put on paper and send in—but one remark in your article has made me boil over on to my typewriter . . . " what has been lacking in these articles so far is the zest and adventurousness and vigour commonly associated with youth." That remark rings so very true and applies so very accurately to the England of today that I feel the views of one young man of 23 who has seen a. fairly large part of the world in a comparatively short time may be of possible interest.
I arrived back in England early last August after a year spent in South America and another year. in the Mediterranean waiting for Mussolini to blow the lid off things. During my year in South America I found myself wanting to criticise England and the. British so fiercely as to get myself into trouble. And here is the whole kernel of the matter.
England has lost the one _quality which made her really great—her adventurousness. This is terribly true of the English in South America and it strikes you with pathetic clarity on coming back to this " little England " with its brave Austin Seven mentality and its overpowering complacency.
This is what makes me, for one, turn to America. Here at any rate is vigour and vitality such as has passed away from our consciousness. This is reflected in every aspect of their life. They have no fear : life is pretty raw for them in places but the American just smiles, makes a wisecrack and says " the hell anyway . . ."
Look at the standard of our films, look at our oh ! so refined and gentle broadcasting with those terribly, terribly educated voices, look at our aviation just ten years behind in design and production, look at our cars, clumsy, wasteful and ineffi- cient, look at our milk-and-water Government pathetically dith- ering at the threats of a couple of theatrical dictators apparently unaware that it has behind it the greatest, strongest Empire of all time and the wholehearted support (though possibly not politically) of the continent of America. The mind reels at the scene. Why have we not one strong leader who can command the country's confidence and put down his foot ? Day by day the irritation grows. Detail by detail the appalling inadequacy of those at the top is more glaringly revealed. You call for rebellion—well, here it is ! I, for one, an tired and sick to death of this faint-hearted incompetence. I for one would go almost to any limits to see this country speak its mind out clearly, forcefully and with such a deter- mination that Germany and Italy—yes, and Russia, too— may know and realise that not all the British Empire is as decadent as it appears to be and that even democracy can and will get things done.
The Spectator is the first paper in England to dare to criticise our complacency, and The Spectator can only have a com- paratively limited circulation. But where are our Esquires and our. Saturday Evening Posts with their leading articles that are so savage and that strike so hot and true that millions are welded together into a firmly expressed public opinion ? Where are we to turn ?
From the foregoing it may seem that I do not appreciate the good qualities of England. I do. I am deeply proud of my country, of the monarchy which holds it together, of the dignity of life in this island which is unequalled anywhere else in the world. Our ideas of fair-play, honesty and good humour are far and away ahead of anything—even in America. The British are, a very highly evolved nation and, despite numerous and obvious blots such as slums and—dare I say ?- tour treatment of criminals; our standard of living is very, very high. It is for this very reason that I am anxious. A flower whose stalk is cut dies. England grew out of her fight for personal freedom, her empire grew out of her ;•Tiquenchable thirst for adventure, our system of government with its inherent justice is not something imposed but some- thing which has grown out of us. Yes—but now the growth seems to have ceased. We are sitting back on our oars. We complacently sit astride half the world, well-fed, smug and growing gradually blinder to our danger. I am not for one moment criticising our right to govern half the world. I am no apologist for freedom, and there is no country in the world today—not even America—which could rule as honestly and openly as we. But—and it is a very big But—all this is taken for granted. We no longer appreciate our freedom (not unless we happen to have travelled), but take it as much as a matter of course as a continuous supply of butter and fresh eggs. In no other country in the world is freedom so lightly valued. And in those countries where guns and bayonets are preferred to butter, there is welling up a rampant menace to our power.
Can we be shaken out of it before it is too late ? Can't we smash down these smug little suburban villas and wake up to adventure ? Where is our vital youth ? Can't we break down these bureaucratic barriers round our Empire before the German and Italian and Japanese do it for us ? We have all power to our hands—why don't we use it ? We have wealth and greater prosperity than any other peoples, can't we organise our Empire in such a way there is still a chance for youth other than sitting in dusty city offices ?
I don't know. All this has been badly expressed and hotly one-sided. I admit that I am, perhaps, too pro-American. But they have the vitality, the drive and the proud certainty of vigour. They have the chances for youth—and though every American I have met has admired England, it is perhaps rather a sentimental pity for a country that has grown flat and stagnant and no longer cares for anything deeply so long as the cinemas are open on Saturday night and there's a hot joint for Sunday dinner.—I am, Sir, your obedient servant, H.M.S. ' Titania,' at Portland. Payr.-Lieut. R.N. WARREN TIKE,
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