A Spectator's Notebook
In the winter of 1944-45 I remember a broadcast by General Smuts. At that time Russia, aided by Allied weapons, was advancing into the West, but in the eyes of the cartoonists she was a grievously crippled Bear. Obviously America, having finally abandoned isolationism, was going to be a post-war world power of the first magnitude, but I was astonished to hear Smuts say that Russia would be the greatest European power. It somehow seemed impossible to imagine. After the war was over, a friend of mine, with an analytical mind, sketched out the following scenario for the post-war world, which seemed to me at that time to be a .likely course of events. Germany, he pointed out, was both wrecked and partitioned. Japan was occupied and destroyed. France was demoralised. Ob viously, he said, Britain now had the ball at her feet. Victorious, unoccupied, her factories, railways and ports intact, she would once again dominate the trade and commerce of the world. The inter-war period, he added for good mea sure, was merely a small hiccup, before we resumed the position we had held in the world up to 1914.
This latter forecast, perhaps because I wanted to believe it, seemed to fit far more closely into my idea of post-war Britain than the shock treatment which had been administered by General Smuts. Somehow the idea of two giant powers dominating the world, one of which, Russia, would surely take years to recover, seemed fanciful.
Soon after I came to Westminster in 1970 I was asked to lead a parliamentary delegation to the Argentine. As we neared Buenos Aires the Anglo-Argentine pilot invited me into the cockpit. He pointed out various important sections of the Buenos Aires trade and com merce scene which used to be under British control. Warming to his subject he added, "You are such fools, you have thrown it all away." Here, I thought, was yet another aspect of the Smuts forecast coming true. At the time that my friend was sketching out for me "Britain's glorious future," the British were still in India, ex-servicemen were being encouraged to settle in Rhodesia and East Africa. Canada had an Irish GoVernor-General. The King and Queen were yet to pay an official visit to South Africa, where the present Queen would dedicate herself to the service of the British Commonwealth. Moreover the City of London, though obviously suffering from the effects of the war, was still regarded by many as the financial centre of the world. Could it be that if we had been occupied by Germany and finally rescued by North America, we would, after endless misery and suffering, have risen from the ashes? The Commonwealth could well have disintegrated sooner that has turned out to be the case, but Britain herself might have quickly recovered to be at least the equal of Germany in Europe today.
The real point, however, about my meandering memories is to show that great men like Smuts, or Winston Churchill, have a power of vision which is denied to lesser mortals, but unfortunately the country, bent on the achievement of more leisure and comfort, will only respond to a catastrophe. How long will we have to wait? Or will our long-established powers of muddling through finally desert us, and will we this time finally meet our doom?
Collecting antiques
When I vvas-a boy at Shanes Castle there was an antique shop in the village of Antrim. My mother often took me there and although in those days I merely looked around as she hunted about for a wedding present for some relative, I gradually began to learn about furniture. At the age of twenty-one I made my first purchase; it was a large upright 'late Regency' piano, and it cost me £3. I had nowhere to put it, so Willie Burrowes, the owner of the shop, promised to keep it for me. I used to visit it from time to time. However, eventually in 1945, married and with a fairly spacious former Regency rectory as our new home, I called once again, but the piano had gone. "Ach so, Mr Terence, I needed the space and there was a client who was that keen to get it that I sold it to him." I was able, as one must in Ireland, to contain my disappointment. There was no Anglo-Saxon explosion of anger. Little did I
realise how much this would stand me in good stead in the years that lay ahead. Before long there was a sale in the district and there to my great pleasure was a very pretty square piano by Broadwood of circa 1810. Willie, who was present at every sale, was commissioned to buy it. This he did for £6, delivered to our home. From this moment onwards a happy and fruitful partnership developed. There was the evening I called in at his shop on my way back from Belfast. There were two Italian inlaid tables, of about 1790. Seven pounds each for Antrim in 1950 sounded expensive. A week later I called in again; they were still there. "Could you possibly" I suggested, "do these tables for less than £7?" "But sure," he replied, "they are a
bargain for £3 lOs each." I hastily agreed and. loaded them into the car before anyone else .would get them.
Soon afterwards I spied a pair of 1820 mahogany card tables. I knew about the country house from which they had come. Once again the figure of £7 was mentioned. "The pair," I added almost under my breath. "The pair." he agreed. They were too large to get into my car, but I had them collected the next day. Only much later did I notice they were stamped S-Jamar, the name of a London furniture maker of the day.
About a month before Willie died I called in and saw a magnificent sideboard. It was dark mahogany. about 1800, but what made it out of the ordinary was a frieze of different coloured woods round the top and also on the legs. It had a curious Irish look about it, and an expert has since confirmed my suspicions. There was, however, one terrible problem; it cost £30! Moreover Willie was not willing even to lower the price by ten shillings. I hesitated, but what finally decided me to take this unprecedented plunge were the inlaid legs. Our dining room table and chairs and the Broadwood piano all had one thing in common — they had `reeded' legs. The inlay on the legs of the sideboard gave the impression of being 'reeded'. I made out the cheque there and then. A month later Willie died and I attended his funeral. As the service droned on I could not but remember the successes and failures which I had had during my 'partnership'.
A few weeks later I dropped in at the Antique Fair at Grosvenor House. There was a sideboard not unlike mine. I gingerly lifted the label — £500! Undoubtedly, Willie had done me well.
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