The Times Great Letters: A century of notable correspondence. James Owen
while Australia triumphs on the cricket field the youth of England wanders from county to county and from tournament to tournament in pursuit of the trophies and tea parties of this effeminate game.
If an older friend ever dares to point out any of these things to them in a friendly and bantering way, the answer is always the same:—“You are the most dreadful snob we ever met. We intend to do exactly as we like.”
I leave the issue there. It may be that it is the substance, and not the form, which matters. But for those who value form the question must arise. If this is the form of the beginning of their lives, how will they train their own offspring? How will they save themselves from being judged as
Nos nequiores mox daturos
Progeniem vitiosiorem? 2
I am, &c.,
OLD ETONIAN
1 I Zingari (“gypsies” in Italian) is the name of a cricket club that then drew its members from old boys of the leading public schools.
2 For the benefit of those who did not study Horace at Eton, the Latin tag translates roughly as “We, who are worse than our parents, will soon have children who are even more unbearable.”
Replied on 4 August 1921
Sir, May I, as a young man (and, incidentally, an Old Wykehamist), make some reply to the accusations of “Old Etonian”? It would be strange indeed if “a curious change” was not to be observed in the younger generation of to-day. Without making the too common claim that we “won the war,” we may at least remind your correspondent that for three or four years we were subject to such a discipline as he and his like have never known, and never will know. We spent a large, an incredibly large, proportion of that time absorbing the notions of “middle aged men” concerning matters of form, matters of dress and “smartness” and sartorial respect. We were told that these things were more than matters of form; they were essential to efficiency. But we saw that many an uncouth miners’ battalion was as valiant and efficient in the field as Guards themselves; we saw that those senior officers who were most busy about ritual details of “smartness” were often the most stupid, pig-headed, and inhuman; we saw “experience” fussing about salutes and forgetting about the men’s food; and it is not surprising if we have learned to set our own value on matters of form.
Even so, no young man that I have met claims to do “exactly as he pleases” in this respect, though we may have found new standards. It is possible, for example, that the young men in “blue serge suits, &c.” regarded their costume as more beautiful and becoming than the funereal top-hattery of the rest of Lord’s. But surely, we may be allowed to play what games we like? “Old Etonian” regards lawn tennis as a young woman’s game; I regard cricket as an old woman’s game. Lethargic, slow, it seems to me to consume a period of time grossly disproportionate to the energy expended by the average individual player; and it seems to me to be a pious myth that cricket is more unselfish than tennis. No doubt there is effeminate lawn tennis, as there is effeminate cricket (“tea parties” and all); but let “Old Etonian” go to Wimbledon, to any tournament, and dare to describe what he sees as “pat-ball.”
Nevertheless, I do not object to any man playing cricket, if he can tolerate the game, though I see numbers of men who might have been fine tennis players wandering from county to county and alternately standing about and sitting about in front of ill-mannered and ill-dressed cricket crowds, while America triumphs on the tennis lawn. I only ask for the same liberty for ourselves.
I should not dream of calling your correspondent a “snob.” But I would ask him to go a little deeper. If he had pursued his researches at the universities he would have been told by any of the authorities that the average post-war undergraduate displayed an industry or keenness unlike anything that was known before the war. It is conceivable that the young men who go to luncheons in flannel collars do so because they have work to do before and after the meal. If he goes to the stalls on a first night he will see two or three young men in ordinary clothes. They are dramatic critics, and they will be earning their living till 2 o’clock in the morning. Snobbery is not his complaint, but lack of imagination.
As for our offspring, I beg that he will leave them alone. He is right in supposing that they will not be brought up as we were brought up.
I am, Sir, yours, &c.,
A. P. HERBERT
Alan Herbert, the humourist and future MP, had fought at Gallipoli and on the Western Front after leaving Oxford.
Replied on 4 August 1921
Sir, “Old Etonian” deserves the thanks of the nation for exposing so lucidly the lack of manners and terrible effeminacy of our young men of to-day. At a reception which I attended recently I was astounded to note that not a single man was wearing knee breeches and ruffles and the ladies had completely discarded the crinoline. Instead of the sweeping bow, the delicate curtsey, and the gentle inquiry as to health, we find a revolting hearty handshake and an indelicate remark about stuffiness of the atmosphere. I was pained to see young men and — horribile dictu — young women smoking an abomination called a cigarette, and when I produced my patent folding churchwarden pipe there was a mild sensation.
In my young days we rollicked the summer days away playing croquet and bowls, but now the jeunesse dorée indulge in the grossly effeminate pastimes of golf and lawn tennis. It is indeed sad to see that a stalwart soldier like Earl Haig should have deserted the inspiring and breathlessly exciting game of croquet for that of hitting a stupid little ball round the countryside with an iron-headed stick.
“Old Etonian” need have no fear of being dubbed a snob. Far from it. He is of that gallant band who during the war would have insisted, had he been able, upon the tanks being decorated with inscribed standards and being heralded into action by the massed bands of the Brigade of Guards, flanked by the Life Guards in full-dress uniform, or Grand Rounds at dead of night making his inspection of trenches fully cuirassed to a fanfare of trumpets and preceded by a choir of seven lance-corporals chanting “Floreat Etona.”
Yours, &c.,
RAYMOND SAVAGE
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RatSkin Gloves
28 January 1920
Sir, Is it not possible in these times of a world shortage of raw material (especially leather) for such serviceable articles as rat skins to be put to some useful purpose? It will be generally conceded that if a market can be found or created for such skins it will be an incentive for the destruction of these noxious rodents, which is so essential. It is possible there are at present a few buyers, but so far I have been unable to discover them. Any information on this point will be appreciated. For someone with enterprise and imagination rat skins should be a sound commercial proposition — they would make excellent leather purses and gloves.
Yours faithfully,
GEORGE L. MOORE
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repression IN IRELAND
14 September 1920
Sir, On August 24 a conference in Dublin of moderate men of all parties demanded, amongst other things, as the preliminary condition of an Irish settlement the abandonment of the policy of repression.
Few Englishmen have any idea of the lengths to which this policy has been carried. Most Englishmen know simply that some 80 members of the Royal Irish Constabulary have been murdered, and they take it for granted that the Government’s repressive measures are necessary to put an end to these outrages, and that they are designed for this and no other purpose. Consequently, the actual state of