Censorship

Thursday, March 8th., Cadogan Square, London.

John Buchan came for tea yesterday. He was invited for 4.30 and arrived at 4.27. I expect he had been 'hanging about' nearby to be sure of his time; I would have been. He had a committee meeting nearby for 5.30, and at 5.15 he simply got up and left. He is a thoroughly organised man who I have known for decades and I admire him greatly.

We spoke about censorship, amongst other things. Am I in favour of censorship? Of course I am, and so is he. No country can exist without some form of censorship. I was asked the other day whether I would permit in Britain the unrestricted circulation of one of the most wonderful and original of modern novels, James Joyce's "Ulysses". My plain reply was that I would not. It simply would not do. A censorship there must be. But I maintain that any form of censorship does some harm; it must do. The question is whether it does more harm than good. I think that our present censorship does do more harm than good and ought, if anything, to be weakened, not strengthened. But not eliminated altogether.

In fact I am not in favour of any alteration to the law at the present time because it might, despite excellent motives, be too easily altered for the worse. We have to keep in mind that laws are enacted by politicians and often miss their targets. Best to leave the law alone and entrust liberty to its sane administration and to the tendency for all excessively drastic laws to fall into desuetude through their own inherent absurdity. As a fact the present law on censorship fell into partial desuetude from the moment it came into operation for the reason that to apply it strictly would have meant its instant death from ridicule.

I felt fatigued somehow after Buchan left. Not by him as he is most brisk and has a tonic effect generally. So I rested for a while and, feeling better, took up the play again and reeled it off with strange ease.

Conscientious objector

 Friday, January 22nd., Cadogan Square, London.

Well, this is a pretty pickle! It appears that, through an attempt to be helpful, I am to financially embarrassed, or at least substantially out of pocket. 

At Masterman's funeral last November I promised to set on foot a scheme for collecting £4000 to ensure an education for her children, Charles having neglected to make provision for them. One of the people I approached, and who agreed to contribute to the extent of £1000, was Beaverbrook. He now tells me that he will not contribute because he has a 'conscientious objection' to trust funds. A conscientious objection to killing people I can understand, but to trust funds???

Since the funeral I have discussed how best to help Lucy and the children with numerous people, but especially with Reginald Bray and John Buchan. We all agreed that a trust fund was the best method. One of the chief reasons for having a trust is the extremely unbusinesslike character of Lucy Masterman. She is an excellent woman, but has no notion of money or even of paying bills when she has money. The Trust has in fact been formed, and I think it will work very well. It will assuredly work far better than any other scheme, The problem is that Beaverbrook was to contribute £1000, and seemingly is not now willing to do so.

I find this hard to understand. When I broached the subject with him in the first place, and he offered to contribute, he said he would give me a free hand as to how the money should be used. To be sure of this I asked him twice if that was what he wanted. He was clear. In the meantime I have had no opportunity to consult him as he has been away for some months, and have acted as I thought best. Well, there it is. I wrote to him yesterday to set out the situation and to attempt a little emotional blackmail. I said that if he did not now feel able to contribute then so be it, but that I felt morally bound and would find the extra £1000 myself. I hope to God that he relents!

I am still getting over Hardy's death and funeral. It seems to have hit me unexpectedly hard, and I don't know why. Thinking about it this evening whilst walking about in Battersea. What a different world from the one Hardy conjured so marvellously well. The streets are drab, the tenements repulsive, and the people mean. I saw an open gramophone shop with a machine grinding out a tune and a song, and an open 'Fun Fair' sort of place with a few small boys therein amusing themselves with penny-in-the-slot machines. What a life!

Scandalous

Friday, November 15th., Yacht Club, London.

My resignation from Ministry took effect yesterday. Buchan, the liquidator, came down to see me and was very explanatory and apologetic. The behaviour of the Cabinet to me was of course scandalous. But they have treated many others similarly so I was not surprised. The only notice I got was a Roneo'd copy of the War Cabinet minute. I was never consulted in any way. Well, that is another, and most unexpected, phase of life behind me. It will be a relief to resume my normal working habits. The only negative is that I will have no further reason to keep these rooms at the Yacht Club, and I have enjoyed my 'bachelor' status while it lasted; back to being a full-time married man.

Sir Robert Donald

Luncheon to Robert Donald at Connaught Rooms. 400 there to honour him because he had not sold himself to the new proprietors of the Chronicle, a consortium centred on Lloyd George. He says that Ll G. is "trying to corner public opinion". The toastmaster in a red coat was the cream of the show. He had a terrifically bland manner, especially with his supplicating hands. And having prayed silence for toast of King he rushed madly right round the room and played "God Save the King" on the piano.

At night, dinner to American editors of Trade Journals at the Savoy. Smuts in the chair. Nothing special except that Smuts claimed some German colonies for British dependencies. I doubt the wisdom of that policy. It is one thing to defeat an enemy; it is another to humiliate him and thereby sow the seeds of future resentment.

Poppycock!

Wednesday, March 7th., Cadogan Square, London.

John Buchan, invited for tea at 4.30, arrived at 4.27. This promptitude pleased me greatly. He is a thoroughly organised man. He had a committee meeting for 5.30. And at 5.15 he simply got up and left. Perfect. I then, fatigued somehow (but not by Buchan who is most brisk) rested a bit, and then took up the play again, and reeled it off with strange ease.

I forgot to ask Buchan about his reading 'method'. An acquaintance recently asserted in my hearing that certain great men indulged in 'skipping' whilst reading and thought that in that way the best could be extracted from books. I felt called upon to disagree with them. While I agree that many books may deserve to be skipped through I say (1) that 'skipped' books ought nineteen times out of twenty to be afterwards ignored, and (2) that there are more books worthy to be read carefully than any individual could by any possibility read carefully. I know for certain that there are many great and experienced bookmen who believe in reading little and reading it thoroughly. 

It is important to distinguish here between those who read entirely for pleasure and those for whom reading is their work. I am one of the latter, as is Buchan, and in that role I necessarily have to do some 'skipping' simply to comply with the strictures of my employment. But when I read for myself I am with those who read little but thoroughly. I have fallen into the habit of writing about the books I read for pleasure just for my own benefit and I have found that this discipline encourages thoroughness. if I am reading for pleasure and not enjoying a book then I just toss it aside

To my mind those persons who attempt to 'keep abreast' of modern literary output are doing it and themselves a disservice. They are in fact misguided and essentially flibbertigibbet persons whose real aim is not to get the best out of books but to shine at dinner tables and in other places where jabber about literature is immoderately indulged in.

Of course the time given to reading by men is more important than the time given to it by women. Women read more, at any rate longer, but it is the verdict of men that ultimately counts. It is noticeable that there are, and have been, few women literary critics. Some ladies of a feminist disposition will of course say that this is because they are excluded by men, it is a closed shop, literally an old boys club. Poppycock! To say that women are not creative is manifestly absurd as regards imaginative literature. But it does not appear so absurd to me to say that they are not very good critics. Women, through some decision of nature's, suffer as a sex from emotional instability. Emotional instability is not a sure foundation for good judgement in literature, or in anything else.

My idea of fame

Monday, October 9th., At home.

I have been re-reading some of Kipling's short stories. They are good. I particularly enjoyed "The Man Who Would Be King" which was amusing as well as being a good adventure story.

I remember reading a few years ago that whilst taking part in an entertainment on board H.M.S. Majestic he read "Soldier and Sailor Too", and was encored. Then he read "The Flag of England". At the conclusion a body of subalterns swept him off the stage, and chaired him round the quarter deck, while "For he's a Jolly Good Fellow" was played by the massed bands of the Fleet and sung by 200 officers assembled. That's my idea of fame. I was intensely envious of his success. He is only a couple of years older than me but it is as if success has fallen into his lap. How to account for this? Of course he writes well, but so do a lot of others, including myself. It must be his subject matter of India and Empire - the exoticism appeals to those whose lives are humdrum, and plays on primitive emotions such as patriotism. Buchan has a similar appeal. I am still envious!

Out walking this morning. For once I was not trying to get ideas but just walking for pure enjoyment. It is hard for me to turn my mind away from the various projects I have in hand, but essential now and then. It was a dull, rather misty morning. Not much wind. Still quite green everywhere but close inspection shows the leaves turning and grasses dying back. I walked for three hours and hardly saw a soul which suited me perfectly. Sometimes it is good to just let the mind drift. I think it is not dissimilar to being asleep and is almost as relaxing. Couldn't tell you what I was thinking about. Mostly daydreaming. Probably imagining myself as popular as Kipling!

One who 'counts'

Tuesday, June 23rd., Victoria Grove, Chelsea.

At John Lane's I met John Buchan, just now principal 'reader' to the Bodley Head. A very young, fair man; charmingly shy; 'varsity' in every tone and gesture. He talks quietly in a feminine, exiguous voice, with the accent of Kensington tempered perhaps by a shadow of a shade of Scotch (or was that my imagination?). Already - he cannot be more than 23 - he is a favourite of publishers, who actually seek after him, and has published one book. He told me that his second novel, a long Scotch romance, was just finished, and that he had practically sold the serial rights ...  A most modest, retiring man, yet obviously sane and shrewd. Well-disposed too, and anxious to be just; a man to compel respect; one who 'counts'.

John Buchan (1875 – 1940) was a Scottish novelist, historian and Unionist politician who served as Governor General of Canada, the 15th since Canadian Confederation. After a brief legal career Buchan simultaneously began both his writing career and his political and diplomatic career, serving as a private secretary to the colonial administrator of various colonies in Southern Africa. He eventually wrote propaganda for the British war effort in the First World War. Once he was back in civilian life Buchan was elected Member of Parliament for theCombined Scottish Universities, but he spent most of his time on his writing career, notably writing The Thirty-Nine Steps and other adventure fiction. In 1935 he was appointed Governor General of Canada by King George V, on the recommendation of Prime Minister of Canada Richard Bennett, to replace the Earl of Bessborough. He occupied the post until his death in 1940. Buchan proved to be enthusiastic about literacy, as well as the evolution of Canadian culture, and he received a state funeral in Canada before his ashes were returned to the United Kingdom.

For more on Buchan see 'First novel'

Additionally for June 23rd., see 'Finishing Clayhanger'

I have just (3 p.m.) finished "Clayhanger" one week in advance of time. 160,800 words. For the last few days it has monopolised me. But quite contrary to my general practice towards the end of a novel I have kept in magnificent health.

Literary landmark

Thursday, May 28th., Victoria Grove, Chelsea.

John Lane showed me John Buchan's report on my novel. It was laudatory and kind, but not (I thought) critically appreciative. He had no fault whatever to find with the novel qua novel, but he said it would probably not be popular and that the same sort of thing had often been done before. Although it probably will not be popular, the same sort of thing has not been often done before; it has never been done before - in England. I can recall no novel of which either the essential treatment or the material is at all similar. The man is most honest, and anxious to do justice, but he clearly has not been able quite to sympathise with the latest disciple of the de Goncourts. Lane said, "I will publish it", and I said, "That is very good of you," or something like that, and that was really all that passed in the matter of the book.

For more on this see 'First novel'

Additionally for May 28th., see 'Feeling tired'

Yesterday I had more success in finding ideas for the last part of "Clayhanger" but I had no success in drawing. I seemed to spend all afternoon in merely arranging still-life objects, and I couldn't decide on any of them. But on Thursday night I did a pretty fair study of Marguerite. I couldn't read anything, except newspapers. I couldn't answer any arrears of correspondence. And after doing nothing all day I was so tired I had to go to bed at 9.15.

Kaiser in the offing

Wednesday, April 19th., Comarques, Thorpe-le-Soken.

Dr. Slimon reports to me that at the meeting of Chairmen of Emergency Committees and Military Representatives at Chelmsford on Friday, which I could not attend, under the chairmanship of General Paget, Paget insisted on the strong probability of an invasion between Harwich and Maldon in July or August.
The naval opinion at Harwich, I hear, is that Harwich Flotilla could not deal with the covering ships of an invading force, and that, so far as the Navy was concerned, the force would land, and the convoy be taken in the rear. It is also said that the German submarines are trying to  mine the course of the proposed expedition, and that we are sweeping their mines and mining contra.
See also:
'False Alarms' - February 20th. http://earnoldbennett.blogspot.co.uk/2013/02/sunday-february-27th.html  and 'An Author's Observations' - November 20th. http://earnoldbennett.blogspot.co.uk/2012/11/an-authors-observations.html

Pauline Smith came on Saturday, having lost her luggage on the way. Voice perhaps feebler than ever. She is highly intelligent.
See also 'A Bad Night' - November 14th. http://earnoldbennett.blogspot.co.uk/2012/11/a-bad-night.html

I have been reading John Buchan. Specifically "Greenmantle". Now Buchan is a marvellous story teller, none better, but this is going too far! As usual he seizes us by the elbow and away we go into a world where every character is at least twice life size, and incredible coincidences are routine. But it is too much. I found myself skimming rather than reading, just to get to the end more quickly. And not because I wanted to 'find out what happens'; just to get the damned thing finished. If it had been any writer other than Buchan I would not have bothered to finish at all. A fast pace is one thing, but let there be at least some credible characterisation along the way. For my money the best drawn character in "Greenmantle" is the Kaiser!

Cast aside

Friday, November 15th., Yacht Club, London.

My resignation from Ministry took effect yesterday. Buchan, the liquidator, came down to see me, and was very explanatory and apologetic. The behaviour of the Cabinet to me was of course scandalous. But they have treated many others similarly, so I was not surprised. The only notice I got was a Roneo'd copy of the War Cabinet minute. I was never consulted in any way.

In February 1918, Lloyd George entrusted Lord Beaverbrook with the responsibility of establishing a new Ministry of Information. From March 4, 1918, this ministry took over control of all propaganda activities, being split into three departments to oversee domestic, foreign and military propaganda. The foreign propaganda division was under the headship of John Buchan and consisted of four branches; propaganda in military zones was the responsibility of the Foreign Office department MI7; domestic propaganda was controlled by the National War Aims Committee. It was a fulfilment of the recommendations regarding centralisation laid out in the second report of Robert Donald, acting as an independent body outside of the remit of the Foreign Office. Nevertheless, there were still problems and criticisms related to the new ministry. Tensions existed between the new Ministry of Information and older ministries such as the Foreign Office and the War Office, and many in government were concerned about the growing power of the press as symbolised by the journalistic control of the new propaganda ministry. In October, Lord Beaverbrook became seriously ill and his deputy, Arnold Bennett, assumed his position for the final weeks of the war. After peace was declared, the propaganda machinery was essentially dissolved and control of propaganda returned to the Foreign Office.

Luncheon to Robert Donald at Connaught Rooms. 400 there to honour him because he had not sold himself to the new proprietors of the Chronicle.

Robert Donald, the son of a stone mason,was born in Corsemaul, Banffshire, on 29th August, 1860. Donald became a newspaper reporter in Edinburgh before moving to London in 1893 where he founded the Municipal Journal. He left this periodical in 1902 and took up the post as editor of the Daily Chronicle. He successfully increased the circulation and influence of this Liberal newspaper. 

In 1914 Donald was able to claim that the net sale of the Daily Chronicleexceeded the combined sales of the The Times, Daily Telegraph, Morning Post,Evening Standard and the Daily Graphic.

<http://www.spartacus.schoolnet.co.uk/Jdonald.htm>

The Toast-master in a red coat was the cream of the show. He had a terrifically bland manner, especially with his supplicating hands. And having prayed silence for toast of King he rushed madly right round the room and played "God save the K." on the piano.
At night, dinner to American editors of Trade Journals at Savoy. Smuts in the chair. Nothing special except that Smuts claimed some German colonies for British dependencies.