Social injustices

Wednesday, March 2nd., Fulham Park Gardens, London.

Snow overnight which had drifted and was unexpectedly knee deep in places. A 'dry' powdery sort of snow, more like sand than the snow we are used to. Easy to imagine that the drifts in a desert must be similar in their shapes and outlines. Hard work to wade through but enjoyable in a way because out of the ordinary experience in a familiar place.


Dunn brought to lunch Charles Robinson who has designed the cover of "Journalism for Women": a very young, unkempt pale nervous man, with tremulous eyes. One could see that not long since he had been more nervous than he is today. Contact with the world was making him less like a startled faun. He told me that his design for my book had been so much liked that it had resulted in orders for twenty other covers. He showed me some examples of his art which is in the pre-Raphaelite style. Excellent of its kind I thought and I have no doubt that he will be successful as an illustrator. Apparently he was unable to take up a place at the Royal Academy due to lack of finance - seemingly only the wealthy have a place in art!  Phillpotts was extremely enthusiastic about the merits of "A Man from the North". It seemed strange and unreal to be treated by this finely serious novelist as an artist of the same calibre as himself. I wonder if I seem to him a bit like Robinson seems to me?

Between my lofty dwelling and the river is a large and beautiful garden. Not so beautiful today of course because it is deep in snow,  but in summer its lawns are wondrous, its parterres are full of flowers, and its statues are cleansed perhaps more thoroughly than the children of the poor. It is tended by several County Council gardeners, who spend comfortable lives in it, and doubtless thereby support their families in dignity. This garden is, as a rule, almost empty. I use it a geat deal and sometimes I am the only person in it. Its principal occupants are well-dressed men of affairs who apparently employ it, as I do, as a ground for reflection. The children of the poor are not to be seen in it - they might impair the lawns or commit the horrible sin of picking the blossoms. During the only hours when the poor could frequent it, it is thoughtfully closed. The poor pay and the rich enjoy. My pleasure is being paid for by all manner of side-streets! At least in Burslem the park is open to, and used by, all. Democracy is there at work.