All day long I read the papers that keep this little island noisy and
tell us how we ought to be governed. I can't help it. I want to know the
latest, and reading the papers seems (more or less) the way to get at
it. The best way of all, of course, is to meet a man at a club or a
resident in a locality favoured by retired colonels; but, in default of
those advantages, one must buy the papers. And then of course it follows
that one reads far too many papers and gets one's head far too full of
war news. Still, what would you have? The war is so eminently first and
everything else nowhere that this is inevitable.
Outside suggestion has its share, too. Morning papers are a matter of
course. One reads one's regular morning papers and no others. But after
that the trouble begins with the evening paper placards, each with its
lure. How can one resist them? The progress of the Allies! The repulsing
of the enemy! The ten miles gained! The Russian advance! A German
cruiser sunk! Each newsman has a different bait, and as the day goes on
they become more attractive, so that one goes to bed at night filled
with optimism. Well, these all have to be bought.
Speaking as a reader of too many of them I must admit to a grievance or
two; and the chief is the difficulty that we have in finding the
fulfilment of all the promises which are set out in the headings to the
principal war news. For example, I find among these headings on the day
on which I write a reference to a German admission of failure and
dismay. But can I find the thing itself? I cannot. It may be there, but
again and again has my eye travelled up and down the columns seeking the
nutritious morsel and not yet has it alighted thereon, and that is but
one case out of many. Sometimes after a long hunt I do track these
joyful tit-bits down, and then discover that they are separated from the
heading by several columns. Some day a newspaper editor will arise who
can achieve a really useful index to his contents. _The Times_ used to
have something of the sort, but under the stress of battle that has
gone.
Another grievance--but I shall say no more on that subject. Grievances
are for peace time, when a general huffiness and stuffiness about the
way that everyone else conducts business is natural and indeed expected.
In wartime no one should be harassed by criticism. So I pass on to the
paper which I like best of all those now being published. I like it
because it contains the news I most want to read, and every day, or
rather every night, it gets better and will continue to get better until
the Brandenberg gate opens to let the Allies in. This paper is not a
morning paper and not an evening paper. It is published at night, in the
smallest of the small hours, and I am its sole subscriber, for it is the
paper of my dreams. Whether or not I am its editor I could not say. That
question leads to the greater one which would need a volume for its
decision: Do we compose our own dreams, or are they provided by Ole Luk
Oie or some other dream-spinner? Anyway, no one can read the paper of my
dreams but I, and it is, after all, the best reading. It contains the
oddest things. Last night it had a fine article about a football match
in the North of England. Twenty-two terrific fellows, whose united
salaries came to a respectable fortune and whose united transfer fees,
should their Clubs ever let them go, would be sufficient to build a
_Dreadnought_, had been charging up and down the ground in a series of
magnificent rushes, while ten thousand North of England lads roared
themselves hoarse to see such glory. Suddenly a newspaper boy, reckless
of his life, dashed on to the ground with a placard stating that a whole
regiment of British soldiers had been trapped by a German ruse and
annihilated. In an instant the game was broken up and every player and
every spectator who was of age ran like hares to the nearest recruiting
office and enrolled themselves as soldiers. They had seen in a flash
that the only chance for England to get rid of this German menace was
for every eligible man to do his share.
In another part of the paper I read of a young and powerful man in an
English village who, on being asked if he did not think that England was
in danger, replied "Yes." He was then asked if he did not think that it
was necessary to fight for her, and he replied "Yes" again. He was then
asked who in his opinion were the most suitable volunteers to come to
her aid, and he replied, "Other people." So far the story is not
appreciably different from a story that you might read anywhere. But the
version in my paper stated that he was seized by all the company present
and not only ducked in the nearest horse-pond but held under the water
for quite a long time, and then held under the water again.
And another article--a most exciting one--described the success of a
British aviator who flew over Essen and dropped five bombs on KRUPP'S
gun factory and did irreparable damage. I forget his name, but, although
he was pursued, he got clear away and returned to the Allies' lines.
There was a fellow for you!
So you see that I get some good reading out of my favourite paper. And
more is to come!
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