"Then, Sir," said he, "I will tell you my unhappy story. At the
beginning of this War I was approached by certain Railway magnates who
shall be nameless. It appeared that they had realised, very rightly,
that their official notices were couched in too cold and formal a style
to reach the heart of their public. So they commissioned me to supply
what I may term the human touch. As a poet, I naturally felt that this
could only be effectively done through the medium of verse. Well, I rose
to the occasion, Sir; I produced some lines which, printed as they were
written, must infallibly have placed me at the head of all of my
contemporaries. But they were _not_ printed as they were written. In
proof of which I will trouble you to read very carefully the opening
paragraph of those 'Defence of the Realm Regulations' immediately above
your head ... Only the opening paragraph at present, please!"
I was somewhat surprised, but, thinking it best to humour him, I read
the first sentence, which was: "_In view of possible attack by hostile
aircraft, it is necessary that the blinds of all trains should be kept
down after sunset_," and gave him my opinion of it.
"Whether," he said, with some acerbity, "it is or is not as lucidly
expressed as you are pleased to consider, only the beginning of it is
mine. This is what I actually wrote:--
"'In view of possible attack
By hostile aircraft overhead,
'Tis necessary now, alack!
Soon as old Sol has sought his bed,
That those who next the window sit,
Though they'd prefer to watch the gloaming,
Should draw the blind, nor leave a slit,
Keeping it down until they're homing,
Else on the metals will be thrown
A glowing trail as from a comet,
And Huns to whom a train is shown
Will most indubitably bomb it!'
"That," he observed complacently, "is not only verse of the highest
order, but clearly conveys the reason for such precautions, which the
official mind chose to cut out. And now let me ask you to read the next
paragraph." I did so. "_At night-time when the blinds are drawn_" it
ran, "_passengers are requested before alighting to make sure when the
train stops that it is at the platform_."
"Which," he cried fiercely, "is their mangled and mutilated version of
this:--
"'At night-time when the blinds are drawn
(As screens against those devils' spawn,
Which love the gloom, but dread the dawn),
A train may be at standstill,
Then we request 'twill not occur
That some impatient passenger,
Whose nerves are in a chronic stir,
And neither feet nor hands still,
Without preliminary peep
Will forth incontinently leap,
Alighting in a huddled heap
To lie, a limp or flat form,
In some inhospitable ditch,
If not on grittier ballast, which
(The darkness far surpassing pitch)
He took to be the platform!'
"As to the next paragraph," he continued, "I don't complain so much,
though, personally, I consider '_Extract from Order made by the
Secretary of State for the Home Department_' a very poor paraphrase of
the resounding couplet in which I introduced him:--
"'Now speaks in genial tones, from heart to heart meant,
The Secretary for the Home Department!'
"I could have overlooked that, Sir, if they had retained the lines I had
written for him. But they've only let him speak the first four
words--'_Passengers in Railway Carriages_'--and then drivel on thus:
'_which are provided with blinds must keep the blinds covered so as to
cover the windows'_--a clumsy tautology, Sir, for which I am sure no
Home Secretary would care to be held responsible, and from which I had
been at some pains to save him, as you may judge when I read you the
original text:--
"'Passengers in railway carriages
Possess a sense which none disparages;
So those who are not perverse or froward
May be trusted to see that the blinds are lowered,
To cover the windows so totally
That no one inside can be seen, or see.
Mem.--This need not be done, as lately decided,
If blinds for the windows have not been provided.'
"But," he went on, "the deadliest injury those infernal officials
reserved for the last. If you read the concluding sentence, Sir, you
will observe that it begins: '_The blinds may be lifted in case of
necessity_!' (That, I need hardly say, is _entirely_ my own. There is a
sort of inspired swing in it, the true lyrical lilt with which even
red-tape has not dared to tamper! But mark how they go on): '_when the
train is at a standstill at a station, but, if lifted, they must be
lowered again before the train starts_.' And this insufferable bathos,
forsooth, was substituted for lines like these:--
"'The blinds may be lifted in case of necessity;
Thus, if the train at a station should halt,
And the traveller hears not its name, nor can guess it, he
Cannot be held to commit any fault,
Still farther be fined,
Should he pull up the blind
Out of mere curiosity: had he not looked
He might miss the station for which he had booked!'
"Well," he concluded, "that is my case. But I can never put it before
the public myself. My pride would not permit me. Though, if
someone--yourself, for instance--would present my claims to redress--"
I couldn't help thinking that he had been hardly treated, and so I
undertook to do what I could for him. He gave me his verses, also his
name, which latter I have unfortunately forgotten. However, I hope I
have redeemed my promise here in other respects.
There are times when I wonder uneasily whether he may not have been
pulling my leg. But, after all, he could have had no possible object in
doing that. Besides, if, the next time you travel by the L. & N.-W., you
will study the printed instructions in your compartment, I fancy you
will agree with me that they corroborate his statements to a rather
remarkable extent.