– and after the war the government will use the powers it has taken to build a better society.’
‘The first thing will be to nationalize the coal mines,’ Verity grumbled, feeling quite uncomfortable as Reith propounded a vision of a just society to which any Communist would have to subscribe.
‘And as for class envy,’ he went on, disregarding her interjection, ‘I do not believe that working people enjoying dance-band music on the wireless want to be in one of those – as you put it – swanky hotels dancing and drinking champagne. It is like the cinema. Twenty million people go the pictures every week usually to watch worthless rubbish but they don’t believe they could dance like Fred Astaire or Ginger Rogers or live the life they see on the screen. It is pure escapism and we all need that. I won’t deny that I would rather they wanted less trivial entertainment and more instruction to help them live better and more useful lives, but at least we can make ordinary people aware of what there is out there and appreciate the England for which they are going to be asked to fight.’
As she watched Reith’s eyebrows waggle with excitement, Verity realized what an extraordinary man he was. He had a vision, and if it wasn’t one she shared in its entirety, it certainly had its appeal.
‘Well, Sir John, I am impressed but when I am next in 6 Stanhope Gate,’ this was Gunter’s restaurant in which debutantes gathered in the season to drink champagne and spend a working man’s wage on a single meal, ‘and see the noses of the unemployed pressed against the plate-glass window, I will think of you and not be embarrassed.’
Reith smiled, knowing he had won.
‘This is all too worthy for me,’ Weaver grumbled, though he was secretly intrigued to find that these two, who on the surface had so little in common, shared similar views on the state of the nation. ‘Jock, did you know, Lord Edward has recently bought a house in Sussex, near Virginia and Leonard Woolf?’
Weaver knew this seemingly innocent remark would precipitate another lecture from Reith on the loose morals of the ‘artistic’ set and so it did. He did not hesitate to label them immoral, free thinkers – unpatriotic and corrupters of the young. It was apparent that the morality he had learnt as a child brooked no challenge from the modern, post-war materialistic world.
‘During the Great War, those people – long-haired layabouts living in Bloomsbury – were conscientious objectors and should have been put up against a wall,’ he said indignantly. ‘My time in the trenches was the making of me. I’d go so far as to say they were the happiest years of my life, even though I was wounded.’
‘I know what you mean,’ Verity agreed, to Weaver’s surprise. ‘There is something about the sheer excitement of war – the feeling of being alive because so near to death that makes life doubly valuable.’
‘Wait a moment,’ Weaver interjected. ‘I thought you said, Verity, that you didn’t want war.’
‘Of course I don’t. You’d have to be mad to want death and destruction. I’m simply saying that, once you’re in it, there can be a kind of satisfaction in seeing how one measures up to it.’
Her eyes shone and Reith looked at her with surprise and approval. Joe sighed again. All this mutual admiration was getting on his nerves. Lighting a cigar, he said, ‘Were you sad to leave the BBC, Jock?’
‘I admit I was, Joe. I created it and I think I did a good job but I have learnt in life that there’s no point in looking back. The Prime Minister – I speak in complete confidence – has asked me to set up a Ministry of Information to control the media in the event of war so I’ll once again –’ his eyes twinkled mischievously – ‘regain some authority over the organization I created. Ogilvie’s a good fellow but, between ourselves, he isn’t up to the job of Director General.’
Verity wondered at how indiscreet
‘The first thing will be to nationalize the coal mines,’ Verity grumbled, feeling quite uncomfortable as Reith propounded a vision of a just society to which any Communist would have to subscribe.
‘And as for class envy,’ he went on, disregarding her interjection, ‘I do not believe that working people enjoying dance-band music on the wireless want to be in one of those – as you put it – swanky hotels dancing and drinking champagne. It is like the cinema. Twenty million people go the pictures every week usually to watch worthless rubbish but they don’t believe they could dance like Fred Astaire or Ginger Rogers or live the life they see on the screen. It is pure escapism and we all need that. I won’t deny that I would rather they wanted less trivial entertainment and more instruction to help them live better and more useful lives, but at least we can make ordinary people aware of what there is out there and appreciate the England for which they are going to be asked to fight.’
As she watched Reith’s eyebrows waggle with excitement, Verity realized what an extraordinary man he was. He had a vision, and if it wasn’t one she shared in its entirety, it certainly had its appeal.
‘Well, Sir John, I am impressed but when I am next in 6 Stanhope Gate,’ this was Gunter’s restaurant in which debutantes gathered in the season to drink champagne and spend a working man’s wage on a single meal, ‘and see the noses of the unemployed pressed against the plate-glass window, I will think of you and not be embarrassed.’
Reith smiled, knowing he had won.
‘This is all too worthy for me,’ Weaver grumbled, though he was secretly intrigued to find that these two, who on the surface had so little in common, shared similar views on the state of the nation. ‘Jock, did you know, Lord Edward has recently bought a house in Sussex, near Virginia and Leonard Woolf?’
Weaver knew this seemingly innocent remark would precipitate another lecture from Reith on the loose morals of the ‘artistic’ set and so it did. He did not hesitate to label them immoral, free thinkers – unpatriotic and corrupters of the young. It was apparent that the morality he had learnt as a child brooked no challenge from the modern, post-war materialistic world.
‘During the Great War, those people – long-haired layabouts living in Bloomsbury – were conscientious objectors and should have been put up against a wall,’ he said indignantly. ‘My time in the trenches was the making of me. I’d go so far as to say they were the happiest years of my life, even though I was wounded.’
‘I know what you mean,’ Verity agreed, to Weaver’s surprise. ‘There is something about the sheer excitement of war – the feeling of being alive because so near to death that makes life doubly valuable.’
‘Wait a moment,’ Weaver interjected. ‘I thought you said, Verity, that you didn’t want war.’
‘Of course I don’t. You’d have to be mad to want death and destruction. I’m simply saying that, once you’re in it, there can be a kind of satisfaction in seeing how one measures up to it.’
Her eyes shone and Reith looked at her with surprise and approval. Joe sighed again. All this mutual admiration was getting on his nerves. Lighting a cigar, he said, ‘Were you sad to leave the BBC, Jock?’
‘I admit I was, Joe. I created it and I think I did a good job but I have learnt in life that there’s no point in looking back. The Prime Minister – I speak in complete confidence – has asked me to set up a Ministry of Information to control the media in the event of war so I’ll once again –’ his eyes twinkled mischievously – ‘regain some authority over the organization I created. Ogilvie’s a good fellow but, between ourselves, he isn’t up to the job of Director General.’
Verity wondered at how indiscreet
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