John Osborne
The best present I gave myself this year was Mark Girouard's The English Town (Yale, £19.95). A sumptuous wallow of a book, it bursts with prints, paintings and photographs, mixes gossip with scholar- ship. What modest wonders we possess; what sharp intelligence created them; what boors try to flatten them. I resolve to visit Lancaster and Stafford, to return to Whit- by and Bridgwater and so many more. Meanwhile, my regular outings to Ludlow and Shrewsbury have been transformed.
In the new life of Barbara Pym by her friend Hazel Holt, nicely titled A Lot To Ask For (Macmillan, £14.99), the scourge of the clergy emerges exactly as one would devoutly wish: racy, romantic, loyal, play- ful and, yes, patient. An affirmation that single ladies 'of a certain age' should on no account be taken at face value. Like the English town, their world too has been vandalised, but Miss Pym's novels and this alert and affectionate coda ensure a here- after for their spirit, even in the absence of Boots' Lending Libraries.
My second-hand find of the year was Billy Bennett's 2nd Budget (The Stuff to Give the Troops!!) (2/- net). A selection of burlesques and monologues — 'Don't lis- ten to Dismal Defeatists. Snap out of it and SMILE, SMILE, SMILE!'
That trip we had several big nobs on the ship, Amongst them was Hitler, the Great!
And two Yiddisher sea gulls were flying above And saying, 'That's him, now aim straight!'
Almost a gentleman. Indeed.
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