As I Hear... ALL ABOUT BEOWULF

Press, Volume CV, Issue 30977, 5 February 1966, Page 5

As I Hear... ALL ABOUT BEOWULF

[By .

J.H.E.S.]

VOU never can tell, can you? A A short while ago, writing about Professor Wall’s autobiography, “Long and Happy,” I referred to the Anglo-Saxon poem, “Beowulf” which I had to read for him. I dare say that this was the first time in 50 years that this work had been mentioned in the columns of “The Press.” Now I read that -it has been the subject of a correspondence in “The Times”—“ls ‘Beowulf’ really necessary?” Can Anglo-Saxon be defended as a compulsory subject in the English course at Oxford? (Something wrong there. There is no such thing as “the” English course at Oxford.) “Beowulf” won by two to one out of 18 letters. The argument was picked up by the “Daily Mirror,” one of whose editors, so the cablegram says, “after reading” the poem, facetiously observed that it had the makings of a striking TV spectacular, “no sex buts lots of gore,” and awarded it an Oscar for purity, unsullied by any of the four letter words that remain “the most durable Anglo-Saxon” monument. What also remains is my grave doubt whether this “Daily Mirror” editor had in fact read “Beowulf” through before writing his facile comment. It is possible that he had graduated in an English

language course requiring Anglo-Saxon, with special attention to prescribed texts, including “Beowulf”: possible, but not very likely. Latin and Greek are still, I believe, easier and wider gates to places in the Establishment—to allow the “Daily Mirror,” pro forma, a share in it—than a grim course in Anglo-Saxon, including “Beowulf”; and anybody who supposes that he may pick up “Beowulf,” as a piece of early English literature, and, without having survived such a course, leaf his way through it as readily as through one of the “Canterbury Tales,” is mightily mistaken. He might as well expect to leaf his intelligent way through Virgil’s Georgies without training in Latin; for the Anglo-Saxon of “Beowulf” is in vocabulary and grammar a language just about as foreign. So —unless I owe this nameless editor an apology for my doubts—l think he read a crib, which is not “Beowulf”; or I think he ran his finger along the lines, looking for four-letter words; or I think he rang up some scholarly friend and got a hint or two. % Ss $

I should like to see this correspondence in “The Times,” where the letters to the editor were for many years my delight. When I left “The Press,” which had laid the airmail edition on my desk for years, I required it from the Broadcasting Service, and again it lay on my desk, and again I used to mark items to be cut and returned to me. The correspondence columns were my joy. You could never tell what would come up. For example, something stirred a correspondence about cider. This was closed by a superb letter from the butler of the Speaker of the House of Commons. Every year, he said, he ordered in a barrel or two of cider from the Bristol area at the proper time. This cider was very good for a period. Then, said the butler, it began to go off and was fit only for the servants. There will always be an England. I remember another charming correspondence, about the way shirts were fixed, with a lot of pins to hold them in shape and to scratch you, if you were not careful; and—this in the days before drip-dry with only two collars. Sir Stanley Unwin, the veteran publisher, weighed in on this subject, making the point (if I remember rightly) that the British shirtmakers were flatly ignoring, for example, the demand of the Canadian market. Probably so. For I was told, a few years ago. by one who knew, that British engineering firms sent to South America publicity material and specifications in English, while their West German competitors sent their stuff in Spanish. * * *

A friend who for years sat by me at Lancaster Park—we used to take a lunch-basket out to a little lawn behind one of the main stands: I wonder if it is still there, hallowed spot!—tells me that I failed to complete my little story of Bill Cunninghams’s benevolently directing the attention of his opposite number in the Melbourne Cricket Club’s side to the stumps, at which he had been bowling rather wide. The end of the

story, as I now am instructed to remember, was that Bill’s opposite number acknowledged his advice gravely, with a nod, retired, and bowled Bill neck and crop. The bowler was Hans Ebeling, whose thunderous run on large, flat feet, was something not to be forgotten. But I don’t relish being corrected (or completed) even by one whose memory is as long as mine and nearly as accurate: not if I can vindicate myself. So, having the second volume of Tommy Reese’s History of New Zealand Cricket by me, I have looked up the record of the Melbourne Cricket Club’s tour, 1926-27; and I find — and with what joy do I find! —that in the MelbourneCanterbury game at Lancaster Park, Cunningham was not out in the first innings for 8 and did not bat in the second; and that in the Melbourne—New Zealand game at Lancaster Park Cunningham was not out 2 in the first innings and out for 16, c. Ransford b. Armstrong, in the second. Where and when, then, did Ebeling so humorously and conclusively take Bill’s advice? And I now await my friend’s cringing apology. This second match, by the

Across I—Startin’ to reorganise conveyance of goods. (7) s—Kinds that can easily be impressed. (5) B&9Ac. Lasting method for making a railway track. (9, 3) 9—See 8 Across.

10—He’s naturally seen in a more belligerent setting. (5) 12— A feeling a conscience about key communication. (7) 13— Among those who are not clerics an unkown number will show slackness. (6) 14— Craft groups. (6) 17—An oblique line is enough to beat a chap. (7) 19—Relish a sudden blow by this side of the ring. (5) 21— To disencumber one in the road. (3) 22 Car backed into broken tablet can be controlled. (9)

24 Hen bed! (5) 25 This due is most unfair! (7)

way, was one of the most remarkable in New Zealand’s cricket history. All out for 190, N.Z. weie headed by Melbourne’s 409, which included lovely innings by Hendry, Ransford, and Armstrong, and then went on to declare at 602 for nine. This included one of Roger Blunt’s classic innings of 187 arid took Curly Page to his double of 67 and 89. Melbourne ran to a draw, with seven down for 148 when an appeal against the light, 15 minutes before time, saved them a last agony. Ebeling took 5 for 31 in N.Z.’s first innings and 3 for 146 in the second. Bill Merritt took 7 for 88 in Melbourne’s first innings—in 12 overs; and in N.Z.’s second innings he scored 37 not out. That’s my boy!

Down I— This can be used to singe —lightly touch with some hesitation. (5) 2—What outside broadcasters take? (3) 3 Is its strong flavour discharged around everybody? (7) 4 This should be proved in practice or those people will be around! (6) 5 It’s a charming thing when little child gets up! (5) 6 Devoid of influence when the current isn't flowing. O). 7 A quality that shows some mental reservation. (7) ll Not the date of the prizefight! (6-3) 13—Descriptive of a letter illuminated with real variety. (7) 15— Ship of smaller displacement. (7) 16— A piece of wool to leave on the beach. (6) 18—Don’t stay outside—take part in the competition. (5) 20—Finished before tea—not in private. (5) 23—The insect leaves the meat unfinished. (3) (Solution, Page 3).