Nelson Evening Mail SATURDAY, JULY 13, 1929 “THE FOURTH ESTATE”

Nelson Evening Mail, Volume LXIII, 13 July 1929, Page 6

Nelson Evening Mail SATURDAY, JULY 13, 1929 “THE FOURTH ESTATE”

THE Three Estates of the Realm are the Sovereign, the- Lords, and the Commons, and the journalists have assumed, or have had thrust upon them, the nickname of the Fourth Estate, because it is their duty to record, to comment upon, and, when necessary, to criticise the actions of the Three Estates which govern the Realm. How important are the functions of the journals and the journalists has been put on record by a prominent member of . tire profession, in the. following words, “While, individually, the great papers wield considerable influence, due partly to real sagacity and authority, partly to the! psychological effect produced by mere print or by reiterated statement, collectively the Press now represents and expresses the Public, and expresses popu-

lav opinion more directly than Parliament itself.”

To record, to comment and, if necessary, to criticise—therein is practically the whole duty of the journalist—to record and describe the happenings of the day, to comment upon them and, if necessary to criticise the actions of those concerned in them. Tho journalist lives in tho present, and that most emphatically. He may have to revert to the past—and often has to in order to draw comparisons and conclusions—and ho may sometimes bo obliged to try to peer into and to prognosticate tho future, but his interest is essentially in tho day, as it arrives, as it runs its course, and ends. He is primarily tho writer of tho topical, the recorder of everyday happenings, tho describer of commonplaces because they bear on the life of to-day. He has forgotten yesterday. He takes small thought of tomorrow. Ho lives in the present, and lives vividly; taking a full interest in all he sees happening around him, a:, cording, {describing, ,and commenting, for the benefit of his huge taskmaster, the Public. That is why the newspaper is always fresh and new, never grows old, always is ip demand, and survives, it: spite of newer and more mechanical means of interesting and amusing and instructing the body politic. Thus it will be seen that the journalist does not set out to be literary, or to write finely, with a view to being remembered ®by posterity; for ho knows full well that the- pages of his journal will be destroyed long before he himself is dead, and that anything which he may write can only be preserved by being re-printed in something more permanent than a newspaper. For all that, sometimes without knowing it, he perpetuates, on ths spur of the moment, and in all the hurry of getting to press, work of the highest literary merit. We could give many instances of this striking of the literary fire from the flint of fact; but we have space for but one. Perhaps one of the greatest ornaments of the profession was G. W. Steevens, who sprang into fame through his wonderful description of Queen Victoria s procession to St. Paul’s, on the occasion of her Diamond Jubilee:

The eye was filled with splendour, but fresh splendour came crowding m on it. The advancing pageant shifted, loosened arid came up in open order. But as the mass of colour became less massive, it became more wonderfully coloured. Here, riding three and three, came a kaleidoscope of dazzling horsemen—equerries and aides-de-camp and attaches, ambassadors and Princes, all the pomp of all the nations of /the earth. Scarlet and gold, purple and gold, emerald and gold, white and gold always a changing tumult of colours that seemed to gust and gleam with a light of . their own, and always blinding gold. •It . was enough. ‘No eye could bear more gorgeousness ; no more gorgeousness could x be, unless princes are to clothe selves in rainbow's and the very sun. The prelude was played, and now the great moment was at hand. Already the carriages were rolling up full ot the Queen’s kindred, full of her cln - dren and children’s children. But we hardly looked at them. Down there, through an avenue of faces—(the wnt- - er viewed the proceedings from the stens of St. Paul’s)— through a storm of white waving handkerchiefs, through ' roaring volleys of cheers, there was approaching a carriage drawn by eight cream-edioured horses. The roar surged up the street, keeping pace with the eight horses. The carriage passed the barrier—(tho City boundary, where Temple Bar once stood)—it entered the churchyard; it wheeled to the left and then to, the right; it drew up at the very steps of the Cathedral; we all leaped up; cheers broke into f screams, and enthusiasm swelled to delirium; the sun, watery till now, shone out- suddenly clear and dry, and there—and there —. And there was a little, quiet, flushed old lady. All in black, a silver streak under the black bonnet, a simple white sunshade, sitting quite still, with the corners of her mouth drawn tight, as if She were • .trying not to ci v. But' that old lady was the Queen, arid you knew it. You didn’t want; to look at the glittering uniforms now, nor yet at the ■ bright gowns and the young faces in the carriages, nm- yet at the stately princes—though by now all these were ranged in a half circle round her. You couldn’t look at anybody but the Queen. So* quiet, so very grave, so very" punctual, so unmistakably and every inch a lady and a Queen. Almost pathetic, if > you will, that small black figure in tlie middle of these shining cavaliers, this great army, this roaring multitude; but also very glorious.

Two years fater Steevens went to serve his journal in South Africa, where the Boers had invaded Natal and Cape Colony. Tie was shut up in Ladysmith with the small army of Sir George White, suffered all the trials of the siege, including bombardment, hunger, and pestilence, and . died of typhoid fever, which decimated the besieged. Probably the piece of good writing, which we have quoted, would have perished, with its author, if it had not been included in Sir Herbert Maxwell’s semiofficial history of Queen Victoria’s reign. Such is the journalists’ reticence. He hides himself under a bushel, while he lets his light shine brightly. It is that ho serves his journal whole-heartedly, even to the forgetting of himself. Anonymity has, been his motto—perhaps wisely, for we are not all Steevenses, or. Foster Frasers, or Philip Gibbses. But probably, this anonymity would have been broken, but for the fact that “The Times”—-when, it was justly called “The Thunderer”—insisted strictly on the principle of anonymity in relation not only' to the occasional contributors to its columns, but also to the permanent members of the staff, in spite of the fact, as we are: told, Hist “there were few well-known, men of the time who had not in one form or another contributed to its pages.” The journalist really suffers little or nothing from this restriction, since every reputable journal will always let him collect any of his contributions which he may think fit for separate publication, and will place no hindrance to his printing them in a book. That this is seldom done, is sufficient comment on the generally ephemeral nature of the (journalist's work. He is much more engaged in making the fame of other men, than in making his own. Members of Parliament, politicians of every sort, public men generally, actors, authrirs, artists, and musicians, indeed all those who work for something more than mere money—all those who are seeking the betterment of man-

kind find in tlie journalist their greatest helper and friend. For tho. Press not only guards tho public’s rights, and exposes charlatanism and quackery of all sorts; it fosters by ©very means in its power every movement which promises some benefit to mankind. And its chief virtue is that its servants are unobtrusive, largely anonymous, anxious to give publicity to tho work of others, when it is deserving, but seeking no publicity for themselves. ,We speak of the British Press, and of that of tho British Empire. Its glory is ip the reticence of its writers, and in'their dosiro to record faithfully, to describe exactly and, when necessary, to criticise justly the actions and utterances of their fellow-men.