EDITORIAL.

Erk's Work, 1 February 1941, Page 1

EDITORIAL.

For some obscure reason, it seems to be the thing to profess trepidation when starting a Magazine of this kind. Being innocent as babes of all such gentlemanly instincts, we can admit nothing but profound relief. Perhaps we should apologise for this oversight: perhaps we should apologise for the Magazine. Again we confess abysmal ignorance of good form. But there is, we would suggest, some shadow of excuse.

This venture was conceived months ago. Much thought was given to it—perhaps we should say squandered. Hopes were high, ambition soared, and, as is so often the case, came a cropper. Whether it was the paper shortage, we do not know. At all events, nothing happened. True, a lone, worthy soul with an ex-professional interest made regular pilgrimage to the Editorial Office. The Guardhouse stirred, but the Station as a whole was in a coma. Rouse it? As well try to rouse a mountain by shouting into a cave. By and by, however, taking its own good time, a minute trickle appeared. We settled ouselves glumly down to watch, and in due course a tiny pile had materialised. Meanwhile Christmas had come and gone. At length, patience exhausted and nerves frayed, it was decided to make the leap. Here we are at the bottom, a fully-formed whelp. What is to happen to us we do not know. An Editorial Staff cannot make a Magazine out of nothing. If this thing is to survive, it must be nursed by the whole Station, which calls for fairly general effort. Now that a start has been made, perhaps the rest will not be so hard. That no longer lies with us. However, we may not be unduly optimistic in hoping so.

January, 1941.