GREEK BUGS AND CREEPY-CRAWLIES

No, this is not a piece about Greek political life! Although there is a rich selection of obnoxious insects, blood-sucking parasites and venomous serpents among the laughably-termed Greek “elite”, I leave a comprehensive dissection of that foul class of fauna to a later date. I wish to describe to my readers a few of the actual insects, pleasant or otherwise, they may encounter on a sun-blessed visit to these majestic shores.

The noisy Cicada, hidden in a pine tree

The most characteristic summer insect in Greece is the Cicada whose chirruping call fills the air, if not exactly deafening the population. This serenade is not really annoying as it is connected with lovely summer sun and evening heat. The cicada itself, in its European form anyway, is a well-camouflaged insect, residing mainly in the cracked trunks of pine trees whose sap it sucks contentedly. Its song emanates from membranes of the abdomen called tymbals producing high frequency clicks which vibrate and the insect’s body acts as a resonance chamber delivering remarkably high-decibel sounds. Cicadas are found on all continents (except Antarctica!) and I gather the pestilential US version is a tough customer. He resembles the “swivel-eyed loon” – the epithet the Cameroons applied, before their ultimate downfall, to the fine body of Brexiteers!

The US cicada or "swivel-eyed loon"

      

Like anywhere hot, Greece has ants, beetles and cockroaches in spades. A neglected slice of bread or dropped crumbs will quickly attract columns of tiny ants, madly cooperating to carry their booty away. Cockroaches are odiferous and unwelcome guests; they make a peculiar squeaking noise, their mating call, which puts the shivers up many a fastidious spine. I recall my dear mother, speechless with horror when a quite harmless Centipede interrupted her toilette, - it was an unknown sight in her native Scotland!

A Mediterranean Centipede

      

         

Small lizards of the gecko variety find a peaceful nook in houses, especially around balconies; they are impressively athletic but timid. I recall one taking up residence in our post-box and I am not sure who was more astonished when we came face-to-face. Yesterday my dear wife found one nestling in a pile of clothes and she got quite a shock.

With so much flower pollen and foliage, flying insects are in abundance. Wasps are a particular hazard in high summer and I recall a young girl being painfully stung on the tongue when eating beside us in a hotel restaurant in beautiful Skiathos. Her tongue swelled up alarmingly and it must have been a traumatic episode for her. Red hornets make a sinister appearance and are best avoided as they are aggressive and their sting is famously painful.

A nasty red Hornet

       

Perhaps the most heart-stopping encounter which can befall you is to meet a notorious Scorpion. These hissing insects can be found on our holiday island of Samos where they congregate in dark alleys or tumbledown walls, often near decrepit old buildings. They come out at dusk and I advise a rapid exit in the opposite direction. They are relatively rare and expert exterminators cull them effectively. Their sting is said to be excruciatingly painful but is not lethal. Do not hang around long enough to find out for yourself. Their large pincers and arched sting are very characteristic.

The European Scorpion

Yet I have over-emphasised the nasty side of Greek insect life. Go to every garden or go to that famous Valley of the Butterflies on Rhodes and wonder at the beauty of nature fluttering in great numbers and with unforgettable colours. Such a tonic!

A Greek Rainbow Butterfly

SMD

28.7.16

Text Copyright © Sidney Donald 2016

SAINT JOHN THE EVANGELIST

Re-reading the Gospel of St John, as one does, I could not help being again struck by the odd tone of this work and its differences from the 3 so-called Synoptic Gospels, based on St Mark and on the mysterious source known to biblical scholars as “Q”. Of course all Gospels are odd to our minds as they are works of theology, not of history and certainly not of biography. They are written to assure existing Christians and impress potential converts in 1^st or 2^nd century Palestine and the Near East. Factual and historic accuracy is often doubtful. St John’s Gospel has a distinctive flavour and is apparently written in a much more educated Greek than that of the three others.

St John from The Book of Kells

Very little is known of St John the Evangelist, who wrote the Gospel and 3 rather unimportant epistles, probably in about 110 AD in the city of Ephesus. He is distinct from the John, son of Zebedee, who was one of the Disciples and he is not St John the Divine, based in Patmos, who wrote the apocalyptic Book of Revelation. There is no evidence that our John had even heard of the other 3 evangelists and of course he was not an eye-witness of any of the alleged events in his narrative.

His Gospel can be divided into 4 sections. In the first, the Prologue, he sets out his doctrine of the Word (Logos). I, and no doubt my readers, will remember the bulk of this chapter being read at school Carol Services: In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God etc, etc. The lesson would be intoned by the headmaster (too tricky to be entrusted to a boy) and the head would end this rigmarole with magisterial solemnity. The congregation would be none the wiser as the Logos is a complex, alien, possibly Gnostic and controversial theological concept and the sonorities of the Authorised Version merely cloud the surrounding issues.

The second section is the Book of Signs, mainly an account of miracles performed by Jesus, in part a recruiting call for new converts. The miracles (called Signs by John) include walking on water, turning water into wine at Cana, curing the paralysed man at the Pool of Bethesda, feeding the 5,000, giving sight to a blind man and finally the raising of Lazarus, which tipped the Jewish priesthood into plotting the death of Jesus (not the cleansing of the Temple, as in the 3 Synoptics).

The Raising of Lazarus by Duccio

The Book of Signs also carries a persistent dialogue between Jesus and “The Jews” (whom John treats with some hostility) but he probably meant the Jewish priestly authorities, as the majority of early Christians were Jews too. The dialogue is all about who sent Jesus, his precise relation to the Jewish God, about him being the door of the sheepfold, about him being the light of the world and other provocations like “I am the bread that came down from Heaven”. Jesus reportedly spoke in riddles and the tensions between Judaism and the Christians were a major feature in 1^st and 2^nd century Palestine. Famous metaphorical analogies are cited with Jesus asserting that he is the bread of life, the good shepherd, the resurrection and the life, the way and the truth and the life, and the true vine.

The third section is known as the Book of Glory and speeds us through the entry into Jerusalem, the last supper (with Jesus washing the disciples’ feet, but no mention of sharing bread and wine), the betrayal in the garden by Judas, the trial before Pilate, the scourging, the denial by Peter, the vengeful calls of the Jewish leaders, the crucifixion and the resurrection. The section ends with Jesus’ appearances to the disciples, including to once doubting Thomas who proclaims “My Lord and my God”.

Finally there is a peculiar Epilogue in chapter 21, recounting the miracle of the draught of fishes, and a conversation between Jesus and Peter foretelling the latter’s martyrdom. It is believed to be a later addition and not by John’s hand.

The Gospel of John is notable for some omissions – no nativity narrative, no presentation at the Temple, no parables and no sermon on the mount. Mary, mother of Jesus is not named and the death of Jesus is not linked to the Pauline notion of atonement. Jesus refers to the coming appearance of the Holy Spirit, good Trinitarian stuff, but says that “My Father is greater than I”. These vexed matters I leave to the vast army of theological writers to explain.

Yet there is no doubt that John’s Gospel was highly influential and inspired many Christians. I write as a sceptic, wholly devoid of religious faith, and perhaps I have already written enough. I am not oblivious to the dictum of Carlyle who declared:

“Scepticism writing about Belief may have great gifts: but it is really ultra vires there. It is Blindness laying down the Laws of Optics.”

For better or for worse, I am simply not on the same wave-length as the Evangelist.

The traditional eagle symbol of St John

    

SMD

22.07.16

Text Copyright © Sidney Donald 2016

GLAMOUR AND RHAPSODY: IVOR NOVELLO Celebrities of Stage and Screen (23)

    

We are so obsessed with our contemporary celebrities that it is easy to forget Britain’s towering star from 1914 to 1951, Ivor Novello. His career was blessed with uninterrupted success, both as a composer and actor. With matinée idol good looks. Ivor easily outshone our present musical phenomenon Andrew Lloyd Webber. Yet Ivor is sadly forgotten and his music is derided as hopelessly dated. This piece celebrates his extraordinary talent and rich legacy.

Ivor Novello

Ivor Novello (1893-1951) was born, in Cardiff, David Ivor Davies, the son of a municipal rent collector and a well-known singing teacher Clara Novello Davies. Though proudly Welsh, Ivor won a choral scholarship to Magdalen Choir School, Oxford; his talent burgeoned and he aspired to write music. He changed his name to Ivor Novello and after a family move to London in 1913 he bought a flat above the Strand Theatre in London’s Aldwych and there he lived for the rest of his life. When only 21, he wrote the WW1 smash hit Keep the Home Fires Burning and Ivor never looked back.

Ivor smoulders

   

Ivor’s good looks were undeniable and, making silent movies from 1919 onwards, he was in the tradition of Rudolf Valentino, much admired by ladies of a certain age and the repository of many a bubbling female fantasy. These ladies would have been disappointed with the reality as Ivor was entirely homosexual and had already met the love of his life in 1916, actor Bobby Andrews, with whom he had an enduring if hardly a monogamous relationship until his death in 1951.

Ivor had a wide circle of friends including Eddie Marsh, Churchill’s private secretary, and the poet Siegfried Sassoon, with whom he had a brief affair. Bobby Andrews had introduced Ivor to Noel Coward, 6 years his junior, and Coward had admired and envied Ivor’s ease and self-confidence. They were friendly rivals thereafter. Ivor wrote a stream of plays, songs and skits for revues, starring in many of his plays himself. A highly successful song was And her Mother came too (1921) uncharacteristically satirical for Ivor.

Ivor was a glamorous presence on the silent screen but he was by no means a great actor. Nonetheless he topped the British popularity charts several times in the 1920s. He excelled in The Rat (1925), whose screenplay he wrote, as French jewel thief Pierre Boucheron alternating between very high and very low society and notably took the lead in Alfred Hitchcock’s first film The Lodger (1927)

Ivor as The Rat

In 1927 wealthy Ivor bought a country house near Maidenhead called Redroofs where he was a generous host to many showbiz friends and where he threw unbuttoned weekend parties for his gay circle. At a time when there were criminal sanctions against homosexual conduct, Ivor was nonchalant about his preferences and thankfully was never legally pursued.

Ivor briefly went to Hollywood but did not prosper. He tried his hand as a script writer (there were already plenty song-writers there) and his only claim to fame is that he wrote dialogue for Tarzan the Ape Man (1932), Johnny Weissmuller’s debut, including the immortal line Me Tarzan, You Jane!

Ivor really found his niche in 1930s London when he wrote and starred in a succession of musicals, famously Glamorous Night (1935), Careless Rapture (1936) and The Dancing Years (1939). All had long West End runs and were huge box-office hits. The songs included classics like My Dearest Dear, I can give you the Starlight and Waltz of my Heart.

Novello’s musicals were even a little anachronistic when first staged. They took the form of Ruritanian operettas in the tradition of Lehar and Chabrier and Ivor would prance around the stage in tight trousers, boots and velvet finery. The plots were the usual twaddle, court intrigues, coronations, revolutions, all presented with lavish sets and large choruses. The music was lush and heavy on romantic violins. Ivor would not sing himself but leave that to the younger opera singers. His shows were delightful escapism in the depressing 1930s and the public flocked to see them.

Ivor acted but wrote fewer pieces during WW2 and got into serious trouble when convicted of the misuse of petrol coupons (he was still running his Rolls). Unlucky to come up before a queer-bashing judge, Ivor was sent to 8 weeks imprisonment and served a miserable 4 weeks in Wormwood Scrubs prison which greatly demoralised him. His public forgave him immediately and he returned to West End success with his Perchance to Dream in early 1945. This show included his lovely song We’ll gather Lilacs, looking forward to returning soldiers and reunited families.

We'll gather lilacs in the spring again

And walk together down an English lane

Until our hearts have learnt to sing again

When you come home once more.

Ivor’s final musical was King’s Rhapsody (1949) which starred Ivor with established favourites like Zena Dare, Vanessa Lee and Olive Gilbert. It ran for 840 performances. The plot was on the usual Ruritanian lines but there were great numbers like Fly Home Little Heart and Someday my Heart will Awake. My mother and probably thousands of other mothers (or grandmothers) of my readers made the pilgrimage to see the show and their hero Ivor.

Ivor Novello in his 50s

After playing his role one evening in 1951, Ivor had an unexpected heart attack and died two days later. He was only 58; his funeral at Golders Green Crematorium was besieged by 7,000 grieving fans, almost all women. Ivor was nothing if not a theatrical “Luvvie” and a wit later reported a telegram from above: Everything here too divine for words Stop God a complete and utter Darling Stop Come along up Stop Love Ivor!

Ivor clearly added to the gaiety of the nation and does not deserve to be forgotten and I hope one day some bright spark will revive his music, as happened for Abba, by copying Mama Mia! and fitting the music to a new story. Ivor’s fine Rose of England might even make a decent post-Brexit English National Anthem!

www.youtube.com/watch?v=r43gLTzzMpI   We’ll gather Lilacs

www.youtube.com/watch?v=3X_8ZY13D5I Someday my Heart will awake

www.youtube.com/watch?v=0MYnUzB0TMg Love is my Reason for Living

SMD

20.07.16

Text Copyright © Sidney Donald 2016

POST-BREXIT PANORAMA

I hardly know where to start. A totally astonishing three weeks of UK politics has just passed – the historic Brexit referendum vote, the resignation of David Cameron, a sharp Tory leadership contest with Michael Gove turning against Boris Johnson, the elimination of Gove, the brief elevation of Andrea Leadsom, her withdrawal, ending with the crowning apotheosis of Theresa May. Theresa is now in charge and her cabinet (with Boris as Foreign Secretary) suggests we are in for a refreshingly radical administration. All this happens in a period including the terror attack in Nice, an abortive military coup in Turkey and tragi-comic leadership convulsions in Jeremy Corbyn’s Labour Party.

New Prime Minister Theresa May

                      

Theresa is the final victor but first a word about the vanquished. David Cameron has gone and the dignified manner of his departure did him much credit. Well-liked, articulate and immaculate, Cameron fatally misjudged the Brexit Referendum, not at all helped by an unbending and hostile European Union. Cameron lived within the Westminster bubble, well-off, metropolitan, maybe never wholly convincing, largely unaware of the frustrations of so many of his compatriots. He is a decent man nonetheless who will be missed by many.

A sad end for decent David Cameron

                                        

The Brexiteers, of which I was one, savoured their victory but failed to secure the top job, neither Boris, Gove nor Leadsom measuring up. Most Tory Remainers accepted defeat on this great issue with resigned grace but the Remainers of the Centre-Left went into paroxysms of apoplectic fury, launching hopeless campaigns for Grand Petitions, Supreme Court Challenges and Parliamentary Shenanigans, all certain to fail. This clique simply could not accept the democratic verdict of the people and their sense of entitlement, their belief that the Peasants must not be allowed to prevail over their will was supported by organs like the BBC and The Guardian. They have made swallowing the Brexit pill unnecessarily bitter for themselves.

The “Cameroons”, or at least the Notting Hill set, fared badly when Theresa May came to select her cabinet. No place was found for heavy hitters George Osborne and Michael Gove, and lesser lights Nicky Morgan, Oliver Letwin, Steven Crabb, Theresa Villiers and John Whittingdale were consigned to outer darkness. Osborne has talent but he needed to move from the Exchequer after 6 years; he had eyed the Foreign office but he was thwarted by Boris on whom Theresa took a punt. Boris is indiscreet and not good at detail but he has real wit, charm and charisma: he is clever and well-travelled: I think he could work out very well. I am a fan of cerebral arch-Brexiteer Michael Gove but his knifing of Boris, however justified, was unattractive and undermined trust in him. Theresa may too have wanted to extract her revenge for reputedly abrasive turf wars between her Home Office and the Department of Justice under Gove. I hope Gove soon enough returns to office.

George Osborne and Michael Gove, victims of the Theresa May Purge

      

The field now belongs to Theresa May, Home Secretary for 6 years and a largely silent Remainer. She remains an enigma to me; she is said to be determined and effective but the sharp rise in net immigration happened on her watch. She did negotiate deals to extradite two notorious Islamic extremist preachers but our obstructive judiciary is largely to blame for this problem. In her 6 years she did well to survive in the notorious political graveyard of the Home Office but she has few positive measures to her credit compared to say, Rab Butler or Roy Jenkins. Theresa does have experience and knows the modish ways of her predecessor. Apparently she asked about “all the green crap” and duly abolished the Department of Climate Change – well played!

She entered Downing Street delivering a resounding speech about the importance of the Union and “the time of great national change we face” after Brexit. She talked of the injustices suffered by the poor, by blacks, by white working-class boys, by those educated by the state, by women, by mental health patients and by the young. Life was much harder for these groups than MPs realised and she pledged to improve their lives and the lives of all who are “just managing”. These were the words of a Tory radical and I hope they are not just rhetorical hot air. If she means what she says, I cry Hurrah!

Her government will be dominated by the Brexit negotiation and I like her team of David Davis and Liam Fox, solid citizens both, supplemented by Philip Hammond and Boris Johnson. There is a huge job to be done and we will see how her administration copes. No doubt Theresa will cast a beady eye over any backsliders.

With the departure of Cameron (Politics, Philosophy and Economics, Brasenose) I was worried that the modern Oxonian intellectual edge of the government might be blunted. There is no need to worry as we have Philip Hammond (PPE, University College), Liz Truss (PPE, Merton) and Jeremy Hunt (PPE, Magdalen). They will surely enlighten and leaven the Tory lump, says I, (PPE, St Edmund Hall)!

SMD

17.07.16

Text Copyright © Sidney Donald 2016

CITY SNAPSHOTS (5): ATHENS 1969

Normally this series tries to describe a City at what I have called a moment of apogee in her history. This time the great moment belongs only to the author as he was married to his wonderful Greek bride Betty in Athens on 19 April 1969. The date was of course hugely significant to me and I take the opportunity to sketch in some recollections of laid-back Athens 47 years ago and contrast it with the often sadly troubled Athens of today.

The Parthenon and the Erectheum on the Acropolis, Athens

The Athens to which my wedding party of Scottish family and old friends was introduced was then ruled by by the Colonel’s Regime (“Junta”) which lasted from 1967 to 1974. The classic military coup d’etat of 21 April 1967 had appalled Western Europe, who believed democracy had permanently taken root there since the bad old days of the 1930s. But Greek politics were deeply corrupt and a drift leftwards had alarmed ultra-conservative elements in the army who saw themselves as self-appointed guardians of traditional values. The wounds of the bitter Civil War (1946-49) had not healed and supporters of the defeated Left had long been excluded from public office; the hard core of agitators lived in exile in communist Eastern Europe.

Colonels Pattakos, Papadopoulos and Makarezos

The Colonels suppressed dissent, rounded up leftist activists, sent them into internal exile and shamefully tortured some resistors. Maybe as many as 24 civilians were killed in the turmoil associated with the violent Athens Polytechnic riots of November 1973 (none on campus), but the Junta’s real sins pale beside those of many other dictatorships. The regime was authoritarian rather than Fascist.

The Greek life I initially knew was simple, relaxed and traditional. Supermarkets were unknown, car ownership far from widespread and the infrastructure urgently needing investment. The local taverna was a focal point of social life: all the family and relatives would come along - commonly 10 or 12 would sit down to sup animatedly on a long table. Before eating, the taverna kitchen pots would be inspected to see what looked appetising. The fare was often grilled meat or my favoured kokkoretsi (lamb’s innards tied up with an intestine and spit-roasted) washed down by gallons of draught cold resinated white wine. The Greeks ate late – an 11pm kick-off was quite usual: as a young chap I could cope, though it played Old Harry with the digestion of older visitors!

Greece was delightfully cheap and back-packers abounded in Athens and the islands. It was a fun place with loud discos to patronise, nightclubs (bouzoukia) with their plangent mandolin music, busy outdoor cinemas with the latest escapist movie from Aliki, Konstandaras or Vlachopoulou and plentiful cafes like Papaspirou, Floca and Zonars for chats into the wee, small hours. By day one could swim on the pine-fringed beaches at Schenias or eat seafood at now much missed Psaropoulos, Glyfada or at Lambros, Vouliagmeni or a dozen fish tavernas at Microlimano, still going strong. There was not much sophistication but Greece retained her distinctive Levantine air.

The Bouzoukia of Athens

The Greek curiosity of spirit was irrepressible and reserved Brits got short shrift. I recall my uptight indignation when I was pressed by a local to disclose my income to him after all of 15 minutes’ acquaintance! I tended to keep off politics, always a fraught subject, but typically my dear father-in-law embraced me when he accepted me as a son-in-law. “I will love you like my own son”, he tearfully declared, “but if I find you are a communist, I will kill you!” He meant it, though I felt safe enough: but later he opined that blameless Clem Attlee was “a famous communist!”

Cities and cityscapes change; inexorably Athens moved on and became more European. Democracy of a kind was restored by respected Constantine Karamanlis (New Democracy) and populist Andreas Papandreou (PASOK) did a great service by welcoming back exiled leftists and opening up government positions to all. One virtue of the Junta was that Greece was solvent, largely forced upon her when she was excluded from capital markets. By the 1980s Greece wanted to catch up with more developed states and started to borrow.

Successive governments introduced welfare the country could not afford and pampered their favourite special interest groups. Her finances were an opaque swamp. The political elite betrayed the people with its own looting. In 2001 Greece joined the Euro on a false prospectus and while the Greeks confessed their sin in 2004, the EU was too polite to eject her. The lure of ever more debt intoxicated the Greeks who wallowed in debt like a cat snuffling catnip.

There were still some good times – the Olympics were successfully staged in Athens in 2004, and underdogs Greece won the European football championship in the same year; she even won the Eurovision song contest in 2005! But Greece was hanging on a debt-fuelled thread and disaster struck in 2009 followed by 3 massive bail-outs up to 2015. The Greek economy, unable to devalue as it was shackled to the Euro, had to apply harsh deflation and is in ruins. Unemployment at 24% has sapped the will of poorer people, industrial production has nose-dived, benefits have been slashed and any recovery seems far away.

Mount Lycabettus towers over Athens

Athens and Greece are currently depressed, injured and desperate. Yet the warm spirit of Greece, which I have loved for 47 years, endures even though you now need to dig deep to find it. It is of the greatest value to our world.

SMD

09.07.16

Text Copyright © Sidney Donald 2016

LEADERSHIP WANTED!

We Brits have been treated to a series of dull thuds as successive prominent leaders have thrown in the towel. First, David Cameron, the Prime Minister no less, scuttled away precipitately on losing the Brexit Referendum: then Boris Johnson did not stand for the Tory leadership and Premiership when his “friend” Michael Gove withdrew his support (Gove saw close up how shambolic Boris really is): then UKIP leader Nigel Farage, veteran proponent of Brexit, hung up his boots – his mission gloriously completed. Only dismal Jeremy Corbyn clung on, disowned by his own MPs, splitting Labour irreparably. The trend was catching in less exalted spheres too; Roy Hodgson fell on his sword after his overpaid and underperforming England side was knocked out of the Euros by Iceland (sic!) and charmless Chris Evans quit after his Top Gear TV ratings nose-dived. Applications invited to fill these yawning gaps!

We Brexiteers had forecast a rocky period after the Referendum and it is being delivered in spades. MPs are headless chickens, sterling has crashed, stock markets are in turmoil, government has suddenly disappeared. Much of this is a temporary frothing at the mouth which will subside when the Tories finally agonise and choose a Leader and hence a Prime Minister.  As I write, the hot favourite to succeed is Theresa May, 6 years Home Secretary and, in Ken Clarke’s indiscreet words, “A bloody difficult woman”.

Theresa May

The Tories have done rather well with “bloody difficult women” as the Blessed Margaret Thatcher ruled the roost and transformed the nation from 1979-1990. Theresa is looked upon as “a safe pair of hands” and a highly competent person. These are real virtues but I believe the country needs something more. It needs imaginative social policies to tackle the alienation of provincial England and discontented Scotland, to create a fairer society, to take advantage of our financial freedom from the dead hand of Brussels and to capitalise on our global economic contacts.

The best people to deliver that are committed Brexit leaders Andrea Leadsom or Michael Gove; sadly in assassinating Boris politically, Michael has fatally damaged his own prospects. Andrea is untried and perhaps not inspirational – mind you William Pitt the Younger, Ramsay Macdonald and Tony Blair had never held any office before becoming Prime Minister and all did pretty well. But in the event we may have to settle on Theresa and hope she rises to the challenge. Although wounds are still raw, there was merit in William Hague’s maxim “We are all Leavers now” and soon the divide between Remainers and Leavers will fade away.

I do not think I am a male chauvinist pig and while fellow-Scotsman John Knox (not one of my favourites) in 1588 railed against the Monstrous Regiment of Women, I do flinch a tad while contemplating a Western world later in 2016 entirely run by women. I foresee Theresa May in Britain, Angela Merkel in Europe and Hillary Clinton in the USA all calling the shots. One deeply sighs and gently prays for mercy.

Post-Referendum it cannot be business as usual in Britain. The old elites have had their day. Constitutional change is surely on the agenda. How can we defend a first-past-the-post electoral system which results in a wildly over-represented SNP and a totally under-represented UKIP? The House of Lords may have to be swept away and replaced by an elected Senate of manageable size with enhanced powers. Educational standards are improving but the Oxbridge ethos is too dominant and social mobility between the classes, which has been in reverse, needs to be sharply boosted. The nettle of excessive remuneration in the City and elsewhere has to be grasped, if necessary by sensible statutory means. A programme of this kind belongs to One Nation Tories and I am sure the likes of May, Gove, Duncan Smith and Letwin can progress these policies and attract much Centrist support.

The recovery and renewal of Britain is only beginning!

SMD

07.07.16

Text Copyright © Sidney Donald 2016