The
articles detail the Battle of Britain as experienced by English civilians. The
first letter, dated Jan. 1, 1941, and published in the February issue of Common Sense, is titled “Blackout,
Bureaucracy & Courage.” MacNeice visits Birmingham (“rows and rows of
toothless, eyeless houses, gutters of powdered glass”) and Oxford (“up to a
thousand people are sleeping in an outlying movie-house”), and finally London:
“Night
after night the same people sleep in the Tubes (the number of them is now put
at about 35,000) lying on the platform where the trains come in, their heads to
the curving wall and their feet to the trains; between their feet and the
trains there is not more than a yard, so you have to be careful where you step.”
MacNeice
strives not for propagandistic sentimentality but objectivity, and the effect
is proportionally more powerful: “The vast majority of Londoners lead a life
these days of very hard work, immeasurable patience, and next to no frills.” He
has a nice eye for detail and anecdote:
“When
Virginia Woolf’s apartment [at 37 Mecklenburgh Square] was disemboweled [in
September 1940], left open to the air, I am told that for several days
paintings by Duncan Grant (the rising star of the twenties) remained hanging on
the remaining walls through the London drizzle and the blitzes that followed.”
MacNeice
even sees the humor implicit in some of the devastation: “…some of the more
pretentious commercial architecture is aesthetically improved by bombing.” Then
MacNeice happens on a stirring image of England, battered but
indomitable:
“The
church of St Clement Danes in the Strand, one of Wren’s elegances in Portland
stone, looks none the worse for having had its windows blown out; outside it in
the churchyard, just beyond the apse, a statue of Dr Johnson still stands among
the debris, unconcerned and pawky, with an open book in his left hand, looking
up Fleet Street.”
The
statue is still there, the work of Percy Hetherington Fitzgerald, who unveiled
it in 1910. Besides the book in his hand, two more and an inkpot are at Johnson’s
feet. The inscription reads: “SAMUEL JOHNSON/ L.L.D. / CRITIC . ESSAYIST .
PHILOLOGIST / WIT. POET. MORALIST / DRAMATIST. POLITICAL WRITER. TALKER.”
Fitzgerald also made a sculpture of Boswell in Lichfield, Johnson’s birthplace.
In his Dictionary, Johnson defines “pawky” (or “pauky”) as “sly; cunning;
artful.”
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