St Hugh's College, Oxford - The Imp, Dec 1929

THE

C; •A .Seel

COMMITTEE.

Editor: M. F. EVANS.

Treasurer: M. MARTIN.

Third Year Representative—G. A. JOEL. Second Year Representative—B. J. SPEDDING.

THE IMP DECEMBER, 1929.

Editorial

T

HE competition for a new cover design was won by Miss Joel, whose design appears on this number and will be used for the forthcoming year.

In this College Useful knowledge Everywhere one finds ; And already Growing steady We've enlarged our minds.'

We know a chaste expressionless vacuity of face Is perpetrated daily by the histrionic ace— Who is singularly fertile in all species of grimace ; That the stocky hockey element affects a rolling gait Triumphantly distributing its negligible weight ; That propensity maternal is exclusively retained By a little Irish pixie who a milky ' lisp's attained, That an air of drooping languor and a deprecating sigh Completes a Grecian profile plus a quasi-saucer eye ; That an academic shreddedness is not entirely due To the energetic spirit's effervescing yo' ly through.

We've learnt the nice distinction 'twixt a Fellow's prowling stalk And the lumbering progression of the Presidential walk, 'Twixt the spinal verticality and somewhat frigid grace Of the vice's very leisurely perambulating pace.

We know a Rubens-Epstein combination's seen the light In colourful massivity—revived Pre-Raphaelite ; That economic genius can affect the ordinary By placing hair behind the ears and looking visionary, And psycho-analysing all the hopelessly unwary.

And perhaps Just a few True blue Worthy chaps Know More,

H.M.F.

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Things We Want to Know i. How Pass Mods. got its name ?

2. Whether a certain lady's collapse on Sunday night was due to an overdose of umbrage on the day of the dress rehearsal ?

3. Did the Fire captain sit in the front row to extinguish the play ?

4. Who is Keeper of the Rolls on the top landing?

' Nothing is Sacred now but Villainy' Pope.

Her beauty, like that of a modern water-colour drawing, springs from a delicate economy of line and colour. Black hair falling in smooth waves about an ivory face, blue eyes whose coldness is intensified by the deeper blue of her dress, and a pervading air of tranquility, all go to make up a picture of consummate precision and unity. This same unity, this ruthless rejection of non-essentials, is the dominant note of her mind.as well as her body.

She looks curiously detached, curled up there on the window-sill. A babel of sound envelopes but does not touch her. Her own languid rather plaintive voice has been long silent, and she sits watching through half closed lids the movement of that turbulent chattering crowd of humanity, a sardonic smile on her lips. She cannot understand it, this boisterous gregariousness of her fellows, but it does not matter. She is not troubled by the things she does not understand.

Scraps of conversation bombard her from all sides, like faint pin-pricks, irritating, yet not sufficiently pungent to provoke a retort. Here someone is boasting about the number of Fresher's names she has learnt ; there they are discussing hockey. Amazing how people can expend so much heat and energy in learning things that do not matter, in doing things that have no possible meaning ; rushing about on a hockey field, for instance, getting hot and dishevelled, when the same amount of exercise can he taken perfectly decorously and much more pleasantly by walking round the Parks . . . Well, they will grow out of it, perhaps.

P --I- n - ! P - - 1- n - ! Do come and talk to me ! I'm in such a crisis.

My God. I don't know what I can do ! A frantic figure approaches, chin up and head thrust forward, looking for all the world as though she were contemplating taking a header from the top of Westminster Cathedral, in full view of the Press.

P - 1 - n - sighs wearily, but her eyes light up. ' Oh, R - th, not again ! This is the third crisis this week.' Then she moves off, but without the speed which the occasion might be supposed to warrant.

Thus she gets much of her necessary quota of excitement. It is better so, taken second-hand ; one gets the pure essence distilled from the sediment of silliness and embarrassing consequences. But it is not love of sensation alone that makes her the refuge of the desperate. She is equally ready to give advice upon quite trivial matters and to be helpful to the most humble and obscure. That is the way in which she rationalizes her natural kindness of heart. She will take infinite trouble to make life simpler for you or .

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to straighten out your tangles. While she would no doubt be sorry to see you run over by an omnibus, it would give her real pain to watch you struggling with an easy problem. I feel that she could contemplate with equanamity the prospect of your being frozen in the Antarctic, but she could not bear to think of your going to bed without a hot-water-bottle.

The former would be the natural outcome of a foolish action ; the latter could be so easily remedied.

She asks of life first that it should be clean, smooth and quiet ; and these conditions she finds most nearly fulfilled in bed. That is why, every night, she turns out the light at eleven. B. J. S. Remote and lost I stood upon the road : Familiar things grew strange ; and suddenly October cloud-wrack, cars that passed me by, And men's and women's voices on the wind, The Cotswold sheep that huddled on the hills Lost their significance as present things Were merged within the ageless breeze of time : And I, who had grown wise by the wind's power, Stood lonely in the ancient breath of God. D.I.

The Clue Without a Crime I was staying at Carlton House in the wilds of Herefordshire. My host had been a tooth-paste manufacturer. Nothing else had been proved against him. He lived with his two daughters and a son. His wife lived with him.

That night just before we retired to bed he said, in that sentimental mood which overcomes every retired manufacturer when he looks back on the struggles of his past, Earnest,' and he took my hand in his, ' I have lived—but not altogether.'

That night he disappeared. In the wan light of morning a dreadful scene was revealed in the bedroom of the great man. Blood was on the bed, on the walls marked in circles and triangles, on the carpet and all the way down the stairs.

Everywhere there were the prints of a large pair of feet, bare but unmistakeable. And everywhere a large hand, like a bunch of ripe bananas, showed the awful struggles of the murdered to overcome his victim.

We shall find the man,' said the village constable, ' but first we will find the body.' And he crawled out of the room and down the stairs and through the village street on his hands and knees with a microscope pressed to his blind eye.

I will send,' said the widow, to my friend the Great Detective.'

The whole village turned out to meet the Great Man, his unofficial fame was enormous, but no one had ever seen him as he was always disguised.

He came slowly into the blood-stained room, a gaunt bearded man with a tendency to adenoids. He took us all aside one by one, and, gazing sternly and searchingly into our eyes, said in a low voice, Did you do it?'

We all denied it. No,' he said, no, I knew you had not done it.'

Then in a voice of thunder he cried, We shall find the man, but first we will find the body.' .

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And he crawled out of the room and down the stairs and through the village street on his hands and knees, while the whole village in silence followed in the same position.

He has changed,' said the widow, it must be the disguise.' And she followed him.

In four weeks he had taken the finger-prints and the footmarks of everyone within a radius of ten miles. None of them fitted the bloodstains.

Within two months he had come to the conclusion that the body was in a well in Northumberland, and the murderer was a convict with a wife and three children suffering from meningitis. This was his last and hundredth theory.

On the last day of the month, as I was alone in the room of the murder putting .a theory of my own together after the best models, I heard a footstep. At the same time a giant shadow threw itself across the curtains.

A man had entered the room, and his foot exactly fitted the bloodstained footprints on the floor !

The room was in darkness, but I screamed for help and dashed after the unknown figure. At the same instant the whole village (which spent its nights on guard in the shrubbery) dashed after me.

I came upon him in the wood. He tried to tackle me. I evaded in the Brasenose manner. In a second I had him on the ground. The village rushed up.

Slowly I turned to look at him. It was the great detective. ' You,' we said in chorus. ' I,' he said in solo. Alone I did it.'

Slowly I peeled off his false beard. The face of the murdered man was revealed!

You,' we said with one voice.

I,' he said. Alone I did myself in.' A nd then softly, with a wonderful look of pride which transfigured his whole face, And I nearly found myself out.' R. M. J. C.

An Allegory A daughter of saintly Saint Hugh Found a little brown mouse in her stew.

Said the Bursar, Don't shout And wave it about, Or the rest will be wanting one too !

G.

The College Play The success of such a play as A Hundred Years Old ' depends to a great extent on the creation of an atmosphere of great sincerity, so that Papa Juan's idealistic faith in the goodness of human nature and Currita's unspoilt imaginative intuitions shall ring true, instead of appearing merely fantastic and unwelcome. This atmosphere was achieved so successfully, and the audience so well in tune, that the somewhat slowly moving and sentimentally tinctured sketches in the second act hardly jarred at all.

The triumph of production thus gained seems to be due partly to the convincing and vital acting which led up to the entrance of and formed a background to Papa Juan, Trino and Currita. E. Brown, as Carmen Campos, performed with ease the difficult task of striking the initial note of

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downright vitality, which was shared by M. McNair's natural graciousness as Dona Marciala and intensified by D. Gray's instantaneous and lasting success as Evaristo. Her ripe blusteringly self-important expostulation, ' May I ask, my dear,' could have been heard more than the three allotted times with increasing delight. This energetic vital atmosphere was further strengthened by G. Joel's electric stage personality.. Every inch of her body was used to express her interpretation of the ill-tempered Dona Filomena ; she even made the painted wrinkles about her chin organic.

Eyebrows, eyes, mouth, chin, angle of the neck, shoulders, the bag in her hands, the unlovely curve imparted to her angle joints, and above all her voice, which is, to say the least, an instrument of many stops and more subtleties (e.g. 'I shall be given the go-by,' with which compare Eulalia, how dare you,' and Antofion . . . oh, Antofion) combined to produce such a forceful expression of consuming malevolence as will not be forgotten.

With these direct, compellingly human people before our eyes, the delicate and refined realm of sentiment in which Papa Juan and his grandchildren move could not but be accepted as imbued with a like sincerity equally grounded in human nature. But—second reason for success—B. Watts, in her delightful representation of Papa Juan, into whom she entered so completely that it was an effort to realise that she was acting, and above all M. Evans, not so much through histrionic ability as through her quiet, courageous and rather soulful charm, in that most difficult part of Currita inspired confidence and admiration and a speedy realisation that her own and her grandfather's values were truer than ours. On that note Papa Juan and Currita carried us to the end, and were therefore far from resting on the laurels of the previously vitalised atmosphere.

The individual acting as a whole approached very creditably to the standard of Dona Filomena on the one hand and Papa Juan on the other, and that standard needs no defining. E. Brown really can act ; her small part was as living a creation as could be wished. Of those not already mentioned, P. Bourne, in the difficult part of 7'rino, made up by her striking appearance for the not very convincing interpretation of the young man, and moreover perhaps suffered in comparison with Currita. R. Attenborough played the democratic drunkard with refined vigour, P. Talbot a slight part in an easy and graceful manner, and some mention must be made of N. Penhale's remarkable exhibition of abdominal risibility.

With all due respect to the fertile acting talent displayed, the first and last feeling about this year's delightful performance must be that of ' Hats off to the producer,' G. Joel. Floreat.

H. M. F.

Episode in the Life of Lobelia Cranial stupor did but once betray Lobelia on her ultra-rational way.

Lobelia moves among the Second Year Distant from all, yet psychically near ; Lobelia has a well of information, Gratuitously casts illumination On every theme, from Manxian generation To marginal production of the nation.

THE IMP Psychology has claimed her for its own, Economists their rival joys have shown ; And she, unswayed, whose ever-questing eye Probes the dark secrets of eternity, With scrupulously rational precision Delivers her maturely ripe decision Well tabulated under many a heading ; Who bears th' ancestral egg-like brow of Sp - dd - ng ; WhoseSteady-focussed penetrating stare And rigid stance, and tautly-poised throat An inner tenseness possibly denote. . . .

Remark her now, this psychic prodigy, One autumn morning in the library.

She breaks upon the sedentary scene And with a raptly concentrated mien, Her feet askew, her features in a trance, She makes a slow and sinister advance, As though her spirit walked the nether sphere And left its corporal adjunct aimless here.

But what is this? Behold, one up-jerked arm Serenely rears an instrument of harm— A pair of scissors. Nonchalantly trailed, And to some few remaining fingers dear, A woollen jumper, Pooh-like, brings the rear.

Too soon the roving mental apparatus Returns to its appointed corp'ral status,— Deprives us of the probably unique Vision of student sitting down to seek Epitomizing cuttings of the week Among the zigzag patterns of her jumper.

Moral : Be sure that if you lewdly squander The essential you, and let your spirit wander In supra-mundane metaphysic climes, You'll substitute a jumper for The Times.

H.M.F.

A Portrait Your cheeks are round and smooth, your hair Curves down in darkness, caught behind.

Your bearing is serene and rare, Erect—and so maintained with care ; And when I look, you bring to mind A black bough in the wintry air.

I often wonder : are you clear And stately, through and through, inside ; Like "Winter, lovely and austere, In spirit and in mind sincere : Or do you walk in conscious pride, And is it falseness I revere?

THE IMP

Reason Hath Moons . .

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met her striding down the passage, her hands clutching the pockets of her jacket, and her eyes fixed upon the ceiling:as though she were surprised, and rather pained, to find it still there.

Hullo ! ' I said, by way of being pleasant. Remarkably fine ceilings, aren't they ? Or do you find their ornateness offensive?' She stopped suddenly, and brought her eyes to bear with an inscrutable gaze upon a spot two inches above my head. Her thoughts were fixed upon higher things than ceilings.

That woman . . . ought to be . . . assassinated . . .' she hissed. A cold fear gripped my heart. She looked very sinister standing there in red and black, and the angle of her chin suggested purpose. ' Who?' I whispered. ' Oh, not you.' I breathed again, but with a mortifying awareness that I was not worth the assassin's fee.

Have you homicidal tendencies?' I inquired politely. She laughed, and her laugh had in it that rare quality of genuine amusement.

Well, my hair is of the criminal type,' she replied eagerly, my ears are the correct shape, and I have all the necessary inclinations ; but alas ! ' her smile vanished suddenly behind a mask of expressionless gloom — alas . . . you see I haven't got a brain. Now you ' Her eyes were level with mine by this time.

God forbid,' I murmured hastily.

Well—' She shrugged her shoulders, threw back her head, and chuckled, this time in the manner known as mirthless.'

You know it gives one an awful inferiority complex,' she went on, proudly, not having a brain.'

It must,' I sympathised. Have you never had one?'

Never ! ' she replied, swelling visibly. And according to the laws of Mendelism, and the history of my progenitors, I never could have had one.

That is to say, unless either my maternal great-grandfather had married a long-headed costermonger's daughter, or my father had been a Polish Jew.' I felt small, baffled and unconvinced. I envied her her brilliant brainlessness. Through what unhappy accident had I received the usual allowance of grey matter? Or perhaps, after all, I had not. Perhaps it was all a delusion . . . I must look up the family tree.

A stocky figure, pale-faced and earnest-eyed, clothed similarly in red and black, emerged from a doorway opposite. I appealed to her. Look here,' I said, do you understand the principles of heredity?' ' Sorry,' she replied, cocking her head on one side, I don't. But then, you see, I haven't got a brain. . .

A cry of anguish burst from the lips of the other.

Oh, don't,' she cried, don't say that ! It isn't true. You know it isn't true. Share my work, my leisure, my books, my room ; burn the midnight oil with me ; borrow my matches, bag my coal, wear the same clothes even ; but let me be the only one not to have a brain ! You must . . . ! ' The clock struck twelve.

Good-night, comrades ; sleep well ! ' I cried, and hurried down the passage.

Good-night,' came a melancholy chorus. Good-night, but we don't go B.J.S. to bed. . . . We can't. . . . We haven't got brains I '

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The convincing ardour of Currita and Trino was a revelation to us !

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..71111Lt.,„.• 111111Vmar nue. arm

Inoue. .

Is the romance to continue off the stage, we wonder ?

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Excelsior !

I mounted the stairs, armed with a neat little questionnaire. Good Lord ! I thought, what a superfluity of energy these people must have who choose rooms on the top floor.

Come in ! ' she sang, in answer to my knock. Guessing by the challenging note in her voice that she must be in an advanced state of undressing, I entered circumspectly, looking neither to right nor to left. At once an enormous poster hit me in the eye, bearing the inscription, WORKERS, UNITE FOR PEACE,' or some such inspiring message. I recoiled.

At the same moment I received a stunning blow between the shoulders, from which I dimly inferred that my visit was not altogether unwelcome.

Hullo ! ' cried a voice. Have a chair and some food.' But it was too late to do either. I had already collapsed weakly on to the biscuit-tin, where I preferred to remain.

From here I surveyed my hostess, now more or less clothed in a most flamboyant suit of orange and black pyjamas. A mop of yellow hair hung limply round her face. She shook it from her eyes in a manner reminiscent of a Yorkshire terrier. I felt that one would only have to throw a piece of stick into a pond to see her dive in after it, yapping and splashing with delight. ' Well,' she asked, stretching herself out on the hearthrug, ' what can I do for you. ? Take you for a swim before breakfast, or out canvassing for the L.N.U.? ' (I shuddered.) ' Or teach you to scull or ride a motor-bike?

Or perhaps you would like me to lend you some Socialist literature, or introduce you to the President of the Ping-pong Club or the Archaeological Society ? Or do you merely want to be entertained with some of my valuable views upon life in general? ' The last,' I murmured limply. She was off in a minute.

Stop ! ' I cried. I do not want to hear your opinions on marriage and morals. I know them already, and if I didn't I am just as capable of reading Bertrand Russel as you are. Nor do I wish to be treated to a discourse on camp sanitation.'

Sorry ! ' she replied cheerfully. What would you like to know ? Just tell me when you are ready. I learn Greek during the pauses of a conversation. Prasseis prassei prasseton . . ' Just a minute ! ' I cried, hastily glancing at my bit of paper. What do you think of the chaperone rules?'

I don't . . . prasseton prassomen . .

But if you did?'

I should say they were B*****, and the people who invented them them have minds like D*** S****. . . . prassoto prassousin.'

But look here ! ' I implored, aren't you going to say anything I can print? ' Certainly, if you ask me sensible questions. . . Logizomai logiza logizetai . .

I crumpled up my questionnaire and threw it in the fire.

Tell me, then, how you manage to combine so many activities with your work?'

She shut up the Greek grammar with a snap.

The answer is simple. Not enough work. Two essays a week can't possibly take more than two days, and if you are lazy, like me, they take

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considerably less. Well, that leaves a good deal of spare time to be devoted to more useful activities. All the same,' she mused, if they want us to do well in Schools I do think they ought to give us more.'

But work apart,' I persisted, ' how do you manage all those other things leagues and societies and clubs and mixed tea parties and canvassing and swimming and teaching Freshers Justinian? It makes me tired to think of them all.'

She laughed. ' Well, I save energy in one direction. I don't do religion up here. I told my tutor that.'

I looked shocked. And you a Quaker . . . ! ' ' I like shocking people,' she replied, simply.

I know it is an affectation, but it is the one weakness I allow myself. Well, she was always urging me to cut down my activities.'

Is it true that your tutor said you had a first-class brain?' I inquired.

She looked modest. Well, not exactly . . . and anyway if she implied anything of the kind . . . I cannot altogether corroborate her opinion. . . . But I can tell you this '—(she stood up and placed her hands firmly on my shoulders ; I held my breath and stiffened my spine to meet the strain) —` any little success I may ever achieve in life I shall attribute entirely to common-sense, co-education and cold baths.'

B. J.S. Alas ! and I care for none of these things.

' A la Corse

9

Immediately below, the roofs of Ajjacio presented themselves, diminished by the distance. Tall tenements she knew those houses to be. Further down there were trees among the red tiles, palms and cypresses, more and more until the avenues widened and ran into the square where all Ajjacio was promenading this late afternoon. Beyond the square the sea-front. A fivemaster was coming up the bay to join the motley craft that filled the basin.

The water was very blue in the harbour, but out towards the open sea it was assuming the ruddy gold of the western clouds as the sun set behind the Sauguin aux Isles. On the opposite shore incredible mountains were clear against the evening sky—each as incredible and as luminously clear as the formal peak in a Tapau print.

What a country ! It had to be seen like this—in isolation—to be comprehended in the slightest degree. Leaning against a huge boulder, she dreamed, remembering things and trying to bring them into focus. The funeral processions one saw two or three times a day, the brilliant lingerie and amazing plumbing of the slums outside her back window at the hotel.

The delicious pastry in the shops where all kinds of people sat eating at all hours of the day, the bath-tub that nearly upset when one moved in it, the café whose waiter brought coffee with a beaming smile and a paternal glance when one had ordered perenod, the hills and the winding valleys, the peasants and their herds of goats and crowds of children, the strong little horses that pulled the carriages, the palatial villas, the squalid tenements, the people, tall, vigorous, beautiful, savage.

It was growing dark. As she turned the precipitous path that she had ascended, a man approached her. Tall he was, dressed in the corduroy garb of his people with coloured handkerchief about his neck, and high-heeled boots on his feet. Pistols and a knife were stuck in the brilliant sash about his waist ; a gun hung from his shoulders. White teeth flashed from a

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handsome face, as, hat in hand, he addressed her in the mingled French and Italian that was his native tongue.

Je ne comprend pas.' In French even more halting than her own, he explained—it was dark, the way was difficult, assistance to Mademoiselle— they started on.

It was dark when they reached the worst bit—a quarter-mile when the path was carved from the rock of the hill in huge, uneven strips of capricious width and height, broken by winter storms. Once she stumbled. He took her hand and led her a winding way that was almost smooth. Still silent they gained the narrow street.

Under the first light he paused and indicated that he could come no further.

Merci, monsieur ; Merci, mille fois.' She drew off her heavy glove and offered him her hand. As he took it, the wide-brimmed hat was swept off and down, in a gracious gesture. Heels clicking together, he bent and pressed his lips to her hand.

A shout came from below them, and a sound of running feet. Pushing her inside a doorway he turned, glanced towards his pursuers, then fled up the mountain path. The quarter was roused, men thronged the street, police whistles shrilled . . .

She made her way back to the hotel by well-lighted avenues. Her friends were waiting—my dear, where have you been—its quite dark—there are bandits in the hills—one has been seen in the outskirts of the city—the babel seemed unceasing. ' I know,' she remarked, wearily, he brought me home. Is it to-morrow we go back to England ? '

Repor is LACROSSE. We are still suffering from a shortage of players, and this and the recent wet weather have made the arrangement of practices rather difficult, especially as we cannot produce a full game ourselves, but always have to combine with another college. In spite of this we have had some good games, and won both our matches.

TEAM.—Goal, Fox ; point, Buick ; cover-point, Lavington ; 3rd man, Bone ; left defence, Stradling ; right defence, Grey ; centre, Harman ; left attack, Faure ; right attack, Haworth ; 3rd home, Johnson ; 2nd home, Sprules ; ist home, Duthoit.

MATCHES.

Nov. 8. 1st XII v. St. Mary's, Wantage. Won, 13-3. „ 14. 1st XII v. King's College for Women. Won, 4-3.

M. BUICK. S. H. C.N.C. Captain—G. JOEL. Secretary—M. COLLINGTON.

Play during the first half of the term was fairly promising, and several Freshers are conspicuously useful. Since half-term, however, practices have been very few, not only because of bad weather, but because they

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were unnecessarily ill-attended. It is consequently impossible to criticize either team as a whole, although individual members are outstanding.

After this term it will at last be possible for the Club to have its own hard-court, of which the need has been keenly felt for some time. With the prospect of this improvement before them, members of the Club may possibly show a little more interest in the arrangements made for them.

The match arranged with Cheltenham had to be postponed until next term. St. Helen's, Abingdon, were also obliged to scratch as they were in quarantine. The First VII match v. St. Katherine's, Wantage, was lost, 20-18. On Nov. 3oth the First and Second VII's will play Wychwood School. The teams are :First VII. — Lomax (s.), Collington (a.), Huse (a.c.), Hall (c.), Joel (c.d.), Brown (d.), Vincent (g.d.).

Second VII.—Holt (s.), Betts (a.) , Basilevitch (a.c.), Stephenson (c.), Green (c.d.), Dahl (d.), Freestone (g.d.).

HOCKEY. Bad weather and work have combined to deprive the hockey teams of much practice together this term. However, Jackson has worked extremely hard with the College games, so that the teams should do quite well in the Cuppers next term. The First XI has played 7 matches, of which 3 were won, 3 lost and 1 drawn. Of the matches arranged for the Second XI, six have had to be scratched, while the only one which was played was lost.

There are some promising Freshers this year, of whom the best are Josephy, Winter and Saunders-Jacobs. Colours have been awarded to these three. Second XI colours have been awarded to Hoare and Braddick.

The teams are :First XI.—Bromley ; Beattie, Slimon ; Zvegintzov, Josephy, Dewhurst ; Saunders-Jacobs, Attenborough, Duthoit, Jackson, Winter.

Second XI.—Hoare ; Braddick, Portsmore ; Mortlock, Hare, Sharp ; Thorp, Gooderson, Faure, Roberts, Cooper.

M. K. BEATTIE.

HOLYWELL PRESS, ALFRED STREET,

oxForw.

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