England Kidded

BRITANNIA WAIVES THE RULES-- Frances Douglas & Thelma LeCocq -- Dutton ($1.50).

Canadian Authors Douglas & LeCocq dedicate their "confidential guide" to England to "hit-and-run writers from England ... to Mary Queen of Scots, Joan of Arc, and other ladies who have misjudged the English--and to the Atlantic Ocean which keeps us apart." Author LeCocq has been to England; Author Douglas has not. Their little (112-page) satire on their Motherland scores many a palpable hit, is never far off the mark. Both for Americans who have been to England and for those who have never been nearer than Punch, Britannia Waives the Rules will be good interlinear reading.

In their paragraph on the speech of England's Best People. Authors Douglas & LeCocq disclose some of the secrets of its complex simplicity, consisting of " 'um's, 'aw's, and 'er's, the meanings of which vary according to the context. 'Um' may mean 'These are good tripe and onions.' 'You smell like a rose,' or 'Waiter, another whisky and soda.' This sort of thing makes it difficult for the foreigner, but the English themselves can tell instantly what is meant by the lack of inflection in the voice and the complete absence of expression on the face." Writing of English millinery they call attention to "the tailored felt, worn en bash over the eyebrows or well back on the head, its slant depending on whether you prefer to have the rain pour down your back or your chest." Of food: "Toast: Is a cold, hard fact faced by the cook the instant she rises and then set aside to get colder and harder while the rest of the meal is being prepared." Of party manners: "You will, of course, want to appear well-bred. So hand your hostess a dead fish, do the profile twist, and confine all conversational effort to words such as 'ghastly!' or 'septic!'" Of geniuses: They are forgiven after they are dead; poor sportsmen: never.

Britannia Waives the Rules is sympathetically introduced by emancipated Britisher D. B. Wyndham Lewis, who strikes the highest note in the book by quoting an anonymous Irish poet: " 'Every time I land at Dover I feel as if I were being softly butted behind by a brown woollen elephant with blue glass eyes.' "

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