British Commonwealth of Nations: Frankau at Large

Thinly disguised as an emissary of the English-Speaking Union, there has traveled through the U. S. of late weeks a small Semite, suavely overlaid with English polish, whose errand is to tell Americans about the staunch idealism of the British Conservative party. His modest, earnest accents have purred out over eager women’s club audiences, Daughters of the British Empire, gatherings of journalists and at various hours and wave lengths of radio.

He is Gilbert Frankau, with an old Etonian necktie,* a charming manner with ladies, a gallant War record and a resolute hatred for Socialism. His utterances in the U. S. arent the late British strike were clarion calls to the banner of Premier Baldwin and gave the definite impression that he, Frankau, was one of Baldwin’s most important political colleagues and counselors.â€

In Cleveland, Gilbert Frankau explained his propagandist motive. “I love my country deeply,” said he. “I would give my all for her. I think I proved that some years ago.” (He was a captain of infantry and he still, contrary to British army regulations, uses the title.) Before the National Press Club in Washington, he surveyed his audience after a brief introduction. “I do not want to bore you,” he protested, “with any personal history of myself. … I do not think any person’s personality is as interesting as his job.††… I will say I came out of the War very nearly ruined in health and pocket. …

“I am going to tell you now a story which is the explanation of that anti-Socialist campaign which I have conducted in my own country for nearly three years, singlehanded, since the War. . . .” And he reported how Historian-Novelist H. G. Wells—whose Socialism is largely of the parlor variety—had (sarcastically, ironically) said to him, when Frankau had promised the destruction of the German Empire: “Well, Frankau, I hope you break the British Empire too.” (While Frankau fought in Flanders the sedentary Wells had merely stayed at home writing Mr. Britling Sees It Through and other literature.)

Last fortnight Captain Frankau traveled to St. Louis. It seemed a good place to proclaim what sound old Tories were thinking over their port in the London clubs. Incidentally, a convention of U. S. booksellers was in session there, to whom Frankau, who maintains that the national significance** of his novels has impressed “every one who can read in the British Isles,” would just say a word or two.

But before the moment arrived for the booksellers’ toastmaster to introduce the unofficial representative of British Conservatism, that individual was overcome by the occasion. The hospitality had been too perfect. He arose in the midst of another speaker’s remarks, waved a glass of ginger ale recklessly aloft and said:

“Let’s stop all this speechmaking! Let’s get on with the dance! . . . I’m too full for utterance . . . but there’s one thing I’d like to say. It is a trifle strong; illustrating what is wrong with your country. Before I tell it, any ladies not feeling very strong had best come and have some, er, ginger ale.”

No ladies drew near him, however, so Captain Frankau proceeded to relate a “joke” which connoisseurs present declared was both ancient, somewhat pointless and entirely offensive. In London, hearing this news and wondering how “that little writer chap” had ever been mistaken in the States for an official Conservative representative, Conservatives were irked.

*Blue-black with a silver stripe.

†TIME found Mr. Frankau’s latest novel, Masterson, “a novel-reader’s novel, splashed with color … a good man’s education in riches, passion, love.” (TIME, May 3.) Other Frankau novels: Men, Maids and Mustard-Pot; Peter Jackson, Cigar Merchant; Life and Erica,

††Captain Frankau’s job, outside of novel writing, is that of weekly political columnist for the Cockney-Tory Sunday Pictorial. In the U. S. he recently gaped at the hanging of Murderer Gerald Chapman and described it for Publisher Hearst.

**Frankau relates how he prognosticated the General Strike “way back in 1923” but was, like Cassandra, ignored. He goes on to reveal that upon a proscription list found in a Communistic den his name stood second only to that of Winston Churchill. Third in line for the gibbet was Sir William (“Jix”) Joynson-Hicks, Home Secretary of Mr, Baldwin’s cabinet.