“‘Now for the next point, the possible spoiling of beauty. . . . A newspaper says in its affiche BEAUTY SPOT THREATENED. I say that until the newspaper did this no one thought it a beauty spot. Who calls it a beauty spot? Those who live on the spot? No one does live on the spot. My household and I are the nearest to it. We regard it as a derelict part of the estate, in need of the work of many men. You may say that the dwellers in the district near-by think it a beauty spot. I say that they do not. They could have bought it dirt cheap at any time these three years and never lifted a finger. If they had thought it a beauty spot, would they not have tried to buy it, if not for the Nation at least for themselves and their little clan of beauty-lovers? They never made an offer; the owner told me so himself. If they had thought it a beauty spot, would they not have had it painted? Would they not have had it photographed? They did neither. I defy you to show me any painting or picture post-card of the hill or any part of the hill done within the last fifteen years.
“‘This beauty spot has been left to the rabbits and the tramps, save perhaps twice a year, when some of the dwellers in the district come on horseback to it, to drive a poor, wretched fox from his kennel, so that they may hunt him to his death in the valley. These see their sport, as they call it, threatened. A few of these same folk, the land-owners, game preservers and fox-hunters, who have been very well content all their lives to keep the hill in its present derelict condition, suddenly see something else threatened. Some of them, as I know, own a good deal of very vile slum property in the near-by towns of Tatchester and Stubbington. They are suddenly scared, lest decent homes should be built on Mullples, and their vile rookeries, those homes for heroes, depreciated. That is the real reason of the outcry. . . .
“‘Beauty spot threatened, quotha. . . . Vested interest threatened. Mullples Hill is not a beauty spot. It is a neglected, derelict, barren piece of waste. I am determined to make it better, either as a place of pleasure or a place of business. I mean to make it a “Beauty Spot.”
“‘I dislike the phrase “Beauty Spot,” and much dislike the talk of such things. Generally speaking, most of Earth, left to Nature is beautiful. Man has to interfere with Nature, and does so often with greedy and savage mind. In few lands has he been greedier and savager than here. This land is dotted with festering and stinking scrap-heaps called towns and industrial centres. Any man is allowed to make a new scrap-heap of a town anywhere if he can persuade people that he can make money by doing so.
“‘I have lately restored an old house of great beauty which the local beauty-lovers were allowing to drop into the brook. I think the place beautiful, and would like to make the nearby wastes beautiful. Why, therefore, should I not bring some of my workers here, reclaim the wastes, and make my new gun close to my own doors? Why should I not make Mullples Hill my centre?
“‘A man, like a community, must have a centre. My work is the main fact about me. My works would be the centre of Mullples Village, which I should call St. Margarets. In the primitive times, the centre of the community was the fort or the stronghold; then, later, it may have been the shrine or holy image; later still, the church. Nowadays, I say that the usual centre is the cinema. I propose to have two cinemas. But the main centre will be the Works.
“‘I believe that a great deal of poppycock is talked and written about economic rents and so forth. I believe that it will be possible to build a charming village there, and to let the houses to men working in Tatchester some dozen miles away. Many of them have motor-cycles; but for the others I should propose to run a motor-bus service several times a day, if I can get the necessary licence. If I cannot, it will be very interesting to show the public why I cannot.
“‘Now I may recapitulate. The hill has been disregarded since the flood. It shows no mark of primitive occupation; it cannot be cultivated; it would not keep six sheep on the whole of it. The fox-hunters who find it such a beauty spot suddenly, surely cannot object to fifty or a hundred fellow-mortals coming there to enjoy its beauty close to. I am loath to offend the sense of beauty of fox-hunters, who have, as is well known, filled England with beautiful public buildings and works of art. Their kennels and stables attract art-lovers from all over the world. I will, therefore, promise that my designs for my village and its centres shall be publicly displayed in London before the building begins. If anything in the designs offends the sense of beauty of any fox-hunter or landowner in the district, I will demand that he shall produce a better, to be approved a better by a committee of artists and architects, French, American and English.
“‘I hope that the game-preservers who have started this agitation against my plan will have the grace to admit that some buildings do add to the beauty of landscape. Few can deny the charm and grace of some Italian hill towns, and Spanish villages; of the French château or church; and of the American country house. If they will not admit any such thing, then, I can only hope that they will suspend judgment for five years, by which time the young men of St. Margarets will, I hope, be able to challenge them at cricket, swimming, free-hand drawing, painting, sculpture, smithery and choral singing.’”
The interview was printed. It was a dead season, and the question of Mullples came happily to the Editor’s hand. Frampton had so planted his hooks that a gudgeon of sorts came on to each one. The next day, a party of Press photographers, a member of the Save England Society, and some twenty amateur photographers came out to Mullples in different cars and ways, and took many views. The fat was in the fire.
Unfortunately, the opposition pitted against him, the local landowners, were not clever with their pens; they did not write to the Press. Ponk saw to it that the Tatshire Times printed a leader on the question, in which “we” deplored the tendency to decentralisation, which was surely contrary to all economic experience. “We” did not doubt that Mr. Mansell had the good of the country much at heart, but were sure that they were voicing local sentiment when they said that Tatshire men had been accustomed to manage their own affairs, as well as to preserve unspoiled the beauty bequeathed to them by the piety of their forefathers.
This leader was followed up by a correspondence, some of it written in the office, signed Pro Bono Publico and Tatshire Man, the rest of it from Tatshire people, who wrote on both sides of the question much as follows:
“As one who has enjoyed many delightful picnics on Mullples Hill, I should like to ask whether Squatter’s Rights might not be invoked to prevent the threatened vandalism? I am not, unfortunately, in a good position financially, but should be glad to contribute my widow’s mite up to half a crown to defend what God meant to be for everyone. Vox Populi.”