The Coolidge examiner., 1936-10-16
Prepared by National Geographic Society.
Washington. d. C.-WNU Service.

Member OF Royal Horse
Prepared by National Geographic Society.
Washington. d. C.-WNU Service.
>" HE English like pageantry.
No one is long in London be-
fore that becomes evident.
And when spring comes to
the British capital, pageantry is not
far behind.
A month before, the south coast
has retained the winters health
seekers and generous sprinkling of
visitors from THE Colonies" To
watch the opening of the mail in a
drawing room of Penzance or Tor
quay is like leafng the pages of an
imperial atlas or a stamp album.
The seasons northward passage
from Kent and Sussex changes the
country's outlook. Then the visiting
expatriates move north, and the
Cornish Riviera emerges from it's
plate-glass windbreaks. The daffo-
dills have begun to show themselves
in London's parks.
How many hundreds of springs
have worked their magic around
Ludgate Hill? Yet the story is never
old.
In st. James's Park the pelicans
plume themselves for another round
of admirers. Testy old Colonials,
amid youngsters with the same
straight backs, ride splendid horses
along that mid-city strip of tanbark
known as Rotten Row. Before St.
PauPs and under the naughty noses
of the Landseer lions in Trafalgar
Square children minister to the ver-
nal voracity of the London pigeons.
In Whitehall, where the Horse
Guards sit their coal-black mounts,
warm red winter capes are removed
to display white buckskin breeches.
In front of the Old Admiralty,
whence Nelson hurried off toward
the Strait of Gibraltar and the
battle commemorated by the name
of Trafalgar Square, a flower sell
Ter thrusts out a sixpenny bunch of
daffodils.
AS if the bright lights around
Leicester Square had helped coax
them forth, early blossoms circle
the base of statue to England S
immortal poet and playwright.
Leaning on a pile of his works, his
legs crossed more carelessly than a
sculptor allows in the case of a
general or statesman, Shake
Speare broods in the center. of a
theaterland whose craft he glorified.
Nerve Center of Empire
Another spot gilded by daffodils is
the garden outside the Houses of
Parliament, site where monarchs
ruled from Edward the Confessor
to Henry VIII. Since the days of
Bluff King Hal, the House of Com
mons has turned this Thames-side
meeting place into the democratic
heart of a farfung Empire.
The World war Tommy sang to
Piccadilly and Leicester Square,
but the nerve center of the British
Commonwealth is this fortress of
constitutional government beside
British historic river.
Three centuries ago, under the
Palace of Westminster, a tall fellow
with auburn hair sat amid barrels
of gunpowder. In few hours King,
Lords, and Commons were to meet
in the hall overhead. A watch pro-
vided by Thomas Percy licked all
England closer to chaos.
The Gunpowder Plot was dis
covered. Intervening centuries have
healed the grim memory of his ex-
ecution, and Guy Fawkes Day has
become a children's festival, with
fireworks shooting from grotesque
effigies to amuse the crowd. But
even yet, before the king leaves
Buckingham palace to open Parlia-
ment, relocated beefeaters search
the cellars beneath this mighty pile.
On Hampstead Heath coveys of
kites, their strings coiled on reels
strong enough for funny fishing,
shake their tails across the heavens,
while Punchinello wags his long
beaked face before those still too
young to read Punch. On hundred
lakes and streams the swans stretch
their long necks in begging. Down
the hidden lanes of Devon, Kent, and
Sussex cyclist and motorists push
their explorations.
The wide expanse of Dartmoor,
the coves of Cornwall, the gossamer
haze of English lakes, the pilgrim
places of art and architecture, of
religion and literature, all have
their devotees.
Yet even these alluring places, so
fondly dreamed of around tea tables
in paneled rooms, are hard put to
keep admirers from rushing off to
some display of uniforms, banners,
horsef1esh, or costumes-perhapS a
lady of quality wearing the. same
gown and the same title as did a