Sir F. H. Cowen (he was “Mr” then) received me in his rooms at the Manchester Grand Hotel. It was impossible not to like him, for, if he had no great positive qualities that seized upon you at once, he had a good many negative ones. He had no “side,” no self-importance, no eccentricities. He had neither long hair nor a foreign accent. He did not use a cigarette-holder. He did not loll when he sat down, or posture when he stood up. And he had not just discovered a new composer of Dutch extraction.... These are small things, you say. But are they?...
I remember looking at him and wondering if he really had written The Better Land. It seemed so unlikely. Faultlessly dressed, immaculately groomed, how could he have written The Better Land—that luteous land that is so sloppy, so thickly covered with untidy debris?
He would not talk of the musical situation in Manchester, and I could see that he was very sensitive about his uncomfortable position.
“If I am wanted, I shall stay,” was all he would give me.
[229]
]“And are you going to write about me in the paper?” asked he, at the end of our interview; “how interesting that will be!” And he smiled with gentle satire.
“I shall make it as interesting as I can,” I assured him, “but, you see, you have said so little.”
“Does that matter?” he returned. “I have always heard that you gentlemen of the Press can at least—shall we say embroider?”
“But may I?” I asked.
“How can I prevent you? Do tell me how I can, and I will.”
“Well, you can insist upon seeing the article before it appears in print.”