WHO HEWS HARDEST?
CLAIM BY A LANARKSHIRE COLLIER
would do very well for the headings of a preliminary article; and the claim of the Lanarkshire collier would, I am sure, be instantly challenged. After a few letters we might have a suggestion, say from Wales, that no team of eleven miners could hew so hard and so much as a Welsh one. And from that it would be only a short step to the formation of district league competitions and an international championship. Or the old-time system under which cricketers were matched for a stake by sporting patrons might be revived, and we should have headlines in the evening Press after this fashion:—
HUGE HEWING CONTEST.
NOTTS FOREST v. NEWCASTLE UNITED.
TREMENDOUS WAGER BETWEEN
THE DUKES OF PORTLAND AND
NORTHUMBERLAND
and all the glades of Sherwood and the banks where the wild Tyne flows would be glad.
It will be objected, of course, that the hewing of coal is not a spectacular affair. You cannot pack sixty thousand spectators into a mine to watch a hewing match, and even if you could the lighting is bad; but that is just where the skill of the reporters would come in. After all, we do not most of us see the races on which we bet, nor the Golf Championship, nor even Beckett and Wells. But there would be articles on the correct swing whilst hewing, and the proper stance, and how far the toes should be turned in; the chances of every team would be discussed; the current odds would be quoted, and, whoever won, the consumer would score, whilst the strongest hewers would become popular heroes and be photographed on the back-page standing beside their hews.
I admit that the South of England and London in particular would have very little share in these competitions, and we should depend for local interest mainly upon the promising young colts from the Kentish nurseries. But we could find out from our dealers where our coals came from and follow from afar the fortunes of our adopted teams; and Cabinet Ministers, at any rate, could distribute their patronage and their presence with tact over the various areas involved.
MR. BALFOUR HEWS OFF AT
DURHAM
is another headline which seems to suggest itself, and I should strongly urge the Prime Minister, who has returned, I hear, with a St. Bernard from the Alps, to lose no time in selecting a more appropriate playmate.
PREMIER AT TONYPANDY.
MR. LLOYD GEORGE PATS PET
PIT-PONY
is the kind of thing I mean, and very hard also to say six times quickly without making a mistake.