“With reference to the letters which have appeared in a local contemporary, and fittingly on the back page, which is being behind the times, even for Tatshire, about some proposed building on Mullples or Abbey Hill, in this county, a member of our staff sends the following account of an interview with Mr. Mansell, the owner of the property in question:
“‘I saw Mr. Mansell to-day by appointment at his works in East London, where he is busily engaged in perfecting the details of his much-improved light machine-gun, which is said to be likely to revolutionise warfare. He received me in his office, which was hung with the trophies of his handicraft.
“‘You have come to ask about the suggested building on Mullples Hill?’ he said. ‘Well, ask away. But first, let me ask you, do you know Mullples Hill?’
“‘We said, yes, we saw it daily, if the weather were at all clear.
“‘Very well,’ he said; ‘do you often go there?’
“‘We said, no, we have never been there.
“‘Very well,’ he said; ‘do you know anybody who does go there?’
“‘No, we said, we knew nobody who went or even had been there, but probably many local people had been there at one time or another.
“‘Very well, then,’ he said. ‘If many go there, they would leave traces, is not that so?’
“‘We said, yes, they would leave traces.
“‘Very well, then,’ he replied. ‘Let me tell you that there are no traces, or practically none. The nearest road to the hill passes at its foot, quite half a mile from the top. There is no lane, no track, no path leading up it. It is a lonely, deserted, barren hill, very steep in places, and covered on all its western slopes with a thicket of white and black thorn, elder, bramble and stunted oak; it is a jungle of weed and diseased wood growing on the poorest soil of the Waste. It is a part of Stubbington Great Wood, in fact, where all the trees are stunted. Primitive man neglected it, because it is overlooked from Stubbington Hills behind it. Picnic parties and view admirers neglect it for the same reason. I have examined the whole of Mullples Hill for signs of human use and interest. At the top, in a shallow depression, were the remains of two picnic fires, one ancient, the other possibly of last August. In one part of the wood, in a shelter under a bank, there is the trace of a tramp’s camp; a man was there with his doxy during the summer, and left ashes, a can, a bottle, a boot and the ruins of a corset. There are at the moment marks of horses’ hoofs on the turf of the hill; the local Hunt has been what they call cubbing, which I trust they will omit in future. That is how man uses the hill at present; two tramps, two picnic-parties and the cubbers, in the finest recorded summer.
“‘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.’”