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W. Earl Hall World War II stories, 1944
1944-08-22 Letter #10
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slug-Fleet Street-4 W. EARL HALL Globe-Gazette Managing Editor (Letter No 10) London--(Air Mail)--So far as I know there isn't in all the world anything that even approaches being a counterpart of London's Fleet street. Every great English journalist and more than a few of the world's greatest men of letters have had their Fleet street connection. All of my life I've known about this renowned thoroughfare. Once, about 17 years ago, I was exposed to it briefly. But this time, I think I've sensed the indefinable something which gives the Fleet street quality to Fleet street. I can think of no more impressive introduction to Fleet street than the inscription on a tablet which actually does introduce you to this center of British journalism as you come down Ludgate from St. Pau's cathedral. Mounted on the exterior wall of the very first building you come to on crossing that imaginary line between Ludgate and Fleet, this tablet contains a eulogy to one of its most distinguished alumni in these simple words: Edgar Wallace, Reporter. Born London, 1875. Died Hollywood, 1932. Founder and Member of the Company of Newspaper Makers. He knew wealth and poverty, yet had walked with kings and kept his bearing. Of his talents he gave lavishly to authorship--but to Fleet street he gave his heart! To London journalists, indeed to all British journalists, Fleet street is more than a place--much more than a place. It's a lot of things--all good. It's a personality itself and it's a connecting link with great minds of other days. The St. Paul's area close at hand was turned into a shambles by Nazi bombs. Fleet street escaped relatively unhurt. But even if it had been razed, the old Fleet street spirit would have been perpetuated in a new Fleet street body. It's something indestructible. Strangely enough, it isn't much to look at. I doubt that in its half dozen blocks there are more than a dozen places which could measure up to building specifications in an American city. I suppose you'd call it quaint, but that's rather inadequate as a descriptive word. The buildings mostly are low, squatty and of ancient brick. The shop fronts are narrow and cluttered with the names of newspapers and press agencies. Among the names of are all of London's papers, including the largest and most famous. But a far greater number are "provincial" British newspapers. As one publisher put it to me: "No newspaper pretending to be a newspaper on this little island would dare to be without a Fleet street address." I visited precincts where once Ben Jonson and Charles Dickens and, more latterly, Edgar Wallace spun their yarns. I visited the offices of the AP and the UP and saw the men and the machines which are writing the day to day story of the war. And I inspected from basement to garret the plant of the London Express, with the world's largest circulation of more than 3 million. I have come to know, at least in a superficial way, the Fleet street of today and I think I can feel the Fleet street of yesterday--many yesterdays
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slug-Fleet Street-4 W. EARL HALL Globe-Gazette Managing Editor (Letter No 10) London--(Air Mail)--So far as I know there isn't in all the world anything that even approaches being a counterpart of London's Fleet street. Every great English journalist and more than a few of the world's greatest men of letters have had their Fleet street connection. All of my life I've known about this renowned thoroughfare. Once, about 17 years ago, I was exposed to it briefly. But this time, I think I've sensed the indefinable something which gives the Fleet street quality to Fleet street. I can think of no more impressive introduction to Fleet street than the inscription on a tablet which actually does introduce you to this center of British journalism as you come down Ludgate from St. Pau's cathedral. Mounted on the exterior wall of the very first building you come to on crossing that imaginary line between Ludgate and Fleet, this tablet contains a eulogy to one of its most distinguished alumni in these simple words: Edgar Wallace, Reporter. Born London, 1875. Died Hollywood, 1932. Founder and Member of the Company of Newspaper Makers. He knew wealth and poverty, yet had walked with kings and kept his bearing. Of his talents he gave lavishly to authorship--but to Fleet street he gave his heart! To London journalists, indeed to all British journalists, Fleet street is more than a place--much more than a place. It's a lot of things--all good. It's a personality itself and it's a connecting link with great minds of other days. The St. Paul's area close at hand was turned into a shambles by Nazi bombs. Fleet street escaped relatively unhurt. But even if it had been razed, the old Fleet street spirit would have been perpetuated in a new Fleet street body. It's something indestructible. Strangely enough, it isn't much to look at. I doubt that in its half dozen blocks there are more than a dozen places which could measure up to building specifications in an American city. I suppose you'd call it quaint, but that's rather inadequate as a descriptive word. The buildings mostly are low, squatty and of ancient brick. The shop fronts are narrow and cluttered with the names of newspapers and press agencies. Among the names of are all of London's papers, including the largest and most famous. But a far greater number are "provincial" British newspapers. As one publisher put it to me: "No newspaper pretending to be a newspaper on this little island would dare to be without a Fleet street address." I visited precincts where once Ben Jonson and Charles Dickens and, more latterly, Edgar Wallace spun their yarns. I visited the offices of the AP and the UP and saw the men and the machines which are writing the day to day story of the war. And I inspected from basement to garret the plant of the London Express, with the world's largest circulation of more than 3 million. I have come to know, at least in a superficial way, the Fleet street of today and I think I can feel the Fleet street of yesterday--many yesterdays
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