A distantish relation of mine, R. Ellis Roberts, was, for a few years from 1928, literary editor of the New Statesman, and a relatively undistinguished one at that. Kingsley Martin described Roberts (in Father Figures, his first volume of autobiography) as the 'only writer on the NS whose contributions I could not stomach - I found his writing intolerable.' Clifford Sharp, Martin's predecessor, wasn't much of a fan either, even though he appointed Uncle Ellis on double the salary of the previous incumbent, Desmond MacCarthy. Still, Sharp wasn't one to hold his tongue. As Martin writes in his second volume of autobiography, Editor, Sharp 'might just have turned the financial corner in the late 1920s if he had not run into heavy legal costs. One or two serious libel actions and the remark that no one could "hope for a fair hearing in a court presided over by Justice Avory" were naturally expensive.' Among Roberts's papers in the Bodleian is a letter from Sharp, dated 'Good Friday' (probably 1929 or 1930), savage with wit:

LRB 5 September 2002 | PDF Download