landscape of our country alone would justify the use of this lofty adjective.

 

And yet what precisely is this 'greatness'? Just where, or in what, does it lie?

I am quite aware it would take a far wiser head than mine to answer such a

question, but if I were forced to hazard a guess, I would say that it· is the

very lack of obvious drama or spectacle that sets the beauty of our land apart.

What is pertinent is the calmness of that beauty, its sense of restraint. It is

as though the land knows of its own beauty, of its own greatness, and feels no

need to shout it. In comparison, the sorts of sights offered in such places as

Africa and America, though undoubtedly very exciting, would, I am sure, strike

the objective viewer as inferior on account of their unseemly demonstrativeness.

 

This whole question is very akin to the question that has caused much debate in

our profession over the years: what is a 'great' butler? I can recall many hours

of enjoyable discussion on this topic around the fire of the servants' hall at

the end of a day. You will notice I say 'what' rather than 'who' is a great

butler; for there was actually no serious dispute as to the identity of the men

who set the standards amongst our generation. That is to say, I am talking of

the likes of Mr Marshall of Charleville House, or Mr Lane of Bridewood. If you

have ever had the privilege of meeting such men, you will no doubt know of the

quality they possess to which I refer. But you will no doubt also understand

what I mean when I say it is not at all easy to define just what this quality

is.

 

Incidentally, now that I come to think further about it, it is not quite true to