The Devil's Decade is an analogy often drawn to describe the 1930s. A decade that opened in the grip of world economic recession and closed with the democratic nations of Europe fighting a desperate struggle to resist the hegemonic ambitions of the dictators provides the backdrop to observations of one William Collin Brooks, variously financial journalist, editor, novelist and confidante of the Ist Viscount Rothermere. Toiling over his typewriter, typing with two fingers, Brooks (or C.B.) would record for posterity his observations of the journalistic, political, literary and financial sets in which he circulated during the 1930s.

Friday 1 January I propose to continue last year's habit of jotting down an outline of each day — nothing more than some record of movement in case it may prove useful later. The attempt I made some few years ago to keep a full journal could not be sustained. The resultant record seemed almost bare as does the present outline … one missed one's reading, one could not commit to paper one's emotion, one felt a prig, and the thing was at once tantalisingly enjoyable and strangely uncongenial … Last year's small loose-leafed sheets were not easy to work on, after so much typing on these quarto sheets. I return to the fuller sheet, but not to the fuller intention. […] At the office, Hobson and I keep on the very best terms. Chaloner is rather subdued. The work at the Argus gets very tedious in such surroundings, but it might be much worse. Poor old Baxter, of the Mercury, with whom I have taken my ale and cold meat these three years, has been axed from his job, which will end in March. Fleet Street is full of such victims of slump. I continue to make little planks for a freelance raft in case disaster overtakes me, also.

Tuesday 3 January To the Whitefriars for luncheon; a good muster. Cecil Harmsworth, owner of Johnson's house where we meet, was there, and I thus found myself in the odd situation of standing a sherry to Northcliffe's brother. Cecil is rather a charming man, built on the Rhodes model, with hogged moustache and a general savour of tweeds about him, very quiet in a solid way, and extremely courteous. He says that his son Desmond, the publisher, is ‘too highbrow’. ‘Desmond seems to have a flair for this modern high-brow poetry, but I simply don't understand it.’ We sat at one end of the table, with Jones and me at Harmsworth's left and Fyfe on his right. When Harmsworth had gone Fyfe told us that Northcliffe always said that Cecil was the only gentleman in the family. […] At the office all was normal, but Hobson's nerves a bit on edge, due to the return to offensiveness of Brendan Bracken, I surmised.

Monday 15 January I was amazed today on opening The Mail to find that Rothermere has gone Fascist. I hope this doesn't mean trouble, for I shan't truckle to the devil, and I am too much of a democrat to be a Fascist, though too much of a disciplinarian to be a democrat in any but the vague Walt Whitman sense.

Thursday 25 January On the 16th Jan the children were at John Simon's house for a party. I collected them on a dank wet night and J.S. was himself on his doorstep, looking dangerously like his own butler. We exchanged words and I took my bairns home. On the way I said to a sleepy Edward

‘Well, how did you like the Foreign Secretary?’

‘Which was the foreign secretary?’

‘The bald headed gentleman.’

‘Oh, I didn't notice the bald headed gentleman, but I liked Felix

the cat that the conjuror brought.’

Wednesday 2 January On New Year's Eve I saw Gielgud's ‘Hamlet’ at the New Theatre. (Lilian, Ida and Rosemary, in all the glory of her first long evening dress, and I taxied down to Kettners for dinner, on to the theatre – R's first Hamlet – and taxied home through streets pleasantly riotous with New Year's Eve revellers.) Gielgud, I thought, was better than when I saw his first Hamlet some four years ago, but is not wholly satisfactory. The cuts were few – a good deal of the political explanation went from Scene 1 but Fortinbras was retained and given his proper value in the last scene: there was an odd inexplicable cut in the play scene, Hamlet's renaissance mouthing of his quatrain being omitted – and the play was taken straight through with but one short interval. The Ophelia of Jessica Tandy was disappointing. She conveyed excellently the toppled brain in the mad scene, but with her slight physique and thin voice she did not convince one that Hamlet had ever had any amorous feeling for her, and there was no contrast between Ophelia sane and Ophelia mad. She used no flowers – this was no innovation, but in view of the description of her death it still seems to me that Shakespeare meant actual flowers to be borne. Hamlet followed the tradition of no portraits in the closet scene. The real weakness of Gielgud was that he never conveyed the bantering side of Hamlet's character – in the recorder speech he worked himself into a great and ranting rage, but to my mind Hamlet is quiet throughout, and his sudden turn on the two who would pluck the heart from his mystery was surely quiet – banteringly – whimsically – contemptuously. Frank Vosper as Claudius was excellent. […] The setting was a series of Tudor pictures which were so good that they distracted the mind too much. One felt that Ophelia had been cast for her part as a decoration. The lack of noticeable breaks in the action for changes of scene was achieved by the use of round elevated towers with steps – giving the stage a Craigian look. ‘Something too much of this!’ I thought several times – an apron stage would have been better. The Gielgud method robbed the quieter scenes of intimacy. But it was a good Hamlet, despite my quirks.

Friday 10 January George Sutton lunched me at Claridges and we talked office politics and real politics. He seems to have a feud with Stanley Bell, whom he called ‘nothing but a superior bookkeeper and a promoted clerk…’ Northcliffe House must be unrivalled for feuds and intrigue. George had spent some time at Brighton widi Jimmy Thomas. He says that Baldwin is determined to stick out this Parliament, which confirms what Oliver told me. He (Stanley Baldwin) has lost the confidence of all his colleagues over die Hoare-Laval peace plan.

Friday 15 January The official Coronation Programme was issued today. It would be idle to pretend that the change of monarchs has not taken the fire out of the national interest in the Coronation. King George VI and his consort are popular enough in a quiet way, but they do not arose any great enthusiasm. In society itself, the Queen is definitely unpopular. As Duchess of York she was regarded as a rather quiet, uninteresting, highly domesticated person, a little too Scots, if anything. But as Queen she is a little derided as lacking in glamour.

Saturday 15 January The intention was that I should nip over to Paris yesterday to meet R., but the journey was called off. He came home to-day through one of the worst storms for years, but when I went round for dinner at 7–45 he was in excellent form. He says that Vansittart, of whom he has seen much, was not promoted but demoted, and that Van and Lady Van are very bitter against Eden. R. had told Winston that die French army is short of ammunition, and the air force are not first class. Winston had been very sceptical, but an ex-French Minister had now confirmed to Churchill R's report.

Sunday 1 January 7–30 pm. After some work and a bite of lunch I took a taxicab for fleet Street, calling en route at the Press Association Offices, at the Central News and the Exchange Telegraph, to see that Cecil Harmsworth has a good show in tomorrow's Press when his Peerage is announced. At the D.M. office I found Bob Prew by himself and congratulated him on being, even against his will, the acting editor of the Daily Mail. While we waited for the honours list he told me the inside story of the ‘sackings’ of Cranfield and Head and the resignation of Roberts, the Night Editor. It seems that Cranfield was away on holiday. The day before his return Esmond Harmsworth and Bell drafted a careful letter which they sent to Cranfield's flat, telling him to take six months holiday and saying they would announce his health was indifferent. But Cranfield came straight from the aerodrome to the office, to Bell's extreme embarrassment. Esmond was in Scotland and Bell didn't know if the letter had been sent. The next day and the next Cranfield appeared as usual. One night he and Prew arranged to go to their respective flats for dinner, before the proofs came down of the first edition. Prew then had a ring from Cranfield saying that they had both better return together as news had come that Neville was flying to Berchtesgaden the next day. Prew suggested that he would wait outside his own flat till Cranfield picked him up in the office car. He waited and to his surprise the car was driving past him. He attracted the driver's attention and climbed in. Cranfield was huddled in a corner. Prew began to report that by phone he had told them to be ready to open the leader page, had got a leaderwriter waiting, and so on. To all this Cranfield made no response.

Sunday 7 January This threatens to become a weekly log-book, instead of a daily diary. […] Last Sunday Gordon of the Sunday Express was to have published an article by Kindersley, which he returned to us with the plea that if Kindersley said people were not to spend money on luxuries, the advertisers would be angry. He suggested K should amend the article accordingly. After some trouble we managed a compromise, and the amended version was published to-day. Gordon's letter contained this heart wail: ‘I don't want to do anything that is going to hamper my advertising. After all, that is our life line and thank God it has been better than we anticipated.’ In other words, let the nation lose the war, let inflation with all its miseries come upon us, but for the love of God don't let us offend some fat Jew who wants to sell quite unnecessary goods through our advertising columns. We deserve defeat. […] I gave a sherry to D[avid]W[oodford] on Wednesday evening. He had lunched with Eric Olyer, who had been acting as a kind of extra ADC to the King in France. The King is still imbued with a kind of family Liberalism, but is palpably turning towards the Right. When Chamberlain was in France he and Gort and the High-Ups had some frank talks. He told bluntly some home truths about Hore-Belisha.… with the result that yesterday there was announced the ‘resignation’ of the Minister of War. The popular Press, of course, has made a song and dance about the democratic Minister being sacrificed to the Brass Hats, but there is no doubt, from what one knows that the Jew is better out than in, and so I think most people think. […] Reviews of R's book continue appreciative. P.F. still feels that with R and Q both of our type of political thought we ought to strive towards a new Daily, which the Argus Press, through the good offices of Burton-Baldry and Ned Foster, would produce for us at a cut rate. I am not so certain that this is either desirable or practicable as long as we are at war, but it certainly seems the right line of development when peace comes. Although – before peace comes there will be many changes, that may affect us all dramatically.