“A Territorial Question”.
– “Sir – Sir – Dear Sir! Pray come to the rescue! We are in an awful predicament. We scarcely know where we are. We live in Norman road, in London road, in Stanhope place, in Grand parade, in Warrior square &c. &c; We always thought we were in St. Leonards; but, only think, everything is being turned upside down. You have heard or read of a famous “Wizard of the South” calling himself “Unrivalled Newman”. Well, he has come down here, and with a wave of his wand he has completely bewitched us. St. Leonards is to be left destitute – yes, destitute, Sir; is it not shameful? St, Leonards is to have no railway station, no Mechanics’ Institution, no Archery grounds, no National school, no brewery, no Wesleyan chapel, no Norman road, no Saxon hotel, no Grand parade, its all going to Hastings – going eastward – going backward! Talk of retrogression, Mr. Editor, only think of this! Doesn’t it make you wild? Think of the severance of social ties. These are two excellent neighbours living next door to each other up near the Horse and Groom, and one is to bundled off to Hastings, while the other sticks at St. Leonards. Then there is Mercatoria (query Lavatoria), Sir! Talk of squaring the circle; why sir, our square is to be cut into two, and one bit is going to stop at St. Leonards , while the other is going to Hastings. Talk, too, of emigration and immigration; why, there is to be such in this neighbourhood as Mrs. Chisholm never dreamt of. Whole streets are going at once. The cry is “still they go!” Pray, sir, what is to be done? We shan’t know who’s who nor what’s what. Who’s to tell whether anybody is Hastings or St. Leonards? A respectable friend of mine has suggested that all the Hastings Houses should be painted blue to distinguish them from St. Leonards. If I say on my card that I live at Hastings, people will never find me; and if I announce myself as living in St. Leonards, my letters will drop into the St. Leonards bag, and have to get into the Hastings bag before they get to me. Talk of centralization, whoever gave the despot of St. Martin’s-le-Grand power to change the name of a place? Perhaps we shall be called Bexhill or Bopeep next. Then only think that when letters and newspapers and periodicals and what not come by post for the Mechanics’ Institution, who is to know whether they are for High Street or Norman road? And won’t the same sort of thing happen to all sorts of people? And won’t there be a lot of beer shops sent off to Hastings? And won’t St. Leonards look funny in the newspapers? And won’t there be all sorts of odd mistakes, and all sorts of queer alterations, and no end of falling out and blowing up? Ah! Those up-towners, won’t they laugh in their sleeve? Aren’t they just pleased? But we will pay them off for this, some day. But I must not say too much, or I shall become desperate.— Yours excitedly, Paterfamilias”
P.S. I can’t send my address, for I don’t know where I live; but it’s somewhere near the Archway.”
