Here at St. Martin’s-in-the-Fields his colleagues paid him honor. I was deeply moved. At the little funeral, I had been equally stirred. Here before me was all that remained of the great man who never took his greatness seriously; the man who would go to any trouble on behalf of those who tried, but who, for those who were lazy, or cynical, or thought themselves superior, and without justification, he had no use whatever. Here was a man about whom there was nothing of the academic recluse, but a man who loved life as he loved music, ballet, fully, strongly, with ever-growing zest and with ever-deepening understanding; the man who had done so much for ballet, its music, its standards; who had been of such vital importance in the fashioning of Sadler’s Wells. My thoughts went back to his creations, his arrangements. I was actually conscious of his imprint on all ballet. Memories of his wit, his brilliance, crowded into my mind. I expected, I think, that with the sudden passing of a man of such fame, there would be an outpouring of thousands for his funeral, to pay their last, grateful respects. I was surprised. This was not the case, as I have explained. A few close distinguished friends and colleagues gathered beside the coffin in the Church of St. Bartholomew the Great, in the City: Sir William Walton, Osbert and Sacheverell Sitwell, Sir Arthur Bliss, Edmund Rubbra, Alan Rawsthorne, Ninette de Valois, Frederick Ashton, and Robert Helpmann who had hurried down from Edinburgh. The service was brief and hushed. I was indeed very sad, and my thoughts traveled out to the little chapel in Golder’s Green, not so far as an angel flies, where lay all that was mortal of another genius of the dance and another friend, in the urn marked: “East Wall--No. 3711--Anna Pavlova.” As Lambert’s body was borne from St. Bartholomew the Great’s gothic pile, I bowed my head low as a great man passed, a very lovable man. _DAVID WEBSTER_ I have dwelt at some length on my impressions of the artistic directorate of Sadler’s Wells. Beyond and apart from the artistic direction of the Sadler’s Wells Ballet, but very much responsible for its financial well-being, is David Lumsden Webster, the General Administrator of the Royal Opera House, Covent Garden. David Webster is not a head-line hunter. He is certainly not the press-agent’s delight. He does not court publicity. He permits his work to speak for itself. On more than one occasion I have been appropriately chilled by a reading of the impersonal factual coldness of the entries in that otherwise useful volume, _Who’s Who_. The following quotation from it is no exception: