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The City of Beautiful Nonsense was by a long way the most popular book of all that Temple Thurston wrote. I had read a great many of his books but this was the first one that I came upon that I did not really like. That is not a condemnation of the work however. It probably was of the reader. But among its very numerous admirers was Henry Edwards who now made an excellent film of it and evidently secured a faithful rendering of its essential quality, for it was rapturously received by the great host of the admirers of the book.
In August, 19 19, Stanley Faithfull, just back from the war, was going for a short holiday in Devonshire before coming back to me to take up his work again where he had left it two years before. On the platform of Templecombe Station where he had to change he, by most remarkable chance, met his brother Geoffrey, also back from the war but on his way to camp to await demobilisation. When Stanley had finished his holiday and returned to Walton he organised the growing importance of the 'still' picture department, which included enlargements and all sorts of direct photographic work, and made a very good job indeed of this valuable side-line.
It was in that same month that Blanche Macintosh wrote the script for Phillips Oppenheim's The Amazing Quest of Mr. Ernest Bliss from which Henry Edwards made a very successful series of short films, afterwards combined into one of 'feature length.' This was the story which, a little later on, got us into the law court with that peculiar action I dealt with earlier in this book.
The Forest on the Hill was the first post-war film to have the benefit of the full staff again with all its war-worn veterans back in their old places. It was great to have them back and to know that the war had ended all wars and never again would the glorious company of film-makers be interrupted in their important work by the strife of nations: that was what we thought at the time. It was partly that feeling then, I expect, but chiefly the sheer beauty of the story and the lovely country in which it was laid, that made The Forest such a very enjoyable thing to do.
The story was by Eden Phillpotts who invited me to stay at his house at Babbacombe near Torquay, so that he could tell me all about the places in which he had laid his story. For Phillpotts, in this case at all events, had adopted Dickens' habit of using actual and existing sites among which to weave his story. He showed me the HangingWood which was his Forest-on-the-Hill; the most
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