The fine conservative English poet John Betjeman was born 100 years ago today. That’s “conservative” as in “nostalgic Tory.” Energetic, intellectual, forward-looking conservatives of the American type — like, for example, us bustling go-getters here at National Review — would probably consider him a hopeless reactionary. He loved the Monarchy, old churches, and steam trains; he hated air-conditioning (which, in England, you can afford to do). He hardly seems to have noticed the U.S.A. I’ll have a piece up in a day or two.

For a taste of Betjeman, try “The Arrest of Oscar Wilde at the Cadogan Hotel.”