One of the minor anniversaries of this year is the jubilee of the Eiffel Tower, in Paris, which still retains its record of being the world's highest building.
According to some cynics, it is also the world's greatest eyesore; but those who saw it when gilded and floodlit during the Paris Exhibition two years ago will forgive it quite a lot.
Gustav Eiffel, when he started on the erection of the tower in 1887, had already made his name by his building of the Rhine Bridge at Dijon, but the completed erection in Paris greatly enhanced his reputation as an engineer.
Whether the tower increases Paris's attractions or not, it has in recent years become a valuable asset by its suitability as a radio and meteorological station.
I ascended the Eiffel Tower myself for the first time last year, and, having no head for heights, I neither repeated, nor propose to repeat, the experience.
The first landing, three or four hundred feet up, was not so bad, but the second floor made me feel very uncomfortable, indeed. It was only because I did not care to be called a coward that I embarked in the lift for the journey to the top stage. Actually, however, the top stage caused me less worry than the one below, because it was enclosed with glass windows and the sense of height was less oppressive.
It surprised me to discover that there actually are people who make their living at the top of the Eiffel Tower. I had a very pleasant glass of Amer Picon up there while listening to a battle-royal between the woman who kept a postcard stall and a man who thought he was being overcharged for his postcard.
There is something very civilised about a country that lets you buy beer a thousand feet above sea-level. I often have wondered if young Germany's ardour for mountaineering is due to the fact that there is always a beerhouse on the top of the mountain.
The Irish Times, March 30th, 1939.