THE HARD TIMES

Ashburton Guardian, Volume 53, Issue 133, 17 March 1933, Page 8

THE HARD TIMES

HOiWj ENGLAND LIVES. GREAT. ADAPTABILITY. At the beginning of 1932 economy, from Buckingham Palace downwards, was the order in London. Staffs were transformed into a "useful maid," the valet must do a good deal more than "look after" his master, the chauffeur had to replace the ; under gardener, besides doing his own work. Household economies were rigidly practised; motors-cars were sold, if anybody could be found to buy them, or put by in the garage so as to save license fee and petrol j motor-omnibusses, whenever possible, were . preferred to taxicabs; trips abroad and winter sports were rigidly eschewed; luxury shops were neglected; theatres languished; and doctors lamented the abnormal good health of customary patients. A "dull" season was prophesied and the prophecy proved to be true even in the matter of entertainments; that the falling-off in this respect was not so apparent was simply due to the fact that the season, with its more or less rough-and-ready—or its restaurant—hospitality, now lasts from end to end of the year. But as the months rolled on things quietly improved and the idea began to spread that to spend judiciously was better policy than merely to keep purse-strings tightly closed, says the "Manchester Guardian." The decision to have holidays in England did much—but it ought to have done a great deal more—to bring prosperity to seaside hotels and countryside inns; unfortunately, neither hotels nor inns rose altogether to the 'occasion, and—instead of straining every nerve to make things enjoyable and economical for their clients—jogged on in a stolid British way and did little to try and replace what is unquestionably delightful in the circumstances of foreign sojourn. "Doing for Oneself." Thus in the summer and early autumn one heard, with increasing frequency, of young people of fashion banding themselves into large or small parties, hiring a cottage intended for four people and making it accommodate eight, and doing for themselves in every respect and with entire enjoyment. In fact, "doing for oneself" has been one of the social hall-marks oi 1932. Ladies of position, rather than interfere with their children's education, have cheerfully performed the offices of cook; fashionable girls have been attending classes where they learnt, with excellent results, to cut out their own dresses, and would haye learnt to trim their own hats—only nowadays hats require no trimming, smart young men have tried to do indoor work usually assigned to painters and paperhangers; and lately two or three prominent young actors finding their profession for the moment not lucrative, have started pressing and dry-cleaning establishments. During the early part of the year the King had .not recovered sufficiently from his illness to make exacting ceremonial appearances. Indeed, there have been notably few great public ceremonies of any kind in 1932. The Queen has taken a larger share than usual in performing the duties for which royal personages are indispensable. The King's sons have been extremely active throughout the year. The Prince of Wales made a notable appeal for personal service for relief of the unemployed, and he has made several visits to the depressed areas in the determination to see for himself the conditions in which the workless are living, and to encourage by his example the progress of the new movement for making their enforced idleness more tolerable. Return of the Ex ties.. These. missionary journeys culminated in his recent tour of Lancashire. Prince George, the King's youngest son has been much more prominently in the public eye than before. The fall from the gold standard brought home many English people who had been living along the Mediterranean coasts and in pleasant exile in French and Italian towns. Living abroad suddenly became no longer cheaper than living at home as the exchanges went down. This homeward flight of the pensionnaires was, of course, hastened by the patriotic appeal to spend one's money at home. What Alassio lost Torquay gained. There was not much popular sympathy for the pensionnaires and villa dwellers excluded from their foreign paradise, but it was, all the same, a severe hardship for lyany of those who had settled down to an easy existence .at low rates and who all at once were forced out of the perpetual sunshine into the mists of an English winter. The national crisis spelt calamity to. hofelkeepers along the French and Italian Rivieras. Among the domestic London events of the year the return of Eros to his perch over Piccadilly Circus was the most welcome. London celebrated its joy by overdoing things, as usual, a celebrant climbing up the fountain to the statue and damaging its arm, which had to be extensively repaired. The return of the veteran Sir Alfred Gilbert, the sculptor of Eros, to London's social life after a long self-exile on the Continent almost synchronised with the return of the memorial. The flower-women, too, have returned and sit round its base. The year began with a rush to sell gold to the dealers at the high prices offered after the country had gone off the gold standard. Hatton Gardens offered 25s and. 26s for sovereigns and queues formed at the shop doors of people from all parts and of all ranks with old gold ornaments and watch cases and chains and many fastidious people lived to bless their despised midVictorian relatives who had left them heavy gold bracelets-and brooches too ugly to wear. The year closed with the gold dealers offering 29s for sovereigns when the United States had drained our gold for what is hoped to be our last war debt payment. In the entertainment business the

event lias been the coming of the con-' tinuous music-hall, as a rival to the continuous cinema, and on the whole it lias been a success and has come to stay. The old music-hall artist who thought his -calling was becoming a thing of the past found that he was sought after again but in the end he was only one of a crowd of professionals who seemed to have sprung up in a night. In the theatre there is a revulsion among the smart young people against the sourness that has succeeded the bitter-sweet of the modern plays and revues and a hankering after the sweet and the pretty if only it looks' false enough. "We're tired chewing nettles," is their cry. Painters too, are turning to semi-sentimental formulas.