"THIS ENGLAND"

Evening Post, Volume CXIII, Issue 18, 22 January 1927, Page 6

"THIS ENGLAND"

STUDIES OF TO JMY

THE IDLE RICH

(Written for ".Tho Post" by * Edgar Wallace.) My friend' the Communist (a very nice man) only knows two classes, the Idle Rich and the Proletariat. "People without regular jobs."' I suggested, having looked it up forcrossword purposes. - . . No, ho meant "Proletariat." • "Wage earners V No, he still meant "Proletariat," but what that meant he wasn't quite

"Karl Marx—" He beamed.

"That's- the fellow^-what he says." "Wage labourers—wage earners," said I. "Only.the people who work j.or a living are the proletariat." My friend was rather depressed by this narrow interpretation of hi grand word.. Anyway (here he brightened) the Idle Eich were, not., to be explained away by" the dictionary. • t £oo^ at '-£ m! Any you like in the West End! Motor-cars, fal-de-lals, wiinmia, wine!"

"And song,'M helped him, but ho was not grateful. "Go clown to the Savoy any night you like," he stormed. "I've heard 'em on the wireless, laughing and clapping their hands for more music And I've seen 'em through the windows at other places, sitting at tables and "drinking wine—the price of every bottle would keep a family from starvation for a week! And outside on the Embankment, people without a shelter to their heads or a crust to e-'.t; That's what is going to bring about the revolution! " ' '

Because I am interested in revolt tions I went to the cradle of the coining upheaval. -

I do not know a nicer •■ cradle or a more cheerful sounding.! To hear it all on the wireless is one thing, to -be a participator is another.

The buzz anil blare of -the ballroom is not so noticJ.'ibJb an • thrpugn the microphone. You sea.-«ely hear ,the tuning of iiddlas or the t.wins-twank of an absent-minded thumb on a lja.TJo string. These things fit into, a larger sensation—shaded lignts .. ami amber candelabras and. the -glitter and'gleam of silver, on white/tables; and . fiowtrs and white-shirted diners, and boamiful women, and Ay-omen who hope they .are looking that way. The id)o rich "were Laving a most stvenr.ous time.

The last tinu I" mot "-flic" idle rict youth who gnnii"<i at wo frjm tiii- i^xt table was soius v'lore'.between 1 \\m J)ulclock and Stevenage. He had come down from Cambridge, driving an awful looking little car that he had wheedled from his idle rich father (ono of those, wealthy suffragan bishops who earn nearly £800 a year), and ho begged from me the price of a twogallon tin of juice. He had only a shilling in his pocket; his term allowance of £10 having been squandered in the riotous pursuit; of pleasure and those hectic gaieties which are such a deplorable feature of University life. He told me later.that ho had been invited to dinner by a topping fellow (the father of another undergraduate), that he-was having a topping time. The topping-fellow,,-who invited;' him (a largish 'man with a cherubic smile) was another, of the idle rioh., Ho was an. official of a big engineering company, and spent most of his life' sleeping on trains and interviewing hardfaced men . who bought machinery. When he wasn't sleeping, on "trains he was sleeping on ships hound for foreign .parts, or sleeping on strips bound for homo. His wife manages to see him for two months in the year. , ' Ho doesn't dance, but he likes to see the young people enjoy themselves. There is wine on his table. Every mag-, num represents more than the fortnight's salary he. received when he started work with the company he now controls. He sits a little dazed, a little absent, his mind completely occupied with centrifugal' pumt>s and machinetools, watching the 'brilliant throng gyrating to the.rhythm of the band. The beautiful women in their indescribable dresses, the chameleon' changes of hues, the subtle fragrances which come to nostrils used to the scent of lubricating oils and hot metals.

I like to reduce things to table form: pages of statistics fascinato me. Here is a census of the/known idle rich within view:—

(1) A retired tea planter from Assam. Age about 50. Very rich. He had. ten years of heart-breaking labour, rising at dawn, working in the plantation all'day, and Bleeping in a' little bungalow ,a trifle larger than a suburban summer house, by night. Worked like a navvy, seven days a week, and took no holiday during the first years of his. apprenticeship. Paced season after season of disappointment and partial failure till the luck turned. Now he is home and trying to recover the wasted years, ■ ■■■..'■

(2) A director of a big , newspaper combine. The most cheerful soul that ever came from Scotland. . Spent his early married life in a one-roomed lodging, denied himself more than the bare necessities to ensure against unemployment; employed his spare hours in work. 6 . ...

(3) A rather imposing man who looks like a Cabinet Minister. A gossip writer in one of the newspapers. A hard-working and not particularly brilliant man, who is earning his living at this moment. „

(4) A theatrical "magnate" who ouco peddled shoelaces in New York. (5) The son of an impoverished Irish peer, wounded in the war, and liimself working in a city office. (6) A millionaire distiller who battled up from 6s a week clerkship, and who in the evening, of life, finds his chief'pleasure in watching young people enjoying the lifo he was denied.

It is impossible that the census could bo complete. Idle rich? I know a few. By some mysterious, wise workings of Nature, rust and rot go together, and one looks ■ for tho idle rich in queer places where nice people do not go. They run to poetry of an exotic kind and to strange friendships. Some write nasty little plays. Mostly they live on the association of: nasty little people, and move in a cloud of sycophants and parasites. One'reads regularly of their doings in. gossip paragraphs—there is one writer who specialises in such a chronicle. Now. they are on the Lido, extravagantly costumed or engaged in, lunatic 'games; now they are at Deauvilie; now doing something extraordinary or bizarre in London itself. They.have Baby Parties, where,they array themselves in tho costumes of childhood, or Treasure Hunts, or officiate at mysterious gatherings. You never see them oh a racecourse or in the hunting field. They may appear at St. Moritz or in ten costumes per diem, but they do nothing moro exciting than pose for their photographs.

And in due course . they die, andtheir estates are divided amongst their wholesome relatives, and that is the end of them. ■ >

But this Savoy ballroom belongs to youth, gilded but not golden; wearing the uniform of affluence, but no more. Money doesn't worry .the subaltern dowu for a short leave. He isn't giving the party, but he is the soul of it. He asks for nothing more than a pretty partner, a syncopated jig

tune, perfectly timed, and his. enjoyment is in ratio to his partner's dancing ability.

He is young and good-looking, freshfaced, bubbling over with energy. He has no money, and doesn't want much. . He needs for the moment a perfectly topping time. Good wine is wasted on him. He can never remember the menu. He wouid as.soon drink lemonade. He has not learnt to call (things and people "divine." Mostly he talks about cars—fast, ugly, uncomfortable cars—but fast. : '■■■-. .--■

He may not : be in the Army or the Navy. Perhaps he is in the motorcar business, which has an irresistible fascination for youth. Or in an office. You know that he is "public school" from the moment that you hear him speak-—it really does not matter whether he is soldiering or selling buttons.

There is a waiter at the Savoy who is a great friend of mine; we have this bond of union, that we went, to the same school, and he knows more about the idle rich than any man in London.

"Is there anybody here who does nothing for a living 1!" I asked. He knew a /man from tho Argentine and another from France who had no occupation but dancing.

"But English?"

He took a careful survey of; the room. It must have been an off night for the idle rich, since he could; only; distinguish one man.' —; ';

"And he's a member of Parliament!" he said, almost apologetically.