LONDON CAFES

Evening Post, Volume CX, Issue 11, 12 July 1930, Page 7

LONDON CAFES

THE "CUTTY SAB-K"

QUAINT EATING PLACE

By Valeric C. Corliss,

It is curious how potent a spell is east by London's quaint eating places. They speak to us of strange personali-ties.-romantic occasions; they spell at-w-oww^re, enchantment. Fleet street, the .Cheshire Cheese, and the days of I)r. Johnson. Solio, attractive- foreign cafes, ami Hie world ot! fiction and theatrcland. What a queer charm there is iv those unexpected cafes of personality, discovered by the tired ivr/nderer in some little odd corner of London's highways and byways.

Some places do certainly possess a magnetic quality of attraction. Tneir windows twinkle with it, their siguboard3 vibrate with it, their doors beckon with a hypnotic hand. One is attracted before one tastes the food or drinks the coffee or sips the wine. And, curiously enough in some eases, the attraction Trill remain even after one has 'partaken of the bill of. fare. There are out of town places associated in one's memory with cherished holidays, drives, fields in the sun, old Tillages. St. Albaiis to the north and a long, delicious drive on the top of a London bus by many a green field. A glorious Cathedral, much joy to see, and . . . I have a memory of a quaint old house with low ceilings, a strong suggestion of romantic history, a smell of newly-baked scones and a Devonshire tea. Scones,'jam, bowls of clotted cream; St. Alban's ancient street beyond the windows; one's wandering j'jet resting. There were two people, 1. remember, who had stepped straight from alluring pages of 'fiction. They drank tea and "conversed in low tones" over in a corner while their long, shining, high-powered car waited beyond the window to whirl them into 1l:e strange adventures of Chapter Thirteen.

So if. goes on. And tvhen we remember amazing districts, enchanted villages,, city-streets where the "spires shine, and are changed," ive see as iv-ell, in our mind's ey-e, the Little Old Inn with the queer name, the quaint cafe tucked away in a cobbled courtyard, • the enticing restaurant just ', around the corner. , Just recently, I have enjoyed the innocent meals of morning and afternoon - -tea-, respectively, at two o£ these little pieces. Last Sunday morning, aiter a ramble in Hyde Park amongst the lilacs and ■the tulips and the orators, the riders in1 the row and the rowers on the lake, ' I began to feel a. desire for food and '.cups'of China tea, and somewhere cosy ■ -to sit where people were not being athletic- ■ " ; A boy's model sailing ship, bravely i navigating the reaches of the Serpentine, suddenly suggested to me "The i Jut'ty' Sark," the' little ship cafe which ;I.'Jiifd'noticed in George street. The i very place! So I steered my course, ; cross seas, past the New Zealand carilJon tower to Marble Arch, where navigation became an-absorbing occupation -■which it is best to pass over. • It may.be. a far cry from a boy's ■l>oat on the Serpentine to the good •clipper "Cutty Sark," but it is not a . far walk, and.in a very short time I found myself on the wharf, so to speak, contemplating the gangway notice with a certain eagerness for the aclventnre. Oh Board the. Cutty Sark. : Refitted Ship Shape. Special Morning Coffee.' >iut Bread, Doughnuts, Cookies. . . . Sails Sunday as well. Good. I embai'ged for a voyage in '<;h-ina Seas. The Cutty Sark greeted me with shining brasses, port and starboard lights, and a glowing fire in her saloon. Above the fireplace stood a ship's steering wheel studded, with pieces of <liamond-shaped brass and engraved ■with the name "Venus" of Penzance. The green and red lights on port and •starboard aides of the mantelpiece gleamed at me from the brass lanterns of; some ancient frigate. The walls were entirely covered with charts. A door labelled "The Hold" opened, and a cheerful proprietress appeared ■ «»nd proceeded to put the Cutty Sark through, her paces. She piloted me to a clock with a past, which in true nautical fashion strikes the ship's bells. She blew through a brass foghorn, previously1 the property of some ancient 'clipper. Prom the for'ard port (street •window) she lifted down . romantic ship's lantern of old brass, suggestive of treasure islands and tales read by winte.r firesides. She head for me a previous gangway notice: — ' The Cutty Sark Will .be laid up from Monday, 3rd . March, to Friday, 7th March, for a com- ; T>lete overhauling and reconditioning. '• Opening dinner of the new cruise Fridayj 7th March. She beckoned me to a door marked "Captain's Cabin," and pointed down tpirie steps to a snug . . . But more of this anon because a steward (female) appeared with the •ship's menu at that mom-ent, and you know what sea air is. "The Cutty Sark"—"Faraour for Tea." 1 The menu was printed in sea green ink with a drawing of the renowned old clipper racing over breezy seas. I jihose China tea, of course—nut bread, cookies. . . . And while- I waited for the ship's galley to do its best I paced •the' quarter-deck. Tor this was no mere house 'floor. Under my feet ran the long planks of a ship's decfc, creamy wood and pitch truly represented by a specially manufactured matting. In true maritime manner I consulted an antique nautical barometer, then gazed out to sea, but. was no more enlightened over weather prospects than is usually the case after earnestly tapping the family barometer in kf front hall at Hampstead. So I made a"i? the Captain's Cabin. Down three steps and I found myself in the snuggest little den "that ever sailed on the high seas. ! A small oblong cabin, a long untarnished oak table with six chairs ''or the ship's officers, and a large carving chair at the head fot-the Captain,, a ship's' skylight, charts covering the walla, a deck floor, and above the Captain's chair a glorious model of a clipper in full sail. On the table lay a dagg-er, a cutlass, and an ancient pistol —a pirate's pistol—inlaid with carved steel. My wrist" creaked protestingly as I lifted it t,p point at an imaginary foe. Desert, islands, shipwrecks, buried treasure, skull and cro.isbones—-I was array on (he high seas! Fifteen men on a dose! man's chest, Yo! ho! ho! And a bottle of rum. Here the charts on the walls recorded the Australasian voyages, during which the "Cutty Sark" loaded .wool. "Your tea is ready, madam." I withdrew to nut-bread and cookies, and as' I drank fragrant China tea at my little unvarnished oak table beside the fire, I ~n.j;ed past bowls of golden tulips and through the for'ard port, in reality on to George street, W. 1.; mut who ftares for.reality on these occasions? Qut there lay fabulous seas, shining coastlines, Palawan Island, Acheh Head, Belsiboka River. . . . . .. But reality must in the end be faced. J. tipped my steward and blow a farewell blast on the old brass foghorn. I descended the gangway into a potrolsmclling street. My voyage was over. I was once again in port, "A sailor icme f«om the «a.*' •