CHORE HAT

Evening Post, Volume CXV, Issue 120, 24 May 1933, Page 17

CHORE HAT

A THIEVES* MARKET.

AN ODDITY OF CALCUTTA

HUMOUB OF. CRIME

Chore Hat is ono of the sights of Calcutta. It is not a hat, nor in fact any.- kind of headgear, but a market, a bad brother to Caledonian Market, planted amid stranger Bounds and smells than any known to London, but presenting as varied aa array o£ wares for bargain hunters. The name describes it exactly. Chore Hat is Hindustani for thieves' market, writes Sir Percival Phillips in the "Daily Mail." No market . could bo more modest or retiring; Its neighbour, Bow Bazar, makes no secret ■of its many-sided affairs, but rather flaunts them in the [faces of inquisitive strangers as though defying criticism. But Chore Hat prefers to hide in a network of narno\v lanes where honest sunlight never penetrates and tho fierce light of publicity is discreetly dimmed. Even the entrance to its mysteries has something furtive-in its appearance, being a mere slit between- two walls unadorned by any place-name or number. The indignant matron on. the trail of missing spoons might easily ovorrun it as she searches, the facade of the adjoining street for some cluo to its hiding place. Sho has only to stop a passer-by and murmur "Chore Hat?" to bo put right. Her informant will smiie significantly and point to the holo in tho wall. Tho taxi-man who drove me there also smiled the smile of secret knowledge. Was I in search of lost property! If so would I describe it? On learning that my mission had no ulterior motive he smiled again, but sadly, as ono who had lost ;i commission, and set mo down at the holo in the w,all. A QUIET TIME. It was early evening and Chore Hat looked as prim and respectable as a maiden aunt. Just inside tho narrow entranco sat an aged man with knees drawn up on a strip of matting at tho side of a low platform the width of two coffins: his .stall. He was enthroned amid plaster statuettes, old gramophone records, empty medicine bottles, and broken clocks. His background was an array of coloured prints showing Hindu deities in graceful attitudes against a flowering landscape, conversing with each other with every appearance of enjoyment. Surely these could not bo loot? Only a lunatic would waste his time stealing such articles. The old stall-keeper and his stock looked like a kind of outer, guard to Chore Hat intended to preserve its camouflage of honesty where one extremity involuntarily touches the mam Tliis theory finds confirmation higher up tho lane". Here arc other stocks of mixed merchandise that may well harbour the proceeds of informal excursions into private property. That silver teapot, for example. It looks clocidedly out of place between a motorcar tyre (suspiciously fresh) and a drawing from "La Vie Parisienn.e' Ine sleek Bengali follows my inquiring "lunco and brings it forward lor closer inspection. Yes, a teapot of character, although battered and sadly in need of polish. A discreet inquiry as to its history evokes the explanation that it was purchased from a distressed AngloIndian who was badly in need oi food. Pure philanthropy. SIGNIFICANT THINGS. The statement is open to argument, but it is better to pass on to tho fine camera hanging from tho next stall. Thci price is curiously reasonable, tor the lens is a good o»C. The case has beeen subjected to such hard usage tiiat tho initials of tho original owner have been rubbed off. Near this exhibit is an old-fashioned walking-stick with a carved ivoTy handle propped between a silver cigarette box and a pair of boxing gloves. Tho combination is appropriate .and leads a thoughtful visitor to wonder where they wcro laSfc t6gotncv before descending to the gloom of Chore Hat. Their neighbours are such incongruous articles as a framed engraving of Napoleon 111 tilted. against a chipped 'blue vase, an.alarm clock with one hand missing, and a violin without strings. Tho vender, who is reading a Bengali Edgar Wallace romance, watches prospective customers out oi the corner of his eye, but shows no interest in their movements. Tho interlocked lanes of tho.market arc a puzzle to the uninitiated, for they lead nowhere except into each other. A smash-and-grab artist who did not know the labyrinth would have a poor time trying to get out. Not that they ever try tho smash-and-grab manoeuvre in Chore Hat. Imagine the confusion if someone raised tbe «y, "Stop, thief!" and tho whole market took to its heels! Tills suggestion niay reflect : unfairly on the honesty of Chore Hat. Any dealer accused of illicit trawc in second and third-hand goods would undoubtedly beat his breast and call out that ho was being maligned. Jlo, might be. SKILFUL THIEVES. . ! One is assured that ex-thieves can; be found among the imperturbable stall-keepers:as well as in the stream of foot traffic that swells m volume after nightfall. Innumerable stories, arc told of the skill and daring of light-fingered hangers-on. There was the man who camo to Chore Hat in, search of a missing cigarette-case, and, vctrieved.it only to go. away without his watchi And the motorist whose expensive mascot was stolen irom the bonnet of his car while he was luncln K at his club. His chauffeur found another exactly like it in the recesses of Chore Hat. Two days later it, too vanished, and again ono was discovered on a humblo bargain counter in the lane, identical, oven to a scratch on OnT-hcn Cthoro was the odd experience ofj the man who went shopping in the thieves' market. He Dought a pair j>i new shoes ridiculously cheap, saw them wrapped in a cardboard box, and went off with them under his arm, pausing to look at other stalls before he went home. When be opened the Box it contained only a small stone wrapped in paper. The end had been. cut out and the shoes abstracted without his feeling the presure of thieving hands. Next day he returned to Chore Hat and the same stall-keeper offered him the same shoes at a slightly lower P Such diversions keep the market amused. Chore Hat, for all its grave exterior, has a keen sense of humour.