LONDON AT CHRISTMAS

Evening Star, Issue 22596, 13 March 1937, Page 12

LONDON AT CHRISTMAS

A VISIT TO THE CALEDONIAN MARKET [By A. H. M'Lintock.] There is little doubt that London is a city of surprises, or that it “ grows ” on acquaintance. My first impressions were rather of disappointment, for the streets were so narrow and the buildings, in comparison with other cities, so low that really it was hard to believe that one was looking on the metropolis of the world. I think the first real impression that gives to the new arrival the idea that ho is at last in a city of wonders arises from the contemplation of the shop windows. In the more fashionable streets like Regent street —a really fine thoroughfare, wide and modern, flanked on either side by dignified and beautiful buildings—and Bond street—narrow, old-fashioned, and unimpressive—the displays in the shops are simply bewildering, and the arrangement and lighting are all that one would expect from world-famous firms. In Oxford street are many of the great departmental stores, of which the most famous is Selfridge’s, an enormous establishment. For the Christmas festivities most of these large places arrange for special lighting. Selfridge’s had fir trees attached to the facade, in which twinkled thousands of coloured lights flashing on and off in an arranged sequence. In the middle, above the main entrance doors, was an enormous Father Christmas, who nodded his head slowly ns round about him paraded a motley crew of model animals, etc.—a great delight to children. It was really very clever and must have cost a great deal of money, but the crowds that flock to these places are- so enormous that the actual expense is looked on as a mere trifle. At Piccadilly Circus and Leicester Square the huge advertising screens are busy almost day and night. I think a particularly beautiful effect is to he seen at Leicester Square, when one looks through the hare branches of trees to a background of coloured lights of every description. It is a new and unique world, quite unparalleled in London. Motor cars suddenly appear in the air as if from the sky, wheels suddenly whirl, a name of a well-known oil flashes across the building—then darkness for a second, and off again once more. of all colours are used in these advertisements. Syphons seem to jet into glasses, rockets shower sparks which suddenly form words, names of wellknown commodities appear one moment in red, then in orange or blue lights, which while you look seem to change again. And so on it all goes, while around streams the dense, pulsating London traffic—taxis by the thousand, for round Leicester Square are most of London’s famous theatres—and about 8.30 p.m., when the evening performances begin, 10 minutes _ in watching the rush of London’s society life is well spent. Christmas Eve in London is comparatively quiet. Most of the big stores close,'and the rush of shopping is done earlier. Christmas Day finds London almost like a city of the dead—no shows, very few buses, no papers (not even an issue on Boxing Day); in fact, a real holiday for one and all. If there is one day sacred to the Englishman, or a time which demands the unbroken family circle and complete cessation of all business activity, it is surely Christmas. On Christmas night, as I was walking home, I saw through dozens of brilliantly-lit windows parties in full-swing—everyone wearing paper hats, pulling crackers, etc. There is no doubt Christmas in England is entered into with zest. A FAMOUS. MARKET. In order to gain an idea of how the poorer classes prepared for Christmas, and also to get a glimpse of the worldfamous_ market at Islington, I visited on Christmas Eve the Caledonian Market. I took a tube, of course, and found myself at Caledonian road, -a cheerless-looking thoroughfare. Near at hand was the great market. In area it seemed to be about the size of the Oval, A great deal of it is under cover, but in the open are rows and rows of stalls. The market is held twice a week, on Tuesdays and Fridays, and buyers come from all over London, for on display are all the odds and ends that delight the heart of the bargainhunter and the “ antique ” dealer. At the great entrance gate the crowd ■was at its thickest, all clustering round lorries drawn up by the entrance, loaded -with bananas, more bananas, and still more bananas. Not the sickly, anaemic fruit _wo find in New Zealand, but real fat, juicy, golden bananas, and all in bunches. Men were on lorries hauling their bundles to the front and cutting the fruit into small clusters, all attached to a main stem, however. A bunch was held overhead; the naphtha lights flaring on either side, the good humour of the crowd, the ready repartee of the bananas sellers—all made an unforgettable picture. “ Come on mum, how much?—l/9? 1/8 7-? 1/6P Right; yours, mate!” and they would he tossed to the purchaser I found that they were selling about two a penny. During a lull, one salesman, to stimulate business, threw bananas at random in all directions—free, just to show there was no ill-feeling. Nearby were the Jaffa orange sellers; I don’t think I have seen lovelier fruit, the best selling at seven for 6d. “ Try them, mate,” was the invitation I received, and a grimy hand pressed a half-orange into my gloved palm. Everyone seemed extraordinarily cheerful, and business was brisk. Dates were 2d a pound, grapes (not very good ones) 4d, apples 2d to 6d, grapefruit 2d, and so on. I have never seen so much cheap and good fruit before. No bags are supplied. but the purchaser who comes prepared for business is equipped with string bags, old cases, barrows—anything at all that serves to carry off the spoil. At the market proper the stalls are set out in rows, some covered, some without any shelter. Some boast an elaborate canopy, while others are merely dirty old carpets placed on the concrete, and all the miscellaneous debris of a decade or so heaped on top. What junk I I suppose if one fossicked through piles of rubbish something

worth while might meet the eye; but I was not prepared for that. One stall specialised in iron junk—anything for Id; another in books; another in jewellery, watches, clocks, old clothes, antiques, furniture, wirelesses, etc. One man offered me a piano for £l. But, really, to get a picture of this market, you have to think of rows and rows (each row about 250yds) of stalls, covering acres, with their attendants perched among their varied junk, and endeavouring to attract custom by raucous cries.

“ Come on, mister,” said one old grandmother, “ anything you like. Pick it out and I’ll tell you how much it is.” I shook my head, and she said, “ Trade’s bad to-day. There’s no nice people about.” Old music, piled on sacks, books i.n heaps, furniture from pre-Adamite times, lawn mowers, gramophones, pie carts, cheapjacks, huge mounds of smelly clothes, shoes of all ages and sizes—there you have the Caledonian market. Inside the enormous buildings aro the more pretentious-stalls, very much like those outside, hut dealing in new and second-hand goods. One place, about the size of the Drill Hall, was given up to meat stalls. “ Choose your joint, mister.” “ ’Ow about a nice goose for the missis, guy’nor?” These are the cries given as the stranger wanders round. Several stalls —one could always detect them by reason of the salubrious atmosphere—had enormous heaps of whelks, shrimps, cockles, and the like to tempt the jaded appetite—6d a pint. The odour of fish, pork, poultry, chips, and humanity made up a unique combination, and the resultant effluvium could be found nowhere else hut at the Caledonian Market. I’ll go back again some time and buy something, but it won’t be a piano or a wireless set or a perambulator or a motor car, I have not yet decided just what._ In many of the streets in the poorer districts of London markets are held. At Camberwell there were several, evidently looked on as the exclusive right of the stallholders; traffic cannot enter then, and for the small payment of 5s a year a hawker can claim his “ pitch ” and there erect his stall. Most of these stalls are really little handcarts with an extension forming a canopy. Fruit and food are the usual things on sale. Near Tottenham Court road—about five minutes’ wa|k from my lodgings—is quite an extensive market of this kind. Poor people flock there for cheap buying, and while the food is perhaps not so good as that sold in the best shops it is cheap and seems wholesome. There is no doubt a great deal of misery among the very poor class of East Enders, but I thing the great problem is one of housing—not feeding and clothing—the multitude. All these people seemed bright and cheerful, and the Cockney accent, while it is to he noted at times, is not nearly so prevalent as one would expect. These people are kind, good-humoured, very generous, very fond of animals (dogs, for example, are everywhere, mainly on leashes), and always ready to look on the bright side of life.