PROBLEMS OF CIVILISATION.

Lyttelton Times, Volume CXIV, Issue 13934, 16 December 1905, Page 12

PROBLEMS OF CIVILISATION.

I (By MRS E. W. CUNNINGTON.) | This “ vast aggregate of human be--1 jugs which wc call London ” (to quote ; Mr Balfour’s phrase) presents in vivid I I'ving pictures tlie actual problems that 1 are pressing on modern civilisation. Of i all the grave and really alarming diffi--1 culties surging around our national welI fare two stand out most painfully and I prominently, and they are the very } ones thatsall thinking persons acknowledge- to be the must disastrous in wide ! spreading consequences and tho most 1 hopeless to contend against—Poverty j and the Survival of the Unfit. I have bad some very interesting experiences during tho last few weeks. 1 have attended a largo mass meeting of women at Poplar; a. meeting of the Fabian Society to discuss tho - reason why Socialism is dead in England; and finally, I have been present at a midnight soup kitchen where one thousand starving men were fed, between 1.30 and 2.30 in the morning. You all know by the papers the cond’tion of unrest and misery now prevailing in tho East and South of London—Poplar, Limohouse, Stepney, West Ham, Southwark Count; their thousands of workless men and almost starving women and children. It was a pouring wot night when I I stepped into a Blackwall 'bus- at Charj ing Cross and started for those inex- : pressively dreary habitations, Limehouse and Poplar. On and on wo trundled, line after lino of ghastly streets bespeaking ugliness and wretchedness. It was an hour’s drive, and by the time I got to the Town Hall I was wet and cold, and my usually good, spirits had managed to escape me. Tho stops and entrance to the large hall were crowded ,vith men watching the women going in, and cheering them by kindly words and many a rough and ready gesture. The hall was crowded—all women—all in black, and all—shall I say it. Yes! I will—all,so plain! Is that another charming consequence of civilisation I wonder? —the ugliness of tho women of the poor. They sat in heaps, patient souls;with grubby shawls wrinkled round them; a great many hold more or lees dirt-begrimed babies- —but , never mind: the good creatures were there in their hundreds —with determination to support a movement which they hoped would bring work to their husbands and food to their families. Presently the speak era came on to the platform, accompanied by a large number of friends and co-workeis. Mis Will Crookes took t lig cli with hoi husband beside, her. She is a stout, round-about comfortable-looking woman, but very nervous. She speaks in a nervous, jerky manner, but her heart is in her work. She tells us how she has shaken hands with \th© King, anc ihat ho seemed a kind-hearted sort or j&ntl-omaii, and if he only would come Sown to Poplar he would ho so sorry for tho poor, and do something for them. Of course, she added, there are wastrels and worthless among, our crass, but perhaps there are some of the same sort away up in tho West End; but, anyway, ‘here are hundreds of honest telk starving and crying out, not for charity, which Is our wrong, but work, - which"is our right. Mr "Will Crookes, to whom all the working classes look for hope and encouragement, and who takes such a oromiuent position in the Independent Labour Party, spoke splendidly. He cold us of the struggles his mother endured in bringing up half, a dozen children’ in poverty and misery. Can f forget what my mother suffered? he shouted; “ no; it’s for the like of her chat I work now.” All the speakers were remarkably eloquent' without the slightest touen of canting or raving. Three women spoke —a schoolmistress, who- dwelt on the patience and courage of the poor, a. bright young girl who had all the economic questions of the day at Her “ finger-en(ls,” she spoke rapidly, clearly and with cutting.logic, sharpened by flashes of sarcasm. I was really ctruck by her. ' She was evidently very well educated and deeply in earnest. ■ Mrs Desp-ard, a- tall, thin old lady, with white hair piled high on her forehead, a black lace shawl gracefully _ arranged over her head and falling on her slender figure; spoke with the greatest fire and enthusiasm. “ Who is she?” I aisk-Gd a fat neighbour. “Why, that’s our Dcspa-rd; she be Lord Roberts’s sister, and she lives at Neve Elms, always' among the poor. Oh, she’s reel stuff 1 can tell yer.” How she spoke. She described the interview of the women’s delegates with Mr Balfour; how languid and cold he appeared before, the heart-stirred “women workers. “ I can imagine what you suffer,” ho had said. “ Think of it,” cried “Mrs Despard. “Our lawgiver, our legislator, imagining! He ought to know.” To New Zealand, women it- seems a small matter for women to hold political meetings, but in England it has a very deep significance. , It takes a ■ great deal of stimulation through suffering and the sense of wrong to get the English women of the poorer classes to gather themselves together in this public manner to discuss social questions. They have been so kent under, so dominated,, so patronised, that the idea of taking an independent move or expressing their sense of wrong and injustice is for them a tremendously strong effort. I was surprised and de-lignted to p-erceivo the, strong socialistic flavour of all the speeches. Hero was Socialism expressed in passionate far-reaching sentences. Why must they (the rich) have the land, and w-e (the poor) tho hovels and the slums; they have the dainty foods and fruits of the earth, wo the bones and the crusts.” Yes; there it was, socialism, passionate, heated, allcompelling, and one felt- that each thought sank into the hearts of tiiose women, and one hoped they would whisper it to their children to go forth soriio day litre the Greeks of old to fight or die for their cause-. Now turn to another scene, where Socialism on paper is the subject of cold, cynical discussion. A hall at Clifford’s Inn, Fleet Street, well filled with comfortable, happy-looking Fabians and intellectual Socialists. Hero close to me sits H. G. Wells, a nice kindly face, a cheery bearing, a -scarcely mid-dle-age appearance. He is laughing and chatting with a pretty little girl of some fourteen summers. Ho looks more like a jolly sailor than a writer. In front of mo by two rows of chairs sits Bernard Shaw—the face rugged, the dre-ss unconventional, the hair of a reddish colour, the eyes a dim sort of blue, and tho face distinctly clever and -alert. Over there sits a tall, dark young man, a clergyman,; the face drawn -and lined with thought. “ Who is he?” I queried. “Conrad Noel, the Socialist parson.” Dr Headlam is there, and so are half the clover Socialists of London. But what have they come for? To hear a lecture by a Dr Guest on the “ Necessity of a Restatement of Socialism.” I told you in one of my articles that Socialism in England is dead, and this meeting was a sort of post-mortem inquest into the causes of the said death. Dr Guest is young and hold—l should like to say audacious. He begins .by fumbling a very largo package'of paper (his .lecture), and then with one hasty, anxious glance at the clock, he starts off at full gallop, a rush, a scamper of words and ideas and remarks. I never heard such a lecture in my life. , It was a mere scramble from first to last to squeeze in as much stuff as possible in the hour. The young man dilated on -6 dissatisfaction existing in the Socialist movement. of wie dav: that

the doctrine of evolution had practically slain the enthusiasms of the older movement. I was interested at first, but after a few minutes I gave up trying to follow it consecutively, and caught only phases hero and there. “ Mankind not an organism, but a protoplasmic smear.” That sounded nasty, and for tho life of mo I don’t understand it. A protoplasmic smear ! Why not call poor humanity a blot on the face of the universe at once, and then wipe it out. But what is that ho is saying now. Oh ! that Democracy is a vulgar sham—• that it brings ns down to tho level of cheap haberdashery o-r the ways of a washerwoman. Then, breathless and almost doubled up, ho succumbed to the “ exuberance of his own verbosity.” Uprose the mighty, and slew him. “Go home, young man, said Mr Wells, in kindly tones, and study your subject a little. In a few years you may know something about it. “I am fifty-eight,” said another speaker, “and yet still anxious to learn. What have I learnt 'to-night. Nothing.” “ Yv’hy abuse haberdashery and the good woman who washes your shirt, said Dr Headlam, and then, with severity, ho added : “ Sir, the washorAvoman is quite as necessary a part of the structure of society as the doctor. . Then Bernard Shaw took matters in hand, and in a swift, humorous speech, “ chaired ” up the poor young Avonld-bo social reformer. But Avhat I gathered from the meeting Avas this: Tho young doctor Aya-s quite right in affirming that -soniething is radically Avro-ng with our socialism. Karl Marx is dead, Nietzsche is no more; the very platform of socialism ia getting rotten With age; the “old gang” of socialists are decrepit and passionless—Avhat are aa'o to do? Find a principle and AA'ork on that, suggests the doctor, and then ho preached Kropotkinism. “Mutual help,” and as far as I could gather of life in suburban towns like Croydon— and no district trains. AnyAvay," the lecture was nonsense. But the sad part o-f tho whole affair Avas tho absence of real enthusiasm among the Fabians. Not one drow a clear line of suggested action. Not one all-proA r ailing principle Avas disclosed-—nothing of any power Avas brought fonvard. Things are very bad, but AA r hat is to ho done? they said. And to-day our Prime Minister says to the Avomen’s demands —“Things are very bad; but what can bo done.”

Big Ben strikes Avith reproving tones the hour of three o’clock. The stars shine in the sky, tho f#g clings around us as avo creep home from our visit to the mid-night soup kitchen. We left our little flat at 11.30, and Avalked to Trafalgar Square, wandered about till past one, and then Avont to Wych Street, Avhoro the Salvation Army have their soup depot. Pour policemen Avere patrolling the narroAV, dark street that runs just behind the Strand, near the iioav King’s Way. At that late hour one is apt to become confidential with constables, so I told, them of our errand. “ We Avant to see tho men coming for their supper,” I said. “ Tell me about these men,” I added. “Ah, well,” said the sergeant, “they are a bit of all sorts—some are really starving, some, if you gave them ever so soft a job, Avould j jack ’ it to-morroAV.” And then, looking puzzled, he muttered, “ EA r eryono seems to AA’ant to help this yere poverty business, but they don’t go about it tho right Avay.” I asked,' remembering tho Fabians, “Well, Avhat is the right Avay?” “Blessed‘if I knoAv,” was the satisfying reply. He is just like all tho rest, I thought. The door of the depot opens and a redshirted man peers out. Ho sees us and beckons. “ Como in,” he says kindly. He takes us through ,a kitchen, Avhero big caldrons are steaming pease soup’ odours, and leads , us upstairs to a cheerful sitting-room. “ Noav sit down and. rest. The men Aren’t be here till half-past one.” I asked him Avhy he gave the soup at that hour instead of midnight. “ Because, lady, from one to four are the dead hours. If you are Avalking about tho streets hungry and homeless those two hours are the Avorst —everything is barred from' you—l knoAv. Five years ago I did it.” Presently four young men entered. “These are my scouts,” .said the officer. “ They Avill go into the square with those tickets, and every man Avho has a ticket can come here for a supper.” Hoav many tickets will they give aAvay,” I asked. “ One thousand.” “ Imjroesible!” I cried. “You Avill feed one thousand men hero to-night P” The officer nodded. Then a young soldier entered and carried off a harmonium and heaps of hymn books. Twenty .minutes past one,. and av© hoar the scuffling and shuffling of many feet. “Como along,” said the officer, “ You shall sit by the harmonium and see for yourself.” Wo folloAA-ed our conductor into a long” whitoAvashod hall; about a hundred feet long, filled Avith forme with backs. A broad sort of counter was at Sue end of the hall (near ns), behind it stood an old man grasping a pint ladle. A galvanised bath tub Avas by his side, Avith columns of Avhito enamelled boAvls, and a heap of large metal spoons. Slabs of bread formed a miniature mountain on a table close to tho door opening into the -street. As each man entered he took his piece of broad, then marched into tho hall, took his spoon, held out his- hand for the boAvl of soup and passed doAvn the hall. Everything Avas done with precision and regularity. Hoav that old man AA'orked. Five hundred times he- poured soup into basin®. Look at the men. They never utter a Avcrd; they do not smile-, nor Avhisper, nor oven nudge each other. They look at ns Avith dull eyes. Starvation, squalor, soitoav depicted on their faces. Poor felloAvs. Poor felloavs. After they had all finished, they placed their basins on the ground AA r ith methodical care, and then a hymn was given out. One man near me fell asleep’, his head resting on the breast of another. Some looked like fallen clerks. They still had collars clinging to their grimy necks. Hymns and addresses finished, the officer said, as he stood on a form, “ Good morning comrades,” and then ho told them, “ Noav, your time is up. Kindly leave by theStrand door. There- is another four hundred Avaiting .at the Wych Street entrance to come in.” Without a murmur they rose, those silent, ghastly creatures, and like ghosts of the night crept out. Then avo, too, Avent out, to see the other men cinie in. Heavens! I never saw such a sight! Tho night Avas colder hoav, Avith the sharpness of the oncomiffh morn,-past two o’clock, and all decent folk cuddled up in bed. Doavii the Avho-lo length of the street I descried a long line of dark figures. Close to this line stalked four policemen, two each side, and a sergeant close

to the door. Silently and patiently—all too patiently, avo thought—stood that crowd—five hundred starving men. One fell,out of line, and staggered to a doorstep, “faint, a bit gone,” said the sergeant to me. “Wo get them like that. Tho other night one felloAV fainted light aAvay —real doubled up, just as ho had begun to eat his soup. We had to take him to tho hospital.” The door opens, and one by one they tumble in, giving up their tickets as they enter. Not a sound, hut the tramp of the Aveary. There Avas no life, no energy, no hope in that awful throng. Their crouching, ill-grown figures told you of a degenerate, outcast x>eo-ple—tho off-scourings, tho leavings, tho failures of our great London streets.

W© stayed till the last man Avith a ticket had entered and the door Avas closed, then wo turned, sick and faint, to lea A re this dark spot.. One man, then another, and another, till a dozen stood around us, clamouring for tickets. We had one, and gave it aAvay. W© Avere going to say good-night to the rest, but the mockery of the Avoids died on our lips. “-They wouldn’t work if they had ever so soft a job,” had said tho strong, Avell-built sergeant. Of course not! Look at their faces and their limbs, and then ask of civilisation, Avhat have you done to these sons of men.