LONDON'S NIGHT LIFE.

New Zealand Herald, Volume LX, Issue 18297, 13 January 1923, Page 2 (Supplement)

LONDON'S NIGHT LIFE.

ROMAN ALL FALSE, BOKDID >DANCE OF FOOLS." 1

I Glamour, romance, excitement—these ! are the conditions invariably associated with the night life of London's underworld. And "yet they" are Jar from the ■ truth says a writer in a London paper. I _The' glamour is a deception, the" excitement unreal, the romance— why, the I very word is an irony. Gome with me to one of these "night clubs,'' the loneliest i places in the world, where no one knows ; his neighbour, and the oily bond is j money to be wasted. What do you see T | A number of women, either overj dressed or under-dressed, whose public | vaunting usually hides some miserable little private tragedy. They are talking together in groups, and now and then you catch the sound of some unprintable oath. " It is after three, and the band has gone, leaving only a little man with . a squat face at the piano, and an over-fed greasy companion. Occasionally these two exchange an ob'scene jest with some of . the women. Presently they begin to play—and play ■ vilely. You are below the street level, and from above comes the irregular thud of footsteps descending the stairs. I Foppish and not too sober young. men of ' the public school type, their faces idiotically flushed, slide or straggle across the floor, and finding a partner, begin to dance in various etylss of brainless and unsightly exaggeration, .. Moneyed Riff-Bail. ' ' / .

Presently, a still leas savoury .1 male' element begins to appear m the persons of flashily dressed East End tailors, shady turf agents, low types of half-Anglicised -Americanised aliens, and the general moneyed riff-raff of London. How they get the money they spend ia a mystery. I have seen the same men night after night pay 15s for admission, besides charges for refreshments, which often consist of whisky and water disfuised as cold "consomme" by the simple evice of being served in teacups. All the women are over-iirod, and obviously struggling against- the irritability that is the result of a strained and unhealthy life of dissipated vitality end insufficient sleep, ' But they must not reveal their . rays nerves. It would lessen their matkei price ... .'..;, .•:.,-. -

There Is only one not© Bounding throughcut this place of garish sights and harsh sounds. It is desperately, - incredibly dull. Even its repulsiveness is boring. It ,ia a meaningless, ■ unending I dance of. fools ■ and '"souteneurs" ana wretched women. I And her* is the last loathsomeness; it k j these women that keep such places going. It is they who attract, the men-— j fools who think they are "seeing We.'°i The Opium Ben. |

. Having learnt so - much, if you are neither a philosopher nor a fool, you will get outside as soon ,a» possible. - But what of -the opium den ? Shall we sot there, at least, find something of the romance that clings to strange excesses ? Some Eastern mystery*of half-lights and coloured dreams ? Much has been written about the opium den, throwing a light of romance upon it, but such writing is false. There is:no romance. -. ; ""■£;'i-.'k'?. \ : i Mostly ft is merely a tale of which one! half is not repeatable and the other half not worth repeating. : There .Is Mo mystery, except .'■ the mystery of human degeneracy j no, "atmosphere," except an almost unbreathable one. The traditional Chinaman of the flowing silken robe and the secret smile is a myth. The owner of the place is a little man in greasy trousers and-coat, trying to make a living in, the handiest way he can. y ':•'' His clients are not; figures with.a strange history. They are sailors, stokers, tramps, thieves, anything. y A; mere" snoring' unwashed heap, of sodden humanity ; that will some time or other wake up and proably be sick. v - ■,"" That Is all— and that is the "Bomance" of night life in London. On " ; the whole, a rather tedious and extravagant way of committing suicide.