LONDON—AFTER THIRTY YEARS.

Otago Witness, Issue 3168, 2 December 1914, Page 77

LONDON—AFTER THIRTY YEARS.

“A SECOND-HAND CITY.” (By A. H. Grinling, in the Daily Chronicle.) The infinite patience bom of a lengthy voyage served me in good stead as i approached London after a 30 years’ pilgrimage in the dominions of the southern seas. The monotony of seven weeks at sea was dispelled by the sight of the lights of Beachy Head; but London was not yet; there was fog in the Channel, the siren had been sounding all night, the pounding of the screw was intermittent, whilst the wireless warnings telling of disaster created a sense of insecurity unknown out on the open sea. Gravesend, seen in the grey haze of early morning, steadied the nerves; but the following ID hours passed wearily enough, and it was late in the evening when I reached Liverpool Street Station. My first impressions—and all first impressions are necessarily fleeting, serving their purpose and giving place to more permanent and positive conclusions —was of a London overgrown and ungainly, an overfed monster, whose size had increased out of all proportion to its environment, and whose frantic struggles to make room to move resulted in some queer contortions. There was method in the madness of that approach to London; it was not for nothing that the train crawled stolidly from tire dreary docks into the heart of the crowded city, through a region barren of beauty and desert-like in dreadful destitution. Quickly came the contrast of a whirl in a, taxi from East to West, a marvellous kinema-drive, with the familiar London landmarks flashing up against a background of light and luxury, forming a nocturne which years of absence enabled me to appreciate to the full. Tire slow and the sordid had given place to rapidity and opulence. I drew a deep breath and felt that I was once more in London. FIRST IMPRESSIONS. Since the night of my arrival impressions have crowded so swiftly one upon the other that they have been blurred before they became clearly defined. It is somewhat difficult to set them down with any orderliness. London seems so huge that any attempt to grasp its life as a whole utterly fails; to split the city up and endeavour to survey it in sections spoils the perspective. But the thing that especially impresses me is that London has not grown out of recognition, and while the external changes are many the spirit of London remains the same. It is still the city par excellence, where wealth rules supreme, where the people are roughly divided into two classes—the moneymakers and the money-spendei s. I have come from a country where Socialism has considerable sway, and my wanderings up and down London have filled me with a sense of the inequality of the fight between the masses and the classes, and the hopelessness of the antagonism of Labour towards Capital and of the absolute necessity for the discovery of a common denominator. It seems to me that London still does things by halves, and if a clean sweep is suggested the attempt is made in the wrong direction. Utilitarianism still triumphs, and the artistic and the poetic are too often relegated to second place. I was told by a member of the staff ql one of the leading publishing houses in Londcn that the children of the metropolis no longer read fairy stories. If I had had the courage to cram what I took to be a libel down the caitiff’s throat, I would have done it; but I am haunted by a fearful suspicion that it may be true. If it is the case, it explains many things; for if the fairies have taken their departure, then indeed is London’s lot pitiable. VISIONS OF A VASTER LONDON. In the course of a chat one day with a voting novelist, one of whose stories has given me much joy, I inquired the origin of a certain incident. “I saw it,” he replied. “ Had I not seen it I could not have described it.” I understood; the thing never actually happened; but he had a vision, and, having set the thing down, it has probably many times already been transferred into everyday life. That is creation, and in a material sense it is what has been done in London. Some seer had a vision of tubes and motor ’buses and taxis; the old omnibus and hansom and underground train melted away, and the traction of to-day took their place. Some other dreamer had a dream of more spacious thoroughfares in the heart of the city; at once the task of widening the streets began, and the rebuilding of London is proceeding apace. Unhappily, I perceive that these visions have been greatly mingled with the gold element; they have stopped short of their uroper fulfilment The motor ’bus is not a thing of beauty, nor are the tubes perfect in jespect of ventilation, whilst the noise of the traffic must be productive of multitudes of victims to neurasthenia. The dreams and visions of a vaster London appear to be bounded by a desire for comfort. Everywhere are signs that comfort is the first consideration. Comfort m eating, comfort in drinking, comfort in travelling, comfort in living, seem to be the keynote of London life. “You may do what you like,” the Londoner says in effect, “"only you must not make me uncomfortable, iior must you ask me to do anything to which I am unaccustomed.” Unfortunately London is also full of those who arc willing to do the waiting I do not think that it would be incorrect to describe the London of 1914 as a city of waiters, men and women eager to wait hand and foot upon their fellows for a suitable consideration. Lordh patronage on the one hand and extreme servility on the other have become accentuated * within the last 30 years. The secret of it all was revealed to me the other day in a striking fashion. “ London,’’ remarked a friend, “ is a secondhand city. It does not produce. It only

passes on, which accounts for the lack of that independence which so strongly marks the working man in the manufacturing districts.” THE QUIET DREAMERS. I confess to an intense admiration for the dreamers and seers who have made modern London, the men who have created those things which are the marvel of travellers and sightseers from all parts of the world; but I confess to a still greater admiration for the little groups of dreamers and seers who are working away quietly and unobtrusively, grappling with problems that oppress and overwhelm. Among these groups L detected a wonderfully optimistic note. I discovered one group of dreamers who dream of a ‘‘a Free Church of England so steeped in the spirit and traditions of the entire Church Catholic as to be ready in due time for the reunion of Christendom.” I discovered another group whose dream of Christian trade unionism, Christian employers' federations, Christian politics and Christian diplomacy may yet bring “ Peace on Earth and Goodwill towards Men.” I discovered yet another group of dreamers who dream of the dethronement of a debased fiction, the cleansing of national imagination, and the purifying of national Ufe by means of th • exaltation of poetry and the drama. Above all, I have met a number of grownup Londoners who believe in fairies. Considering all which things, I am bound to conclude that the development of London and the trend of the city’s life for the next quarter of a century will be the most interesting and entrancing thing the world has ever known.