SYDNEY BY NIGHT.

Stratford Evening Post, Volume XXXIV, Issue 79, 26 November 1912, Page 5

SYDNEY BY NIGHT.

(By Gordon McMinn.) There is a hill in the clamour of the seething Sydney streets as the daylight fades in the western sky, and Lie sun paints Ins brilliant evening picture. Oh! those Australian sunsets and sunrises! What wealth of colours and shades and tints and hues! A stillness falls upon the city, the noises have ceased, and the atmos- ■ phere has become cleaner and cool. The sinking sun’s last beam touches the roofs of the towering city buddings, causing the glass skylights to shimmer and gleam. The shadows lengthen over sea and land, as the veil of night is slowly—slowly—drawn across the heavens and—night is at hand. The terrific tram and ferry traffic has subsided for an hour, while signs of toil and labour are being t.irust from sight, and preparations for the evening’s enjoyment are being made. By seven o’clock the city streets are again beginning to assume an appearance of activity, the ferries from the over-harbour suburbs are heavily laden, and the cars are carrying their full complements _ as they whirl away swiftly and noisily to the •thousand and one points of attraction. It is but a repet it : o u of the early morning scene outside the Circular Quay. The rush and roar and hum of life, the hurry and scurry of the dense crowds as they pour into the streets or the desperate dash for trams, may again bo witnessed. But the crowds are out on pleasure bent. They have donned evening attire, and there is laughter and light heartedness everywhere, and the dancing eyes, bubbling over with merriment and good, humour, and the smiling eager faces speal-. plainly of the anticipations of the coming pleasures. Where are they all going to, these pleasure-seekers?'Sure ly they cannot all lie accommodated? lint as we stroll along George, Pitt, and Castlereagh streets, these questions are forcibly answered, for hundreds of theatre’s, picture-shows, concerts and entertainments of all descriptions which will soon he in full swing are calling them, and even at an early hour, streams of people flock through the entrances. The streets are aglow with myriad vari-coionred lights and are again seething with dense throngs and the streets who.ein the chief theatres are situated fairly buzz with activity. In George street the General Post Office, the centre of business life at midday, now stand" dark and gloomy and deserted. But in Haymarket, near the Railway Station, the gorgeously decorated picture palaces are ablaze with thousands of electric lights, which outline the towering buildings, while the music from the bands and orchestras in the vestibules, the raucous voices of the uniformed “spruihers” who paint wonderful verbal pictures of the nlmsyto be screened within, together with the din and hubbub of those striving for admission, create a tumultuous uproar. These scenes may be witnessed nigbtIv, and on special occasions such as Raster or Christmas, the spectacle is bewildering in the extreme. The scene at the iv.ilway station resembles that of the early morning—the heavily burdened incoming trains, the rush for the exits, the excited scramble for tin* rush trams. Snob then is Sydney at evening—a city of gleaming lights, of brilliant streets teeming with joy fid. happy-hearted pleasure-seek-ers, while the steady roar of the welllit and swiftly moving cars predominates over all. The harbour, viewed, say, from North Shore (McMullen's Point, Lavender Bay', or, MilsoiTs Point) resembles a veritable fairyland. The myriad lights from the dozens of fleeting ferries as they silently cross

and re-cross in all directions to and from the numerous over-harbour suburbs gleam and shine and dance again and are reheated in the rippling water. From the bigger Manly boats speeding away to the left, is wafted the sound of music and laughter, as they glide down towards the torts and disappear from view, the music and laughter gradually dying away in the distance, to the rignt me speedy little Lane Cove boats Hy around Jlawe’s Point while straight towards us come the North Shore boats direct from the Quay. Away beyond the sea lies the city over which hangs a radiant glow, reflected from the streets and gleaming centres of amusement. Countless starry lights twinkle and beam in tiie distance, while the city noises are wafted towards us across the water, in a dull monotonous undertone. Coming up the harbour, the headlights of and rows of glittering round port holes denote the progress of an ocean-going liner whoso indistinct decks and hull and the noislessuess with which she glides along gives .her a ghostly and uncanny appearance. let there are hundreds of glad hearts aboard her, who have perhaps spent many weary days at sea, and are happy once more at the thoughts of being again united with those dearly loved ones who are anxiously awaiting their coming. Yes, Sydney at night is indeed a wonderland which holds the watcher in a strong' hypnotic grip from which he feels reluctant to free himself. The many scenes' so varying, so distinct, so characteristic, reveal the natures, the dispositions, the ambitions, and the inclinations of those who, have taken up their abode within her boundaries.

From 8.30 p.m. until 11 p.m. the city is again comparatively cjuiet, the streets are less congested, and the traffic is again normal. The theatres and other indoor entertainments are in full swing, while in the parks and gardens brass bands are providing free entertainment for the hundreds who wander aimlessly about among the trees. A glance at the programmes of these concerts is sufficient to show that the performances are above the ordinary. They contain works by tho best known masters—Wagner. Mendlessohn, Sousa, Gounod, Flotow, Meyenheer, while lighter works by Lionel Monkton, Les.ie Stuart, Franz Lchar, and Straus Gung’l are also ia evidence.

Bet ns leave the city sights for a moment and catch a glimpse of the darker side—streets. Not far from George street runs a dimly-lit, dedraggled thoroughfare, reeking witli misery and squalor, and in every way typical of the fast disappearing Sydney slums of which we in New Zea- v land have often heard so' much. On each corner stands a hotel, the dim lights above each doorway flickering dimly, causing the shadows to dance uncannily across the dismal roadway or alley. Dark forbidding lanes run off this roadway, each corner being marked by the inevitable hotel light. Everything is distinct and deathly still. Presently a human form lurches from the outer darkness into the round of light cast by the hotel lamp, pauses for a moment and enters. A moment later a woman hurries across the road, n shawl about her head, and her clothes tattered and torn. Both appeared to he starving, the unhappy lob of t/ie “submerged tenth.” Yet—and yet—-a glimpse in the flickering light shows that’the woman possesses a strong handsome face, but lined with sorrow and care. She hesitates—glances furtively along the street,' and enters the saloon. A little later and sounds of an altercation within reaches our ears, a struggle—a crash—a woman’s piercing scream, A shaft of light shoot across the roadway, as the bar door is flung open and a woman’s form with her hair falling on to her shoulders, staggers out, falls, and lies still and silent on the footpath in the dim light. A minute passes and a pool of blood forms beside her. The man | now appears, hatless and coatloss, and he stoops and examines the form on the footpath. A crowd gathers, some blows are struck, and presently four policemen hurriedly appear, causing a general scatter/leaving a hatless, coatless man, and a form on the footpath! A hurried consultation takes place, and one of the constables rushes along the road and / presently returns with a cab, into which the form is taken, and which he hurries away, awakening echoes along the road. The hatless, coat less man marches away, and disappears with the remaining police, and quietness again reigns save for the sounds of glass being swept up within. Those scenes also occur almost nightly. Let ns leave such distressing sights, and return to the city. The theatres arc disgorging their happy, smiling and bejewelled patrons, and a rush is made for passing trams by those who are eager to catch trains' and ferries to convey them home, while the string of waiting motor cars lined up along the footpath are taken possession of by tire well-dressed members of the smart set, who are whirled away to fashionable restaurants, where a brilliant gathering will meet and enjoy their pre-arranged midnight supper. Steadily the streets become deserted, the noises gradually, gradually sink, and quietness steals over the metropolis and the Post Office hell tolls the midnight hour as we take our seats in the ferry for the North Shore.