The Truth about London's Chinatown.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 19268, 3 January 1931, Page 17 (Supplement)

The Truth about London's Chinatown.

Sinister Orientals and Opium Dens that Dont Exist.

IVritten for the “Star" by

“CHARLEY" BROWN.

Across the seas everyone knows “ Charley ** Brown. His is the tavern to which every sailor , every exile , and practically every celebrity , some day comes. In this article “Charley gives his opinions of the place in which he has spent half of his life.

most people, I suppose, the name 44 Chinatown ” calls up pictures of sinister Chinamen lurking in shadowed alleys, of opium dens, of drinking hells, and of foul-smelling courtyards. Limehouse, if w T e are to believe Edgar Wallace, is filled with thieves of every description who are perpetually engaged in a fight with law and order. Policemen are forced to keep in pairs, and fights with knives and other nasty weapons are daily—almost hourly—occurrences. After reading these fantastic flights of fancy, I am tempted to lock up all my doors and go in search of a handy weapon. And then I look out of my window—and reality reassures me. Chinatown does not exist! It is something that has been created by our novelists, by Edgar Wallace ar.d Ullomas Burke and others with tales to tell of Chinamen and crooks. In some peculiar way, their stories have caught the public fancy. With the aid of the film kings and of the newspapers, the l%end of Chinatown has grown and grown until to-day charabancs filled with tourists tear through the streets of Poplar and Limehouse, through West India Dock Road and Pennyfields and each and every tourist fondly imagines that he is seeing the darker side of life—the underworld. Well. I have lived here in Limehouse for thirty-four years and in my opinion, the men of the East End are a thoroughly decent lot. For the crime and the vice of London, tourists should turn, not to the docks, but to the West End. The crooks are all west of St Paul’s. Down here in Dockland, we are honest. It may be asked what proof I have of this. I write from personal experience. At one time, I kept an hostelry within reach of Piccadilly Circus and petty thefts were frequent. Indeed, on one occasion, I even lost a pony and trap. Here, in Chinatown, it is different. Within the walls of my tavern are priceless curios which I have collected over a long period of time. In one small room I have five Ming vases 2500 years old, an 800-*year-old Chinese ebony eseeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

cabinet, a magnificent Florentine cabinet inlaid with ivory, and many other magnificent objets d’art. In every room, there are similar objects of value, but not once • has anything been tampered with. In the evenings, the Argentine sailors come to dance in my little hall or to stare at its curios, the double-headed calf with six legs, the skulls, the gods. Sailors and stokers. Swedes and Germans, rich and poor, foregather together, but not once have I heard of a dishonest action. Only last week an Argentine sailor pulled a ten pound note from his jersey, but no one took any notice, although “ tenners ” are rare in Limehouse. Had he been further West, I will wager it would soon have vanished. Practically every person of note has come to see Chinatown, from Mary Pickford and Douglas Fairbanks to Royal Princes. Some time ago the Crown Prince of Sweden and his wife visited me and were very interested in the objects I had to show them. The modern sailor may not be as rough and ready as his predecessors of the old sailing ships—but W’ith the latter, as with Limehouse, time—and the novelists—have exaggerated. Not all sailing ship men were as rough as the tales we hear would have us believe. I remember the old-time captains of the windjammers coming here in frock coats and top hats and then departing to take up their duties on the bridge in the same conventional garb! As for the Chinese, I have yet to meet one who is really sinister. Most of them are quiet and docile. Chinamen hate being stared at by tourists. To them, these rubbernecks are barbarians, and I cannot blame them for their attitude. On Boat Race night, Poplar is filled with West-Enders who I think they can enter every private' house in Pennyfields because it may contain an opium den. They waste their time, and only cause bitterness. Where there are Orientals, there is sure to be opium—but opium dens—twaddle! (Anglo-American N.S. —Copy r right.)