GLAMOUR & ROMANCE

Waimate Daily Advertiser, Volume XXIII, 3 February 1923, Page 8

GLAMOUR & ROMANCE

4 LONDON'S NIGHT LIFE. 1 i Glamor, romance, excitement —these are the conditions invariably associated with the night life of London’s underworld. And yet they are far from the truth, says a writer in a London paper. The glamor is a deception, the excitement unreal, the romance—why, the verv word is an irony. Come with me to one of these “night clubs,” the loneliest places in the world, where no one knows his neighbor, and the only, bond iis money to be wasted. What do you I see? ’ A number of women, either overdressed 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 3, and the band has gone, leaving only a. little man with a sqnat face at the piano, and an over-fed, greasy companion. Occasionally these two exchange an obscene 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. 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 styles of brainless and unsightly exaggeration Presently, a still less savory male element begins to appear in the per sons of flashily-dressed East End tailors, shady turf agents, low typos of half-Anglicised half-Americanised aliens and the general moneyed riff-raff of London. How they get the money they spend is a mystery. I have seen the same men night after night pay 16s for admission, besides charges for refreshments, which often consist of whisky and water disguised as cold “consomme” by the simple device of being served in teacups. All the women are over-tired, and obviously struggling against the irrit ability that is the result of a strained and unhealty life of dissipated vitality and insufficient sleep. But they must not reveal their raw nerves. It would lessen their market price

There is only one note sounding throughout this place of gariffi sights and harsh sounds. It is dull—desperately, incredibly dull. Even its repulsiveness is boring. It is a meaningless, unending dance of fools and ‘ souteneurs” and wretched wteien. And here is the last loathsomeness; it is these women that keep such places going. It is they w>. o attract the men—young fools who think they are “seeing life.” Having learnt so much, if you are neither a philosopher nor h t> <J, you will get outside as soon as p.>-siMe. But what of the opium den.- Si all we not there, at least, finl so»ieto>;ig o c the romance that slings to strai ge excesses? Some Eastern mystery of half-lights and colored 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. Mostly it is merely a tale of which one-half is not repeatable and the other half not worth repeating. There is no mystery, except the mystery of human degeneracy; no “atmosphere” except an almost unbreathable one.

The traditional .J ing silken robe and the i is a myth. The owner of 71 a ljttle man in greasy coat, trying to make s tTj handiest way he can. M His clients are not (to I strange history. They I stokers, tramps, J thing. A mere snoring J heap of sodden humanity (U 1 time or other wake u c J be sick. That is all—and that»J mance’’ of night life in On the whole, a ratherj extravagant way of