TEA AND BUNS

White Ribbon, Volume 14, Issue 153, 15 February 1908, Page 1

TEA AND BUNS

A Retired Brewer’s Reflections. (From tin* “Daily News.”l It was a long time since I had seen my friend, the Brewer. and when, ten minutes out of Huston. 1 ran across him in the dining ear, we had much to talk about concerning men and affairs in tin* great northern town from which we both sprang, and whither we were now returning. “All. I’ve few interests there.” he said, “since I floated the Brewery.” And lie smiled complacently. “You floated it at the right time.” I observed, tentatively. “The very nick of time. You remember old Tunstall. who used to run the Big Brewery. A friend of yours and mine once asked him why he didn’t float his business. ‘ Float it? Why it hasn’t begun to sink yet.’ Well, that was twenty year* ago Thii have changed. 1 *<• you ik. then, that tin* fall ij p drink bill is permanent 1 f course it’s p rmanent. It’s u:l\ just b'gnn. You don t think the British workman is going to be a foe 1 always, do you? He’s coming to his senses. 1 suv. the change ahead fifteen years ago. that’s why I got out in the boom time.”

“Leaving the shareholders in the earl f M ‘‘Well, if you like to put it that way.” lie said, with a placid smile, which spoke of a quiet conscience. “They wanted to come in; I wanted to go out —voila tout! It’s a free country, you know.” “What is the cause of it all?” “The cause of what? Oh, the drop in the drink bill. There are a hundred. You teetotalers haven’t been haranguing for fifty years for nothing, you know.” , “But the change has come so suddenly in the last five years.” “Just so. That’s the way of things. You don’t sow your seed overnight and pick your fruit next morning. And education is only just beginning to tell its tale. I always regarded the Board School j you set up as the enemy of my Brewery. When people begin to read they begin to think. And when they begin to think it’s a poor lookout for tin* public-house. They turn I to tea and buns. He spoke perhaps a little scornfully. but good naturedly. He hail sold out of his brewery, and could afford to speak without heat. “Tea and buns,” he went on. “Why. look at London. You can’t turn round but a tea and bun shop stares you in the face. Twenty

years ago you could not find one. Now you can’t got out of their way. And they arc* all full. And the puhlie-hour.es that used to be* full arc* emptying—emptying fast. I went down to tin* Crystal Palace the* other day. It was tea and buns all over tin* place. And it’s the same everywhere. Years ago 1 used to go to a bar at Piccadilly Circus. I used to think it was the finest fortune of the* sort in London. Always full—always the most expensive drinks champagne, shilling whiskies and sodas. I passed the* other day, and stood still in wonder —a tea and bun shop, upon my soul! And full. 1 went in. and I said to the waiter. ‘Why. this used to be a drinking bar?’ ‘Yes, he said, ‘but people seemed to want tea and buns, so we give ’em tea and buns. If you want the* liar, you’ll find it round the corner, down in the basement.’ What do you think of that—tea and buns on tin* top, ard whiskies and sodas shoved away down in the* basement ? ’ ’ “I think it’s very good news.” ‘‘And so do 1. though I’m not one of your sort.’’ “But these are only effects. What are the causes?” “Well, I’ve told you two—you teetotalers and your Board School

teachers. But there are heaps more. Look at the electric trams, look at the steamboats, look at the recreation grounds crowded every Saturday afternoon, look at your public parks and your public bands, look at the football matches, taking a million customers from the bar-parlour just when they've got the money, and the bar-parlour expects them.” “I tell you the people are getting sense. They are seeing that there are better things in life than fuddling. And your municipal fellows are putting them on the right lines -giving them cheap and luxurious tram-cars and steamboats that they know are their own. Why, a man can take his wife and child for a blow down to Greenwich and hack by the tram for half the price of an afternoon in the public-house. And having done it, he makes a discovery—several discoveries. T T e’s found he can enjoy himself with his wife and child; he’s found that there’s more enjoyment in being sober on the river than fuddled in the street; he’s found lie’s in pocket, and that his coat has got a hole in it, and that he’d like to look as respectable as other people. There’s no stimulus like decent surroundings. Give people clean, handsome tramcars. and they want to live up to them.

“I’m told that the new steamboats take nearly £3OOO a week. Mark my word, halt of that is taken out of the drink bill. It’s municipalism that is killing the publichouse. Every new' recreation ground is a blow at the pint pot. The other day I saw Alderman White, of our old town. You know’ him chairman of tin* Parks Com mittee. He was telling me that in the new Victoria Park there—you remember it—they’ve now got four bowling greens—crowded every night. It s raising the whole neighbourhood. he says. A weaver chap will come on the ground some evening—clogs on. greasy cap, muffler round his neck. Finds he’s welcome. same rights as everybody else —a regular democracy. He comes again; he comes every night. And he comes in a collar, and a decent cap and boots, and soon in his Sunday clothes. He’s learning to live up to the bowling green, instead of

down to the tap-room. White told me he heard one id* these chaps say to another on the green, ‘Bill, I’ve been here every night for a week, and I’ve only spent a shilling. And my shot never used to be less than six shillings a week; there you arc —five shillings in pocket—five shillings for new clothes, new’ boots, knick-knacks for the house a day at tin* seaside with tin* missus. ‘The Trade’ is going down, but the trade of the country is going up. “And then look at those P.S.A.’s. They tell me that there are a thousand members every Sunday afternoon at the Bethesda Chapel, near my old brewery—and that they have built up a club and reading-room, and holiday funds and sick funds. All this in the last five years. And all. mind you, at the expense of the brewery round the corner. “And then take tin* music halls and places of entertainment. Look at them to-day; remember what they were. The Council has purified them, and now w T e actually have a huge place, like the Coliseum, in London, which not only hasn’t got a license, but wouldn’t have a license! Wouldn’t have a license! Think of it! ‘‘l’m just a looker on. but I can see the world’s getting better, though some of you who are in the thick of the fight may doubt it. Tea and buns are signs of the times. They’re the sign that Philip drunk is becoming Philip sober. I didn’t feel very friendly towards you in the old days. After all a man cannot help being governed by his interests—at least the average man can’t. But 1 can see now that you are right, and not only that you are right, but that you arc* winning. Shall we have a cup of tea?” “Yes—and a bun.” He laughed.