DRINKING & DRINKING

Bay of Plenty Beacon, Volume 10, Issue 14, 21 August 1946, Page 8

DRINKING & DRINKING

ENGLISH VERSUS COLONIAL “SIX O’CLOCK ROAR OF THE ' JUNGLE” Cyril Pearl, Sydney Sunday Telegraph editor, who has just returned from an eight-month trip abroad, compares civilised drinking habits in England, U.S.A. and Paris with conditions in Australia. Mrs Williams is the amiable, plump hostess of the Royal Oak, an 18th century pub at Havering-Atte-Bower, in Essex, England. A couple of week ago I sat in her parlour, sipping a mild-and-bitter, and talking to the local panel doctor, a former Australian medical student. It was a cold night. There was a generous fire in the wide, open hearth; half a dozen men and women had drawn easy chairs around it, and were sitting in its glow, sipping beers and talking. At the end of the room two men and their wives were playing darts with Host Williams, self-appointed referee and coach, beside them. At the other, Mrs Williams was playing the piano. Her j usf-demobilised son was serving drinks. It was not a very exacting job; there were only about 16 customers, and they were sipping their drinks with unhurried satisfaction. ’ The dart team changed. Mrs Williams went into her “theme song,” by request and a dozen voices took up the chorus. “It’s only a bee-you-teeful picture, in a bee-you teeful golden frime . . The group round the fire was. debating the American loan. The clock struck 10. My friend, Dr. Shirlaw, cut across my thoughts: ‘A bit'different from the six o’clock beer rush in Australia, eh?” Not Romanticised This picture of the village pub' in Essex is not romanticised, nor, in a country which has tackled the social problem of drinking with admirable commonsense, is it remarkable. You will find it repeated in every town and village in the United Kingdam, in little pubs, whose very names—“ The Startled' Sgint,” ‘The Mortal Man,” “The Battered Noggin,” “The Devil in a Tub,” “The Two Sneezing Cats”—reflect the traditional pride the average English pubkeeper takes in his profession, ?vlsny things about English drittk= ing immediately impress the Australian, brought up, as he is, in a country that has failed completely to bring drinking legislation into line with the needs of a free and adult community. One of the logic of English drinking hours. There are slight regional variations in these, but for the most part they k&ep the hotels open during the hours when they are most useful, and close them against the “round-the-clock” drunk.

The English scheme of opening from 11 a.m. to 3 p.m., and again from 5.30 p.m. to 10.30 or 11 p.m., cuts down the total trading hours to 9 or 9A a day, compared to the 12 hours a day we insisted on in prewar New South Wales. And with what an incomparable difference in results. Women in Hotels Then comes the English acceptance of women in pubs, not as a sophisticated phenomenon in highpriced lounges, but as a normal every-day event in'bars and parlours. And the very desirable association between drinking and eating. Even the smallest pub in England has its range of counter snacks and sandwiches. In the bigger houses, such as abound in the City of London, and in Fleet Street, you get what is probably the best meal value in food-scarce Britain today. British licensing operates against monopoly in either brewing or selling beer. Every large country town has one or more local breweries ; they not only provide variety to the beer-drinker, for the well known national brews such as Bass and Worthington and Whithreads are usually on. sale as well, but they impose by healthy competition a high standard on all brewing. Even hotels in England may be licensed to brew their own beer. And the number of hotels in a town or village is based on the belief that a number of small competing houses will give the public better and more convenient service than one big centralised public house.

I met New South Wales Premier McKell in England and talked to him about these differences between English and Australian drinking. I am sure what he saw on his travels impressed him as much as it did me. Premier McKell must have been equally impressed by the drinking laws of the United States. These vary widely from State to State, and range from total prohibi-

tion to 24-hour-a-day drinking, but, for the most part, they are sensible and effective. America has gone further even than England in associating drinking with eating. The American saloon serves first class meals; the American restaurant even the popular chain restaurant—is invariably fully licensed. Even the delicatessen shop will have a beer licence, and the spaghetti bar a wine and beer licence. In Paris Unfortunately, Mr McKell did not visit Paris. Here, in a hungry and troubled city, he would have encountered drinking in perhaps its most civilised form—certainly in the form most suited to Sydney’s needs. The open-air cafe in Paris, with its adjustable awnings, its tiny chairs and tables, emancipates drinking finally from the stupid stigma of the furtive. Sitting under the vivid chestnuts of a Paris boulevard, or in her lovely woods, or beside the Seine, Mr McKell would surely have envisioned a Sydney of civilised outdoor drinkers, enjoying beneath a lacefringe of jacarandas or coral-trees, the blue-and-gold glory of their incomparable sunshine. American servicemen who visited Australia took back many enthusiastic accounts of life “down under.” They publicised’ our climate, our outdoor life, our beaches, our girls, our quaint animals, our superb seafood. Their relatives and friends accepted these stories unquestioningly. But there was always unconcealed scepticism of their bitter reports on our licensing laws. “Is it really true,” I was asked time and again in New York, “that you can’t get a drink after 6 p.m. in Sydney?” On my first night back, listening to the jungle growls, the scuffling, the swearing, the shouting, that burst from a Castlereagh Street hotel at 6.10 p.m., I realised that I was really home again.