WARTIME LONDON

Gisborne Herald, Volume LXVI, Issue 20051, 25 September 1939, Page 11

WARTIME LONDON

LITTLE OR NO JINGOISM AMPLE GOOD HUMOUR “TOPPERS” STILL ABOUT Another entertaining picture of London in wartime was presented by the 8.8. C. commentator, Mr. Howard Marshall, this week. His description was that of a metropolis "carrying on” under awkward conditions in an atmosphere of extraordinary tolerance and good humour. With women and children away and the blackout at night life had changed.

Women, he said, .had taken To wearing trousers and gay scarves. These were the feminine "uniforms" of civilian life.

A trip through the East End by bicycle revealed many interesting and some amusing sidelights on A.R.P. Basement gratings were covered with sandbags and corrugated iron, and many of the sandbags were coloured, while others were adorned with flags. Some people in the East End had vowed that they would sleep in their clothes until the war ended. “ ’ltlcr ’ad hit cornin’ to ’im," was an oft-repeated remark east of the city. Traffic Difficulties The speaker said he took a bus for one part of his journey. Because of traffic difficulties it was “screwing in all directions.” The conductor remarked that the driver was “the seventh son of a seventh son, ana had second sight, so it would be ail right.” In the city many “toppers ’ were still to be seen. One old gentleman was to be observed walking round in perfectly-cut grey morning clothes—and a tin hat. “His manners,” remarked Mr. Marshall, “were perfect.”

Londoners were still able to dine and dance in night clubs. The existence of the latter places in the West End and Soho areas could be told by the sound of saxophones from under the earth. (Most of the smaller West End night clubs arc in basements). .

Little or no jingoism was to be heard in London. The general attitude seemed to be: “It is a horrible thing, but we’ve got to see it through.” One thoughtful remark by an old lady was 'that the biaryli-out .conditions made her realise for the first time in her life what it was really like to be blind. Business Done in Darkness

Mr. Marshall visited a piecart, as well as night clubs, and found the pie vendor carrying on his business in almost total darkness, the light coming from under his coffee urn. When a telegraph messenger arrived the pie vendor said, peering, “Wily, here’s the Navy. No it’s the Army. Blimey, it’s the Post Office.” Somebody came back five times for pies, and during the last visit the Cockney asked the customer if he were lood-hoarding. The pies were for an emergency fire-fighting squad round the corner. Mr. Marshall explained that in many side streets one found cars converted into emergency fireengines with their crews waiting to spring into action at a moment’s notice.

Cycles had become a more popular means of transport than in peace, and the speaker said he had cycled up to the door of his rather staicf club, the porter taking the machine and placing it in the hall. Soon after another member drove up in an Army lorry-—an indication of the times.