London on Foot
Winter in London. By Ivor Brown. (Collins. 125. 6d.) THIS is not just another guide-book to London. Americans have never used their legs to walk, and Londoners seem likely soon to lose the use of theirs. Mr. Brown tells of rewarding promenades which promise new vistas of the city, if only pedestrians will spurn bus, tube and taxi. London stands bejewelled to those with time to stand and stare from a river-bridge at sundown. Life lies round tie corner, and Mr. Brown's deviations are rich in surprise. He analyses the district around Tottenham Court Road—" the Mecca of the mattress-minded "—reveals the wonder of Bankside, and affectionately portrays Londoners at Christmas, at the pantomime and at the Derby, the Boat Race and the Varsity Match.
Sometimes this urbane and individual book becomes a nostalgic record of the spontaneous fun and better manners of former days. Its author promises not to natter, but he finds plenty to stimulate his spleen. Elaborate mechanism and consequent high prices have altered the fair-grounds, and " this furious bucketing of the human frame is no joy of mine." Coconuts are so few and tightly wedged that the throw has lost its hazard. What Shelley styled the " unrest which men miscall delight " has grown apace, and people, deserting their own areas, prefer " the melancholy mooching and milling " seen around Leicester Square. Nor does Mr. Brown shrink from taking the cat-and-nine-tails to modern miscreants of his anathema. Those who exploit the offices of the church for social purposes while shying at its discipline are made to smart for their hypocrisy. But the book is no plea for a return of " all our yesterdays." Bungaloid growth is applauded because such stairless buildings help the harassed housewife ; those who insist on a name for their house, however inappropriate, are praised for their stout resistance to a numbered anonymity, and London's barrow-boys are welcomed for the wealth of colour they bring to a cheerless street.
Winter in London is starred with phrases and surprising words precisely used, which kindle the admiration. " Number 2, the Pines, still stands sedately where the busy shops of Putney end and the residential solemnity begins " is well observed and felicitously phrased. The description of Southend's pier as " a great empty proboscis," in a resort which in winter has " a dormouse quality." gives pleasure. Mr. Brown reveals such sensitive understanding about London's writers that it is permissible to question whether his talents are most profitably engaged on the promised companion volume, Summer in Scotland. As a Scot contentedly living in London, he may feel an obligation to do justice to his own land. But having followed Johnson's advice, and taken the highroad to England, could he not postpone patriotism and undertake a book on Charles Dickens ? There is evidence in Winter in London that such a volume would be as valuable, freshly interesting and com- pellingly readable as his recent book on Shakespeare.
JOHN GARREIT.
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