WHERE SHALL WE GO?
WHERE shall we go ? That is the question that is dinning itself into the ears of a hundred busy men to whom the holidays have suddenly become actual. There are some methodical and well-ordered men who have the answer perfectly pat : "I am going this year to the East or West corner," whichever it may be, "of this or that dis- trict. Last year I did the other half of the county." "I am," he continues, by way of explanation, "working through the South of England; and when I have finished, I intend to do the Penine range year by year till I have finished them." For such a person the holiday question has, of course, no terrors. He knows not only where he is going, but, apparently, what he is going to do when he gets there. The odds are that he will take his reluctant wife and children first through the geology of the district upon which he alights like a locust, then through the archteology, and finally, if there is any time over, he will" go for" the parish churches, and copy into a note- book as many of the epitaphs as he can read by wetting his fingers and rubbing the tombstones. For persons not blessed with so mechanical a genius—or, perhaps, it would be fairer to say, less contented with innocent pleasures—settling "where we shall go this year" is nothing less than a nightmare. If one was only rich, fall of energy, not tired by railway journeys, not sick at sea, contented with grubby lodgings, not annoyed by very hotelly hotel prices, impervious to typhoid fever, and capable of being cheerful under every possible set of circum- stances, including the disturbance of every settled habit, and the loss of every home comfort, one's holiday would, of course, be a little bit of Paradise. When, however, one is not en- dowed with all these advantages, but is simply a plain, middle- class, middle-aged man, with very little snap left in him by eight hours a day at the office since last September, the question "where to go" comes clad in terrors, many and horrible. Nothing is easier than to face a holiday in the abstract. When a holiday is still a long way off, and when there is no immediate fear of having to put them into prac- tice, it is quite pleasant to make holiday plans. In March, one may read in the newspaper of the beauties of Cornwall, South Wales, the Lakes, Derbyshire Dales, the Broads, the High- lands and the Border, without any emotion but pleasure. The brooks that murmur as they run through the pages of a descrip- tive magazine article, the stately faues depicted in the wood- cuts, and the delicious country inns, of" the few practical hints to tourists in Cadwallader's country," where the sheets smell of lavender, and where there is always Devonshire cream, home- made bread, and strawberry jam with whole strawberries in it on the sideboard, please us then. Alas ! for human per- versity. When August comes the appetite for such things sickens and dies, and instead of these delights, we think only of the " nasty-crechias-crawl-uppias " that inhabit the feather- bed in the country inn, and of the discomfort of driving six miles in the rain in an open fly, too cross, too wet, and too tired to care whether it is " Cadwallader's country " or only his maiden aunt's or younger brother's. In the abstract, it is delightful to talk about cheap, and yet really comfortable seaside places, and be comforted. When they are talked of in the concrete in the third week in August, it is a very dif- ferent matter. Your wife not being in- business, is, of course, far more methodical, business-like, and logical than you are, and leads off the debate by laying down that what we want" is a seaside place, not more than three or four hours from London, which shall not be overrun with tourists." "The lodging must not be in any horrid terrace or esplanade, but must stand by itself outside the town, and have a garden, if possible; and there ought to be good sands for the children, and there ought also to be golf-links for you, and cheap riding-horses, for it would be splendid for you to get your exercise in that way. The lodgings in a nice country place such as I mean ought, of course, to be -cheap, and there should be nice old-fashioned country shops where you could get everything, you wanted. Now, dear, I think I've said all the important things, and I leave
it entirely to you to choose the exact place. I shall be quite happy wherever you like to take us, only don't forget that there are some seaside places where there is a horrid little sort of sand-fly that bites one's legs, and would make it abso- lutely necessary to go away at once,—so you won't go there, Edward, will you, because I really could not stand it." Poor Edward! where is he to find this favoured spot of earth ? He fully admits that all the conditions laid down by his better- half, including even the absence of "the horrid little sort of sand-fly," to be reasonable and necessary, but that does not lighten his task. He may talk himself hoarse to the men he meets in the City, or going up in the 'bus, but it is a hundred to one that he will not find any one to tell him of the terrestrial Paradise he is seeking. Brown will no doubt say
:- "I know exactly the place for you, only unfortunately it's right in the middle of the town, and the children can't play on the sands in front because of the new drainage works. However, they can go by the old 'bus, if it's running, which I doubt, to Doddering's Cove, where there is a lovely beach. Only, I say, look out for the tide ; it's awfully treacherous there, and there are some very nasty quicksands, and the rocks you have to climb down to get to the cove are like iron, and as slippery as butter. Don't forget, too, that every Tuesday, Wednesday, and Saturday the Artillery Volunteers practise there. The shots ought to keep well over your head, but the devil of it is they are apt to be so very careless." The same sort of answers are got out of Smith, Robinson, and the rest of Paterfamilias's friends. They all know the exact place, except for a few absolutely fatal objections. In despair, the poor would-be holiday-maker turns perhaps to Mr. Hope Moncrieff's "Where Shall We Go?" a work intended to settle that question more vexed than even "the still vexed Bermoothes," of which a new edition is just published by Messrs. Adam and Charles Black. Alas ! no edition is new enough to show the "Eden on sea" for which we all pine. Those who desire perfection will not find it recorded even in the most rose-coloured of guide-books. As the old country- woman said of life generally, "there's always a summat," and in the case of most English watering-places, there are a good many " summats."
Under these circumstances, the man in search of somewhere to go to must do one of two things. He must either resolve to give up the idea of "perfection and a cheap holiday" altogether, or else he must listen to the still small voice which whispers at holiday-time, "Holidays be d—d ; you'd a deal better stay where you are." And, after all, why should not the free-born Briton sometimes spend his holi- day at home, and, imitating Sir William Harcourt during periods marked by "irregular jumpings " on the part of the political cat, remain at his own fireside ? After all, there are few places better worth while being at leisure in than one's home. Especially is this true of the city gentleman, who, unless on a Sunday, seldom sees his home, except before -breakfast and after dinner. The busy man whose child referred to him as "the kind gentleman who comes in on Sunday to carve the joint," would find a month at home most agreeable. The neighbourhood would practically be terra incognita, and he might enjoy a delightful time in doing his own district. Even the Londoner might do worse things than devote a month to seeing the things best worth seeing in London. September is a delightful month in town, and the home holiday-makers, armed with their guide-books, might follow in the wake of the hundreds of Germans and French who soon will be seen in our midst," Baedeker" and "Guide Diamant" in hand. Which one of us is there who can lay his hand upon his heart and faithfully declare that he knows his London as well as he knows plenty of Continental capitals ? In the abstract, he admits that the pictures and sculpture are as good, the buildings as curious and interesting, and the outside excursions as pleasant, and yet he has practically never seen them. Why, then, should not some English couple of moderate means devote their holiday and their holiday fund this year to doing London from their home in South Kensington ? They need not confine themselves to sight-seeing any more than they do in Paris or Rome. They should lunch out and dine out in restaurants ; they should
eat ices and drink coffee at cafés ; they should go to theatres and other places of amusement ; and they should run down to places like Hampton Court, Windsor, and Greenwich, just as they run down from Paris to Versailles or St. Cloud. No doubt it would be a little difficult to invent sight-seeing plane in cold blood. Fortunately, however, the task is made easy by Baedeker's excellent guide to London and its environs, a new edition of which has just been published by Messrs. Milan and Co. Here we learn exactly what to see in Toondon, and how to see it, and are recommended what restau- rants to patronise. A diary is given to show what sights may be seen, and on what days. Let our home holiday-makers take this diary and work at it for a week, and we believe they will not be disappointed. Many people will, of course, declare that they already know all the London sights perfectly well, but a little reflection will soon show them their mistake. Do they know the picture galleries at Dulwich and Greenwich ? Have they been over the Foundling Hospital or Chelsea Hospital ? Have they seen Ely Place and Ely Chapel, the Church of St. Bartholomew the Great, and the other City churches ? Have they ever looked at the Roman Bath in the Strand, or seen the Diploma Gallery at the Academy, or Barry's pictures at the Society of Arts? Again, have they seen the Mint, or the Bank, or the Heralds' College, or the National Portrait Gallery at Bethnal Green ? If not, why not ? They are all well worth seeing, and in the process many pleasant walks in odd corners of London, drives on tops of omnibuses, and luncheons at strange and attractive restaurants may be indulged in. Clearly an excellent opportunity now offers for a holiday in London. With their " Baedekers "under their arms, many families who are being made miserable by the thought, Where shall we go ? might spend a delightful holi- day time at home in London. Not getting change of air for once will not hurt them, and no change of scene and of life could be more complete than that afforded by doing London as the Germans do it.
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