Labrador (N.L.) -- Fiction; London (England) -- Fiction; Love stories, English
homes, the poor he knew were the parasitic and dependent poor of the
West, the shops, good retail shops, the factories for the most part
engaged in dressmaking.
Of course he had been informed about this vast rest of London. He knew
that as a matter of fact it existed, was populous, portentous, puzzling.
He had heard of "slums," read "Tales of Mean Streets," and marvelled in
a shallow transitory way at such wide wildernesses of life, apparently
supported by nothing at all in a state of grey, darkling but prolific
discomfort. Like the princess who wondered why the people having no
bread did not eat cake, he could never clearly understand why the
population remained there, did not migrate to more attractive
surroundings. He had discussed the problems of those wildernesses as
young men do, rather confidently, very ignorantly, had dismissed them,
recurred to them, and forgotten them amidst a press of other interests,
but now it all suddenly became real to him with the intensity of a
startling and intimate contact. He discovered this limitless, unknown,
greater London, this London of the majority, as if he had never thought
of it before. He went out to inspect favourable sites in regions whose
very names were unfamiliar to him, travelled on dirty little intraurban
railway lines to hitherto unimagined railway stations, found parks,
churches, workhouses, institutions, public-houses, canals, factories,
gas-works, warehouses, foundries and sidings, amidst a multitudinous
dinginess of mean houses, shabby back-yards, and ill-kept streets. There
seemed to be no limits to this thread-bare side of London, it went on
northward, eastward, and over the Thames southward, for mile after
mile--endlessly. The factories and so forth clustered in lines and banks
upon the means of communication, the homes stretched between, and
infinitude of parallelograms of grimy boxes with public-houses at the
corners and churches and chapels in odd places, towering over which rose
the council schools, big, blunt, truncated-looking masses, the means to
an education as blunt and truncated, born of tradition and confused
purposes, achieving by accident what they achieve at all.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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