Laughing matters

Friday, March 14th., Cadogan Square, London.

Yesterday, Reform lunch. Talking about gambling. It was defended by James Currie and even by Lord Buckmaster. Stated to be the one distraction of the people! There is, however, fornication. I felt quite cross to listen to all these well fed and self-satisfied Tories taking about 'the people' as if they have any idea about the lives of ordinary men and women. They do not. Nor do I, but I don't go about the world pretending that I do. They also take it as read that their lives are necessarily 'better' and more important than those of the working classes. I doubt it. I should think there is more genuine feeling and life in the streets of Hammersmith than in any of the genteel homes the toffs return to when they leave their clubs. 

I say Hammersmith because, apropos of all this, when I was coming home from there in the Tube yesterday evening, two workmen got in, one about 35 and the other 18 or 20.They might have been father and son I suppose. It was a pleasure to watch them.

Hammersmith Broadway, 1910 - Tube Station on the right

They carried paint pots and 'turps' pots wrapped in paper and covered at the  top (paint pots, i.e.) with paper with a hole for brush handle to poke through. Dirty. Shabby. Dirty hands. Dirty caps with big peaks. The young one wore black leggings. They pushed the cans as far as possible under seats. The young man was smoking a cigarette. He carried a coil of rope within his buttoned jacket. It stuck up towards his neck. As soon as they sat down each of them pulled a new packet of chewing-gum from his pocket, stripped off the paper, broke the packet in half and put one half into his mouth. I didn't notice any actual jaw motion of chewing. The young man kept on smoking. The chewing-gum business was obviously a regular thing, and much looked forward to. Obvious satisfaction on their faces as they opened the packets. After a few minutes the young man pulled a novelette from his pocket and went on reading it. The elder just sat, contented and relaxed after a hard day's work. So here were some minor distractions of the people: cigarettes, chewing-gum, novelettes. And they probably called in for a pint or two on their way home. 

I think I have lost my sense of humour. I say this because the other evening, browsing on my book shelves, I came upon Stevenson's "Travels with a Donkey". It must be twenty years, if not more, since I read it last and I recalled how much pleasure it had given me. Not now. I doubt I even managed a smile and after three chapters I gave up. On its own this would be no evidence but I have noticed my failure to be amused in several contexts lately, and I feel sad about it. When did I last have a good 'belly laugh'? I would like to bet that there is plenty of laughter in Hammersmith of an evening.