TO any kindred spirit whom duty may
compel to live in Adelaide, and who,
living there, suffers as we suffer.”
IN PREPARATION: “MARK MAROON.”
IT has been suggested to me, O people of Adelaide, that, should any
of you deign to glance through these pages, you will misunderstand
them—that is to say, you will believe them to have been written with
malicious intent. What the public may think or say troubles me little,
but for the benefit of one or two persons here who merit consideration,
I emphatically declare that this is not so. Adelaide has crushed my
youthful ambitions, and, possibly, narrowed my ideas—and you, her
people, have done your best (by force of example, and other methods) to
root out any broad or human sentiment that was in me. So that I have
nothing for which to thank you, and I owe you nothing—not even the
merest courtesy.
But the feeling of bitterness that characterised my first unhappy
moments here has long since passed, and there is left only resignation,
and perhaps a faint hope that some day I may sail “beyond the sunset
and the baths of all the Western stars” forever. It may be argued that
I have taken a near and dear—very near and very dear—relation from
among you, and to that my only answer can be that he did not choose his
birthplace, and that it is his misfortune—a misfortune which, however,
has happily produced no lasting effect.
Thistle Anderson.
“Stramshall,”
North Adelaide,
April 12th, 1905.
THE HOLY VILLAGE.
CHAPTER I.
ADELAIDE, known to all intelligent people as the City of Juvenile
Depravity, and to the less enlightened as the City of Churches, is
situated on the River Torrens, and is the capital of South Australia.
A poor claim to distinction for South Australia, but we assure the
reader that, although Adelaide is nominally the principal town, there
are several equally, if not more, interesting places in the State—Port
Pirie, for example, or Petersburg, where they have rifle ranges,
public libraries, and other wild excitements, to say nothing of the
periodical visits of a “first-class dramatic company” and an occasional
“sensational accident.”
The Village itself consists of a main street (Rundle Street) and
several lesser streets, and is surrounded by Park Lands, which, unlike
Adelaide itself, are quite useful—in that they supply the homeless
wanderer with sleeping accommodation free. In early morning they are
almost as thickly peopled as Sydney Domain, and afford a refuge to
burglars, sundowners, unemployed, and other unfortunates. We have
camped out ourselves when fishing, and we think the Park Lands are
green enough, at certain seasons, to offer every inducement to quiet
rest.
Outwardly, Adelaide is intensely respectable—that is to say,
the inhabitants go to church regularly, and think it extremely wrong
to play cards for money. They are ostentatious in their charity, but
it goes very little below the surface. Their ideas are, for the most
part, about as broad as Blondin’s wire, and their cardinal virtues are
Religious Belief and Conventionality. Briefly summed up, the creed of
Adelaide so-called Society runs:—
“I believe in Lewis Cohen, Mayor of Adelaide, and in Sir George LeHunte
(or any other man), Governor of South Australia, from whom much
hospitality may be expected. He was appointed in England, and ascended
into Government House. From thence he shall issue many invitations. I
believe in the social laws, in much going to Church, in doing to others
as they would do unto you if they could, in the charity that will be
beneficial to our social position, and in the Life of the Everlasting,
Amen.”
Of real charity there is little, as will be shown later on.
Several well-known pillars of Adelaide have been more than generous,
and have showered gifts on the village—notably a School of Mines,
Statues, wings to Hospitals, Lions to the Zoo, etc.—not forgetting
an elderly lady who paid for building nearly half of a famous church.
Rumor hath it that the youthful curate promptly offered her his hand
and heart, presumably in gratitude for her generosity.
So much for charity in Adelaide.
The Village is less holy than might be supposed, for Melbourne, with
approximately a population of 494,129, has seven opium dens; while
Adelaide, with a population of 162,261, has eight. Then, too, it is
pretty generally admitted that, in proportion to its size, Adelaide
has more prostitution and more young girls on its streets than any
other city in Australasia. Many women of the unfortunate class in
Adelaide begin their wretched profession at the early age of thirteen
or fourteen. Most of the Village’s newspapers have, to do them justice,
militated against this evil—but unsuccessfully. The author knows of
two local cases in which a mother deliberately trained her daughter to
her own degrading career. It may be argued that similar cases abound
in every city, but the reader must remember that Adelaide has clothed
itself in a self-constituted halo of excessive virtue. This is not a
treatise on morality—it is not Adelaide’s lack of morality to which
I am objecting, but her lack of sincerity, to my mind a far greater
evil. Be a little more humble, ye people of Adelaide, try to remember
that your hills are not the greenest, or your morals the cleanest, or
your shops the brightest in the whole world—and if you cannot bring
yourselves to remember these things, then bear in mind that your wines
are the worst ever made, that some of you are passing plain to look
upon, and that you have acquired a world-wide fame for your cruelty to
animals—especially horses.
Adelaide is justly famed for the beauty of her Botanical Gardens, and
the antiquity of her tramway system, and it is on these two facts
that her main claim to distinction is based. To be sure there is no
antiquity in Adelaide except the trams (and the tailors!)—and
this is distinctly a pity. Next to the downright, thorough civilization
of Paris or London, the happiest state is primitive rusticity; but
here, a desire to be civilized, coupled with an inability to carry out
the idea, have resulted in a distressing state of semi-civilization,
which is most unpleasant. Things which should be old, are young, and
vice versa. For instance, the shops are amazingly old, and
the buildings aggressively new, which is a pity, for it
is the privilege of shops to be modern, just as it is the privilege of
buildings to be ancient.
The daily excitements of Adelaide are the coming of letters, and the
going of the Melbourne express—the fascination of the latter will be
readily understood, when it is remembered that it forms the principal
link between Adelaide and civilization. To be sure, the letters are as
behind-hand as the local divorce law, but this fact merely shows an
excusable disinclination on the part of the engine driver to revisit
Adelaide, for, be it observed, the express always leaves the
Village at the appointed time.
Adelaide has a theatre and a music hall—the former is open for about
four months in the year, and generally spells financial disaster to
enterprising managers. The latter, when not devoted to the lectures
of the Reverend Henry Howard, revels in biograph entertainments,
occasionally varied by a good variety show, which latter is, need we
say, but little patronised.
The climate of Adelaide is good in spots—dust in summer, and hot
winds—and in winter, much rain. The Hills, of which residents are so
proud, are deluged with rain for nearly six months in the year, and
for nearly all the remaining six they are burnt so brown as to lose
all semblance to anything but volcanic rocks. Still, I have enjoyed
glorious spring and autumn days in those hills—days that have lent
themselves to picnics, which were generally made merry by the presence
of persons not of Adelaide. Apart from the tram-steeds, the Adelaide
horseflesh is superior, and takes many prizes, and I have a few
delightful recollections of equine adventures—of horses difficult
to master, splendid to look upon, and exciting to drive. Many of
these emanated from Hill & Co.’s stables, an excellent institution
of its kind, where both horses and men are of good calibre, but,
unfortunately, not smartly turned out—to be smart is to transgress the
social etiquette of the Village.
And there are other bright memories of Adelaide, notably Adams, a
merry soul from Hill and Co.’s stables, who taught present scribe the
delights of four-in-hand driving, thereby offering endless facilities
for desecrating the virtuous Adelaide Sabbath. To Adams, a vote of
thanks! and a thrill of real enthusiasm when I remember those crisp
June mornings, the thud of the bloods’ hoofs in the frosty stillness,
the scent of the fragrant earth—peace in my heart, sunshine abroad,
and, for the time, the petty mortifications of my surroundings
forgotten. Ah! Those were good days, and they stand out from the rest;
but, alas! they are too few to compensate for other more frequent, and
less enjoyable, days that must be endured.
Other attractions of the Village are a gallery of pictures, for the
most part badly chosen; much statuary, which looks cheap, and was in
reality expensive; and several tea-rooms. These latter are, of course,
unlicensed, the tea is inferior, the cakes stale, and all the cups
cracked, so they are not to be recommended.
Altogether, as a place of education Adelaide falls far short of the
mark; as a place of amusement it is hopeless; and as a village—well,
it is tolerably clean, and comparatively healthy.
LIVING ACCOMMODATION.
CHAPTER II.
THERE are numberless licensed places in Adelaide, where drink,
varying in quality and unlimited in quantity, may be obtained, and
there is one Hotel—the South Australian. It is distinctly promising,
and I am glad it does not call itself “The Adelaide” Hotel, because
that would damn it eternally—“South Australian” is so much more
comprehensive. Whatever small element of rank and fashion there is in
the Village, congregates in those spacious halls and early-Victorian
reception-rooms—early-Victorian in the stiff-backed dignity of the
furniture, and the scarcity of carpets. Moreover, one occasionally
meets there persons who have been rash enough to leave better places
to visit Adelaide. Let us be charitable, and hope that sternest duty
brings them here. Surely no other motive could induce their presence!
And let us remark, as a warning to others contemplating the same folly
(especially theatrical managers), that if they come here in the hope
of amusing, or being amused, bitter will be their disappointment.
Those who visit the city of many whited sepulchres on business, are
forgiven—those who come on pleasure bent should be relegated to
asylums for the insane. However, should they remain here long enough,
the insanity will follow.
The hotel itself is really charming—the staff is good, which is not
surprising when one remembers that most of the
employés hail from
other places. The fact that is surprising is that they can be content
to work and serve so long here. This, however, is a tribute to the
untiring kindness of the proprietress and the manager.
To keep servants long in any part of the world is both creditable and
clever—to keep them long in Adelaide shows positive
genius.[A]
[A] I except my own servants to this rule—no genius is
exercised to keep them, because none is required—as they, with one
exception, come from Melbourne, they have some faint idea of their
duties.—The Author.
The liquor in the only hotel is passing good, save that it gives
preference to South Australian Wines, which is criminal. But of
Australian wine, more in another chapter. The hotel has, as I have
said before, a charming proprietress, a capable manager and a
splendid staff, and it has other virtues of a first-class hostelry. A
substantial improvement might be effected by weeding out some of the
permanent and usual boarders (mainly female) modernizing the rooms a
little, and building vast quantities of additional bathrooms. Then add
to the stock some good French Burgundy, some three-star Brandy that
isn’t Hennessy, some Dewar’s Imperial Whisky, and a greater variety
of liqueurs, and the “South Australian” would be a veritable oasis in
the desert of Adelaide. As it is, it rivals the best hotels in the
Southern Hemisphere, and to all who contemplate residence in Adelaide,
we issue this warning—don’t be induced to stay elsewhere. (N.B.—This
advertisement is not paid for.)
Of the other licensed houses there is little to be said; they are
mainly patronized by country farmers, who are uninteresting people
at best, and therefore deserving of little consideration. I once had
the misfortune to spend a few days at one of these so-called Hotels
on North Terrace, and among many minor inconveniences one heard the
screams of delirious patients at the Hospital, the yells of the inmates
of North Terrace Asylum, and the roar of the wild beasts from the not
far-distant Zoo—it was distinctly a thrilling experience.
Some Adelaide hotels are kept by single women, who, presumably, obtain
their licences in a married name; and this is obviously a serious evil,
and one which should be looked into, necessitating, as it does, a more
or less undesirable trade.
There are boarding-houses, too, many of them enormously respectable,
and occasionally they are fortunate enough to have some of their rooms
occupied. They are much the same as other boarding-houses all over the
world—that is to say, food indifferent, drinks difficult to obtain,
and attendance nil. I have never lived in an Adelaide boarding-house,
but I once lunched at one. The rats had eaten most of my hostess’
clothes, which wasn’t surprising. Having sampled the food, one couldn’t
blame those discriminating rodents for preferring the boarders’
garments.
There are many more or less charitable institutions which provide
living accommodation in some cases free, but these appear to be
inaccessible to the people who really need them. At the “Queen’s
Maternity Home,” for instance, the marriage lines are the necessary
qualification for admittance. No doubt the institution is excellent in
its way, but Charity cannot draw distinctions of that sort, and so the
home in question simply misses the primary object of such places.[B]
There are also
Benevolent,
Destitute, and Blind Asylums,
and several asylums for lunatics. The latter are, I understand, fairly
well filled—which is easily understood.
[B] A small sum of money is paid by patients, according to
their means, but the home is distinctly a charity, and calls itself
one.—The Author.
Flats, most desirable of modern conveniences, are as yet unheard of in
Adelaide, which shows a deplorable neglect of personal comfort—indeed,
a lamentable ignorance of all comfortable living accommodation is
manifest. A flat comprises the largest amount of comfort in the
smallest possible space—may the deserving originator of the scheme be
blessed or sainted. May undeserving Adelaide never know the blessings
of such luxury.
The dwelling-houses are, for the most part, cheaply built, badly
fitted, and execrably furnished—there are a few notable exceptions,
but these mostly err in the opposite direction, being lavishly vulgar
in their gaudy upholsterings. Inwardly, Adelaide cannot esteem
cleanliness a cardinal virtue, judging by the bathrooms in most of the
available houses. A furnished house is very rarely to be had, and the
few I have seen would preclude any desirable tenant from taking them.
Ugh! The cheap and nasty furniture, china dogs, gaudy wall papers
and architectural horrors of the Adelaide house! To those who must
sojourn here, and who cannot afford the expensive seclusion of the
only hotel—bring your beds on your back, or bring a tent and camp in
the park lands, for woe unto ye who trust to the doubtful hospitality
of the village boarding-houses, or of the “house to let.” We doubt if
it is possible to be really comfortable here—certainly to be even
tolerably comfortable, it is necessary to select—no, to bring—one’s
own furniture, wall papers and other house trappings.
THE TRAM-CARS.
CHAPTER III.
Q.—“What is the difference between the Adelaide trams and the Adelaide
street lights?”
A.—“One has a set o’ lean horses, and the other has acetylene lamps!”
SO much has been said, and written, about Adelaide’s tram-cars, that
any reference to the subject is of necessity boring, yet they are
the worst evil (worst, because, apparently, irremediable) in all
Australasia, and the system is a disgrace to any community calling
itself civilized, much less Christian! Christian! Save the
mark!
In the Advertiser some months back appeared a letter
signed “M. B. S.,” written by a globe-trotter visiting the Village.
He says—“I have been all over the world, and have never seen such
cruelty to horses as here ... not even in Paris, where animals are not
respected at all.” No one can dispute “M. B. S.’s” statement. The facts
are hideous. The company’s shares are held by bloated—very
bloated—property-holders. Of course they draw eight per cent, or so,
and, being essentially Adelaidean in their instincts, they want no
change—they are satisfied.
It is unnecessary to dwell on the inconvenience to, and discomfort
of, passengers—any discomfort they get I am inclined to think they
deserve—and I speak solely from the standpoint of the ill-used
horse. The cars are frequently overcrowded, the animals badly fed and
mercilessly driven, and often in summer the miserable brutes fall dead:
I have seen as many as three die within a fortnight on the hill near
the Children’s Hospital. It is pitiful, and if some of the so-called
Christians of Adelaide employed a little less theory and a good deal
more practice, some remedy might be effected. I am thankful to say
that I have never ridden in one of these cars. May I die if ever I
add to the burden of those unfortunate horses, or the wealth of those
bloated shareholders! I am no ardent pedestrian, but a thousand times
rather would I walk than participate in such brutal ill-usage of one of
the noblest animals in the scheme of creation. Christians, forsooth!
Christ, the gentlest and kindest of men, would never have countenanced
such cruelty, and yet Adelaide is a Christian village, infested with
Churchianity.
I would suggest that the promoters of this tramway system be boiled to
slow music, the shareholders be mutilated, the drivers be put to a more
Christian trade—or suffer the punishment of their unintelligence—and
the youthful fare-collectors taught to espouse a nobler cause.
* * * * *
There are other modes of transit in the Village—one or two ’buses,
some dilapidated machines called carettes, and some four-wheeled cabs.
Some of the drivers of said four-wheelers treat their horses less
brutally than does the tramway company, and therefore they deserve to
make a living.
There are also several hansoms striving to earn a more or less honest
crust under the frightful stigma of “not quite respectable—hardly
correct!” To these we wish better days—the drivers are civil, the
horses well fed, and the cabs fairly modern. Especially does one Fisher
(no relation to the author) deserve to succeed, he having a decent
intelligence, and a hansom worthy a better fate than Adelaide!
THE MEN.
PART II
CHAPTER I.
ADELAIDE is largely inhabited by the type of man that wears celluloid
collars, and travels on coastal boats—to be sure there are a few
male inhabitants who have neither qualification, but these are mainly
bankrupt, and therefore do not count. It is fairly safe to assume their
bankruptcy is due to their contempt for celluloid collars, and their
disregard of Adelaide’s social laws, combined, in many cases, with a
large devotion to Bacchus.
Edward Lauri, when in Adelaide recently, remarked that the local men
were the best caricature-types he had ever seen. “They nearly all look
exactly alike,” he said, “and they never change! In another five years
they will look just as they look to-day. They are now wearing the same
shaped hats, collars, and ties, and the same suits of clothes that they
wore when I was here eighteen months ago!”
Assuming this statement to be true, it will be understood that they
are not very exhilarating to meet—always excepting the bankrupts
we alluded to before, some of whom are gay young bucks. Most of the
Village’s male population have married barmaids, nurses, or money, so
the social atmosphere is not as high as it might be. They grow weird
hirsute adornments in the shape of beards and whiskers. The only men
who grow a self-respecting moustache are the coachmen, and with them
it is an unnecessary adjunct, detracting much from the beauty of their
appearance. Certainly they have some recipe for growing a moustache
unknown to the bulk of male Adelaide, judging by the finely-decorated
upper lips I have seen on the box-seats of grubby-looking carriages.
Younger male Adelaide is intelligent—in many cases almost
brilliant—but, hampered by ridiculous conventionalities, it rarely
fulfils its early promise. A few have risen superior to their
environments, and these have done the wisest thing possible—left
Adelaide far behind, and gone to better places.
Some few men have made fortunes here, and these almost always—with
pardonable ingratitude!—go elsewhere to spend their wealth.
You men of Adelaide—poor, narrow-minded fools most of you!—would
that you could learn, before it is too late, what good things you are
missing—would that you could realise that there may be some good in
people (and places) who do not share your own prejudices.
From all of which sweeping statement I exempt two classes—the Post
Office officials and the Railway employés. I have never received more
kindly courtesy anywhere than from these departments here—(I refer
chiefly to the heads of the departments) and for their unfailing
kindness and attention I thank them. These officials will always take
precedence in my mind as the most valuable assets in Adelaide.
One thing more—if any remarks in the foregoing chapter have offended
any of my few friends here, I would ask them to remember that, being
friends, they are of necessity exceptions!
THE WOMEN.
CHAPTER II.
THE misfortune of the Adelaide women is that they were not born
quadrupeds—they are a kind of mistake for cats, and only lack the
outward and visible sign of the feline tribe. (Hard to be cat by
nature and inclination, and be compelled to wear the guise of woman!)
Moreover, they make one believe in the old Spanish tradition, that cats
are descended from snakes. The outward semblance of the Adelaide female
is intense respectability, and of course, in many cases, being homely
to look upon, and exceeding badly clothed, she has no temptation to
err from the paths of strict propriety. The poorer type is terrible to
look upon, and the rich women make one wonder how they manage to spend
so much money in clothing their nakedness, and with such disastrous
results. Still, there are a few younger specimens who are passing fair,
and if rescued in time, might ornament a brighter sphere. We see large
possibilities in younger female Adelaide, and this saddens us, knowing
as we do that, if timely rescue is not effected, these fair maids will
grow up like the older generation, and find their main recreation in
discussing the foibles of women—aye, and men too—who are outside, or
beyond their sympathies, and who are, doubtless, infinitely superior to
themselves.
I appeal to all large-hearted, intelligent men from the other
States—from anywhere, provided you are clean, well-behaved, and,
incidentally, possessed of your fair share of this world’s goods—come
and marry the fair daughters of Adelaide. There are many who are good
to look upon, and quite intelligent, and with care it is not too late
for them to develop into good wives and mothers, and, better still,
broad-minded, enlightened, interesting women.
There is also a less objectionable type of femininity here—the
harmless—but she is uninteresting, and therefore not to be forgiven.
She is usually stupid by nature, and charitable by inclination, the
sort of person of whom one says, “She’s a dear, good woman—so kind.”
She cannot be objectionable, because she has no deep feelings—she
cannot be morally bad, because she has no strong passions—and she
cannot be spiteful, because she is soon taught that, having few charms,
she cannot hope to compete with those who have.
Feminine Adelaide has, as we hinted before, wild and terrible ideas
of dress; every gown she wears is a sartorial crime, and bitter is
her hatred and jealousy for any who exploit clothes better, or less
offensive than her own. It follows that, with such limitations she, as
a type, hates a broad, cultured, or enlightened woman. I have watched
the fate of one or two splendid brainy women here, and have inwardly
smiled—Bow to the conventions, O woman! if you would appear well in
the eyes of Adelaide.
To sample local charity—in a family of my acquaintance, the cook, a
girl of nineteen, previously respectable, went wrong. In any civilized
community the mistress, recognising a valuable servant, would have done
what she could at the time, and taken her back when the trouble was
over. But the lady in question simply dismissed her, thereby offering a
further incentive to a young girl to go wrong.
It must be remembered, however, that the
unfortunate
girl of Adelaide gets few of the advantages of higher education, and is
generally brought up in total ignorance of the serious things of life.
I know one family of four daughters, the eldest twenty-one, who have
never been allowed to enter a theatre, although their father, a
tolerably well-educated man, says he believes in a thorough education.
When it was suggested to him that his daughters might see the
“Midsummer Night’s Dream,” he was horrified. To be sure, these girls
are motherless—a kind, sensible mother would surely understand that
Shakespeare is a desirable branch of education.
Let us glance at local society. In a street I know, on one corner,
Rags, a cheap but successful draper, has reared a red and white
edifice. Opposite, the lady who once sold hats to fairer sisters in
Melbourne, espoused to quite an important person, has wormed her way
into the chosen few. Further up, an inferior edition of the share
market assumes
the pretensions of a Grand Duke.
Then we have Tobacco married to Alcohol, and, bashing in the smiles of
the very select—a quondam shepherd and a city waitress united in holy
matrimony, and entertaining largely; a nurse also secured one of the
matrimonial prizes. The daughter of a cocky farmer has snared a son of
one of Adelaide’s first families; a dentist’s apprentice (daughter of
a handsome barmaid) has caught another. There are funnier cases than
these, but I forbear to cite them—I have quoted enough to show how
aristocratic is the society that sets so high a store on its smiles and
favours.
Just outside the social pale one or two decently educated men have
married
nymphes de pavées, but these of
course are carefully shunned by Adelaide’s best and fairest.
Women of Adelaide—If I have down-trodden your pet virtues, or wounded
your susceptibilities, or flown in the face of your dearest prejudices,
during a boring existence among you, it has been with the best
motives—with a desire to keep abreast of the times, and not to become
embedded in musty conventionalities.
THE LESSER ANIMALS.
CHAPTER III.
I HAVE not devoted much time to the classification of these, but I
believe that they comprise chiefly mosquitoes, cockroaches, flies,
rats, and Lady Kitty.
MANNERS AND CUSTOMS.
PART III.—GENERALITIES.
CHAPTER I.
I AM inclined to agree with a certain prelate of some unfrequented
islands, who said of the inhabitants, “Customs beastly, manners none.”
The most characteristic custom of female Adelaide is church-going—any
church committee, prayer meeting, or bazaar, will tear her away from
domestic duties. Sometimes she persuades her male belongings to
accompany her, but they seem not to appreciate this attention, and
generally wander wearily to church with a woe-begone “duty-compels-me”
air.
The men have only two customs, common to them all. The first is a
tendency to look too often on the wine that is red. Hotel-keeping is
a profitable business here, where the “come and have a drink” formula
is repeated at intervals of five minutes all day, and, frequently,
nearly all night. Particularly on the share market is this habit
apparent, where every deal made is responsible for plentiful libations
from the cup that cheers. Whisky and soda, beer, and frequently even
fizzy drink, form the most staple articles of nourishment among the
share-broking fraternity. The other prevalent custom is a fixed
devotion to narrow-toed boots, which common-sense and fashion (for
once agreed) discarded long ago. The former habit is an evil, because
far-reaching in its results. In time it might kill its victims, but
that would be a matter of small regret as many of them could well be
spared. It is the misery said victims entail on their wives and mothers
to which I take objection. The drinkers, having little intellect to
destroy, do not lose much mentally by their Bacchanalian orgies, but
they become vastly disagreeable to their fellow-creatures. Of the other
custom—to wit, their taste in boots, there is little to be said, as it
makes them uncomfortable, and does not hurt anyone
else.
No comment that I could make would be severe enough to portray the
utter brutishness of the villagers’ manners—let the gentle reader
go to the Mayor’s ball, or any other public function, and judge for
himself! When the supper rooms are thrown-open, the guests fight like
wild beasts, and their rush for food is like nothing I have ever seen
so much as a pack of hungry beagles at feeding-time. Whether they fast
for a week in order to avail themselves of these free repasts, I cannot
say, but their greed is appalling.
The villagers’ stare (this applies particularly to the female
population) is an awful and shameless thing. Especially do they gaze
at those of more pleasing appearance than themselves; whether from
motives of scorn or of envy, I know not. The men do not, as a rule,
indulge this habit—perhaps they are never sufficiently sober—but the
women feast their eyes with undisguised rudeness on anything, female or
otherwise, that interests them. To be sure the stare is not always so
distressing as it is meant to be, because it is so difficult to take
the villagers seriously. Scorn is wasted when emanating from an untidy
female with a small intelligence and large feet, and it is difficult to
be awe-inspiring in ready-made skirts and number six shoes! Moreover,
said untidy females have not sufficient tact or intelligence to conceal
their evil feelings, and not enough courage to live up to them.
Monkshood says:—“An ugly woman, badly dressed is doubly damned—She is
bad Nature and bad Art.”
If that be true, female Adelaide in general is going fast to perdition.
INDUSTRIES.
CHAPTER II.
THE main industry of the Village is child-bearing, and Adelaide, both
married and unmarried, does her best to help the birth-rate. Motherhood
may be the noblest mission of women, but I question whether
the Almighty Himself would approve of the perpetuation of some of the
Village family-trees.
Fruit-growing is the local industry most deserving of praise, and must
certainly qualify as a redeeming feature of the Village. Many of the
successful growers are Chinamen. We may clamor for a White Australia,
but it strikes one forcibly that the Yellow Mistake has helped
materially to further national industries, especially fruit-growing.
But most of all, Adelaide prides herself on her wines. To pervert
Scripture slightly—“We produce fruit, and children, and wine, but the
greatest of these is Wine!” May a merciful God forgive Adelaide her
wine, if He cannot find it in His heart to forgive the poor fools who
drink it!
All the grapes on all the vines in all the vineyards of South
Australia, helped by all the labor of all the employés of all the
famous people who own those vines, could not produce one glass of wine
to equal the Vin Ordinaire of France.
But has not the Almighty already shown His disapproval of this
particular industry by burning down one of the most extensive cellars,
with vats and vats of red wine, and white wine, and wine that isn’t
wine at all? The Soil grows the wine in France, and the French
and Italians are born, as it were, to the art of wine-making. To import
one or two skilled men is not enough—armies of them are required.
Moreover, the wine is consumed as soon as it is made (this last fact is
wonderful to anyone who has tasted it!), and it is one of the things
which should be ancient. Had old Omar sampled Adelaide’s wines, he
would never have written—
“I often wonder what the vintners buy,
One half so precious as the stuff they sell.”
The local vintners buy land, and houses, and household gods at, I
suspect, the expense of many an unfortunate who has learned his first
lessons in intemperance from their infernal concoctions—a cheap
amusement certainly, but like most cheap things, nasty, and while
getting beautifully into one’s head, quite conducive to rheumatic
gout. In fact, had Omar lived in Adelaide, he would never have sung
the praises of the vine at all, his glorious “Rubaiyat” would not have
been written, and the world would be the poorer for the loss. “Protect
local industries!” Well and good, when the local manufactures are
equal to the imported article; but, as in the case of wines, why put a
prohibitive duty on what cannot be satisfactorily made in the State,
thereby compelling the consumption by the masses of an inferior product?
There are other local industries—some people have a sheep, and shear
it once a year, some publish newspapers!—others breed horses (some of
them good), others make inferior jam, and others again farm, with some
profit.
But serious contemplation of the Great Wine Industry has ejected all
minor ones from the writer’s mind.
The wine matches the inhabitants, and I leave the reader to supply his
own adjectives.
REDEEMING FEATURES.
CHAPTER III.
1. The Railway
Employés—
2. The Post Office Officials—
Both of whom are deserving of the
kindest memories, and of many
other blessings.
3. The Cabmen, who, as previously remarked, are quite
efficient.
4. The Wheat (and indeed all cereals) is about as good as any
in the World, and consequently,
5. The Flour is excellent—it should certainly be exported to
better places.
6. The Fruit is beyond reproach. In size, sweetness and
flavor, it is the best in Australia, and rivals any in the world.
7. The Weather, because it sometimes keeps the most
disagreeable people indoors.
8. A Return Ticket to Melbourne.
In conclusion, O “Arcadian Adelaide,” may you improve—may your people
prosper, and be happy, in order that they may remain in their own
Village, and inflict themselves less on the outside world. May you some
day awake to a sense of your own insignificance, and discover that the
sun would shine, and the flowers bloom, and the birds sing on, even
though you were sunk in the New Outer Harbor.
I wish you many good things, you people of Adelaide—but most of all
I wish that you may soon be rid of my odious presence, which wish is
probably mutual! And if these pages bear the imprint of many faults—if
they anger, or—worse still—bore you, remember that there is no place
on earth less calculated to foster literary merit than
ARCADIAN ADELAIDE.
Thistle Anderson.
Adelaide: Modern Printing Co., Twin Street.
Transcriber’s Note:
Page 12
the buildings agressively new changed to
the buildings aggressively new
Page 16
most of the employé’s hail from changed to
most of the employés hail from
Page 18
There are also Benovelent, Destitute changed to
There are also Benevolent, Destitute
Page 28
remembered, however, that the unfortunrte changed to
remembered, however, that the unfortunate
Page 29
market assumes ths pretensions of changed to
market assumes the pretensions of
Pages 29–30
nymphes de pavèes changed to
nymphes de pavées
Page 38 The Railway Employeschanged to The Railway Employés
