IN PURSUIT OF PLEASURE
ASECOND fine summer is still, at the moment of writing, prolonging its course into the autumn ; and whilst the water authorities and health officials are watching with anxiety the dwindling reserves of water the rest of the community is snatching the pleasures of the open air. It has even been suggested that two fine summers in succession have gone far towards changing the habits of the nation. It is observed that London in September is as " empty " as London in August ; that the seaside resorts—at the week-ends if not all through the week—are almost- as much fre- quented as at the height of the holiday season ; that the open-air baths in the towns and the bathing-pools in the country continue to draw the swimmers and sun-bathers ; that the roads are still crowded every Saturday and Sunday with motorists and cyclists, and that hikers in shorts are making their day trips into the country, returning in the evening laden with trophies. It is true, the normal routine of work in commerce and industry has been resumed. The shop assistant or the factory hand cannot indulge a fancy- to extend or resume his holidays whenever the sun shines. But even for them conditions of work are not so grim as they were thirty or twenty years ago.
Hours of work, if not as short as they might be under a system devised to spread work throughout the com- munity, are shorter than they were, and will no doubt become still shorter in the future. The hours which can be devoied to voluntary • occupation and pleasure arc more numerous, and the majority of the young have enough bodily energy left over when work is finished to seek recreation.
Such a summer as we have had has contributed to the tendency which was already marked—the tendency towards incessant movement in pursuit of pleasure.
The stationary-ness of a majority of the world half a century ago is not easily realized by a modern Englishman.
People lived either in the town or in the country, and not, as nowadays, in both. Where they lived they tended to stay, and that air of repose which pleases us in the aspect of some old country towns is a reminder of times when life moved quietly in a restricted circle. The coming of railway trains modified the habits of the nation, but did not so profoundly change it as the motor-car has done. The motor-car, the motor-cycle, the motor-coach and the motor-omnibus have set the whole population on the move as never before ; and not only for the purpose of going to and from their places of work, but for pleasure, as a means of passing the time, or for multiplying the number of space impres- sions which can be received in a given period. The development of this migratory habit was due first to the existence of _the new facilities for swift transit, and secondly .to the increased leisure which has enabled people to make use of them.
At the moment, then, when some are urging that the work of the world should be re-distributed and hours of employment be reduced, and others arc asking how the workers will use their long periods of leisure, the latter problem seems to be settling itself. The people have discovered the delights of swift movement in which they indulge either for its own sake or for the prospective pleasure to which it leads—the pleasure of river, sea, country sights, or al fresco meals. And incidentally we may notice how this modern use of leisure has given rise to ne'r.- industries, not only those of the motor-car and cycle-makers and the hotel-keepers, but also of cottagers who provide bed and breakfast and teas, farmers who let grounds for campers, and caterers of all sorts in the towns and villages. Places which were once remote hr•,ve become relatively near ; isolated spots are accessible ; the provinces - become the haunts of town-dwellers and lose something of their provinciality ; all Britain is drawn nearer together, the one part knowing what other parts are like. And these advantages, we need scarcely say, have all their corresponding disadvantages, in the tendency to destroy the individuality of much that was unique, and to spread the town over the country.
The same advance, then, in the adaptation of mechan- ism which has enabled the machine to do the work of man and has released the latter, not, as we must hope, for unemployment, but for more leisure, has at the same time put at his disposal a new experience, or one that is new at least for the vast majority of the people—an experience which enables him to move often and quickly, and avoid monotony by multiplying impressions of space. When, declaring that the time has now come to begin organizing for the use of leisure, our planners set to work at their • planning, it will not be of the least use to ignore the impulses and habits which are already manifest. It will, no doubt, be well to provide facilities for reading, gardening, seeing plays and hearing music ; for arts and crafts ; for games ; for social work. Such pursuits may be stimulated with excellent results. But if we are really intent on providing means for the satisfactory use of leisure we cannot ignore the actual bent of men and women, and the tastes which they are unmistakably developing—and of these the taste for constant movement from place to place seems to be almost universal.
Yet its fascination cannot be that of mere motion— perpetual motion, according to the physicists, being uncommonly like perpetual rest. What matters is the series of impressions which one experiences in the course of travel ; the quality of the impressions we receive in our jaunts about the worli makes all the difference. Every journey passes through somewhere and ends some- where, and if we are bold enough to aim at legislating for pleasure it would be well to begin by insisting that the Britain through which our millions of leisured Britons like to move, so restlessly, to vnd fro should remain worth seeing, and that the places which are worth resting in should be preserved. We have heard much about stately country mansions which are falling into decay, whose pictures and artistic treasures are in danger of being scattered, and their parks of being denuded of their trees. Many of these ought ultimately to be opened on certain days to the public—agreeable objectives of a Sabbath day's journey. Some of the finest English cathedrals are in need of funds for repairs ; and there are churches in hundreds of towns and villages which demand careful restoration work. During recent years we have seen how towns like Stratford, Malvern, Norwich and Canter- bury may be the scenes of festivals attracting interested visitors from far and near ; by such activities towns lose provincialism and gain individuality ; and we cannot fail to observe how they become noteworthy points on the map towards which wise travellers gravitate. In an age of perpetual migration such as that which is arriving it is more than ever important that unique towns and villages should preserve and cultivate distinctive qualities, and pro- vide objectives or resting-places for the pilgrim traveller.
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