THE ROAD HOUSE AGE
By BARBARA WORSLEY-GOUGH
WE owe much to America besides money. We are indebted to her for a large part of our vocabulary and most of our amusements. The modern notion of pleasure, - originating in the brain of some far-seeing American business-man, has been disseminated and fostered by him and his fellows tot create a demand for the mechanical amusements which they are so anxious to supply. It was doubtless intended to confer this benefit—the development, along modern lines, of the old fallacy that there is some connexion between leisure and pleasure—upon the Americans alone ; but we, in our anxiety to participate in every American discovery of a sociological, if not of an economic, nature, seized upon it as we have seized upon every other American contribution to the sum of human happiness. Tolerant as ever, the Americans offered no objection. They even co-operated, to the extent of allowing us to use their dance-tunes, when, after a year or so, the popularity of these, had worn thin on the other side of the Atlantic ; and they were willing to supply us with a positively unlimited quantity of their choicest films.
In fairness to ourselves it should be added. that we paid somewhat handsomely for these privileges. Our latest acquisition, however, filched from the Americans with eager hands across the sea, seems to put us under a more definite obligation to them. We have adopted one of their favourite forms of amusement, and, since no more than our own innate vulgarity is required to put it into practice, we find ourselves in the novel position of making use of an American idea without the need for American assistance. We can but observe, with due deference, that imitation is the sincerest form of flatteryand offer this reminder as a poor substitute for the more tangible advantages which the United States expect when we borrow from them.
The Road House has become an institution in America.
Its introduction into this country appears instantly to have supplied an unfelt want. Road Houses have sprung up with a mushroom-like alacrity that beats evert the bungalow, upon every arterial road within Bentley- distance of London. Scarcely is the neon-lighting installed and the stucco dry upon the battlements, when hordes of diligent and determined pleasure-seekers arrive, to dance on flood-lit floors, to dive into flood-lit pools, to drink tasteless teetotal beverages on balconies, stoeps, patios, or in Tudor parlours, and to conduct flood-lit amours in any or all of these surroundings. Patrons of Road Houses must have been hard put to it to employ their leisure in the bad old days when no Road House beckoned along the by-pass. It may be assumed that they did not stay fretfully at home, a`waiting a solution of the problem of their enforced inactivity. They were compelled, poor creatures, to choose from 'a *retched selection of :.pleasures. '1'0 dance, they had to remain in London, stifling in ill- ventilated ballrooms while they craved .for the pure air of the Brighton road. To bathe, they were obliged to seek out some deserted riverside spot, to disrobe furtively in a field, and to nerve themselves for the plunge into the inhospitable Thames, unarmed, un- filtered, and unlit. If it was an excuse for a drive and a drink that they wanted, they.-had to set out for the deplorable destination of a country pub. It is true that on arriving at the pub they were able 'to drink beer or spirits according to their fancy and the provisions of the licensing laws—but even with this • advantage the ' Red Lion' cannot compete with the ' Blue Lagoon' for the favour of a generation which thinks less of the inner man than of the outer woman.
. The Road House, like the department, store—yet another institution for which we are indebted to America —is, above all things, a labour-saving device. The depart- ment store. spares shoppers the necessity of a pilgrimage from the chemist to the ironmonger, the grocer, and the tobacconist, and enables them to buy pills, pokers, cheese. and cigarettes under the same vast. and over-decorated roof. The time and trouble thus saved, though con- siderable, are as nothing when compared.with.the expense of thought and energy which the Road House. spares the pleasure-seeker. No longer is it necessary to make a five-day plan in order to secure a sufficiency of dancing, bathing, motoring and mischief in the evenings of a summer week. The Road House makes proyision for all these delights, in surroundings as wildly different from their ordinary setting as the Roof Garden of Selfridge's is from the dazzled customer's back-yard. The Road House provides an incentive for an expedi- tion. It offers riotous hospitality and a profusion of patent beverages during those hours of the day and night when country hotels offer, at best, bad coffee and reluctant service, and country pubs offer nothing at all. Situated on the fringes of the country, or even in the heart of it, the Road House yet achieves an urban charm, either in the chromium-and-scarlet school, or, more artfully, with pseudo.-Tudor, Spanish or ByZantine decor in the best night-club manner. It presents a familiar and welcoming aspect to the London visitor, encouraging him to set out for an evening in rural surroundings without the disheartening prospect of earwigs and ivy, suspicious yokels, and cold beef and pickles at his journey's end. At the Road House of his choice he can have poached eggs on haddock and complicated ices of guaranteed purity in the company of pleasure-seekers as eager as himself. Moreover, he can, if he pleases, go on having them without compunction until dawn, comforted by the management's assurance that the alarmingly genial waiters sleep all day long in preparation for their nightly exertions.
Road House nomenclature is curious. Since pride forbids indebtedness_ to the pub, despised and obsolete predecessor, the fields of heraldry and noble patronage are closed. This, perhaps, is as well ; for no saxophonist would blow his best, at the Boar's' Head or the White Hart—and who would achieve a somersault dive off a spring-board under the austere surveillance of the Duke of Cambridge ? The proprietors of Road Houses rightly seek their inspiration from other sources. - Some rely upon the architectural features of their premises—hence the Clock House, the Pantiles, the Barn. Others, more anxious to create atmosphere than to emphasize struc- tural charm, have produced a romantic school and evolved the 'Blue Lagoon, the Galleon, and the Gay Adventure. It still remains for some enterprising proprietor to call his Road House Brave New World.
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