THE DAYLIGHT DRINK
“Something too much of this.”
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“A nipping and an eager air.”
Evil effects of dram-drinking—The “Gin-crawl”—Abstinence in H.M. service—City manners and customs—Useless to argue with the soaker—Cocktails—Pet names for drams—The free lunch system—Fancy mixtures—Why no Cassis?—Good advice like water on a duck’s back.
Whilst holding the same opinion as the epicure who declared that good eating required good drinking, there is no question but that there should be a limit to both. There is, as Shakespeare told us, a tide in the affairs of man, so why should there not be in this particular affair? Why should it be only ebb tide during the few hours that the man is wrapped in the arms of a Bacchanalian Morpheus, either in bed or in custody? The abuse of good liquor is surely as criminal a folly as the abstention therefrom; and the man who mixes his liquors injudiciously lacks that refinement of taste and understanding which is necessary for the appreciation of a good deal of this book, or indeed of any other useful volume. Our grandfathers swore terribly, and drank deep; but their fun did not commence until after dinner. And they drank, for the most part, the best of ale, and such port wine as is not to be had in these days of free trade (which is only an euphemism for adulteration) and motor cars. Although mine own teeth are, periodically, set on edge by the juice of the grape consumed by an ancestor or two; although the gout within me is an heritage from the three-, aye! and four-, bottle era, I respect mine ancestors, in that they knew not “gin and bitters.” The baleful habit of alcoholising the inner sinner between meal times, the pernicious habit of dram-drinking, or “nipping,” from early morn till dewy eve, was not introduced into our cities until the latter half of the nineteenth century had set in. “Brandy-and-soda,” at first only used as a “livener”—and a deadly livener it is—was unknown during the early Victorian era; and the “gin-crawl,” that interminable slouch around the hostelries, is a rank growth of modernity.
The “nipping habit” came to us, with other pernicious “notions,” from across the Atlantic Ocean. It was Brother Jonathan who established the bar system; and although for the most part, throughout Great Britain, the alcohol is dispensed by young ladies with fine eyes and a great deal of adventitious hair, and the “bar-keep,” with his big watch chain, and his “guns,” placed within easy reach, for quick-shooting saloon practice, is unknown on this side, the hurt of the system (to employ an Americanism) “gets there just the same.” There is not the same amount of carousing in the British army as in the days when I was a “gilded popinjay” (in the language of Mr. John Burns; “a five-and-twopenny assassin,” in the words of somebody else). In those days the use of alcohol, if not absolutely encouraged for the use of the subaltern, was winked at by his superiors, as long as the subalterns were not on duty, or on the line of march—and I don’t know so much about the line of march, either. But with any orderly or responsible duty to be done, the beverage of heroes was not admired. “Now mind,” once observed our revered colonel, in the ante-room, after dinner, “none of you young officers get seeing snakes and things, or otherwise rendering yourselves unfit for service; or I’ll try the lot of you by court martial, I will, by ——.” Here the adjutant let the regimental bible drop with a bang. Tea is the favourite ante-room refreshment nowadays, when the officer, young or old, is always either on duty, or at school. And the education of the modern warrior is never completed.
But the civilian—sing ho! the wicked civilian—is a reveller, and a winebibber, for the most part. Very little business is transacted except over what is called “a friendly glass.” “I want seven hundred an’ forty-five from you, old chappie,” says Reggie de Beers of the “House,” on settling day. “Right,” replies his friend young “Berthas”: “toss you double or quits. Down with it!” And it would be a cold day were not a magnum or two of “the Boy” to be opened over the transaction. The cheap eating-house keeper who has spent his morning at the “market,” cheapening a couple of pigs, or a dozen scraggy fowls, will have spent double the money he has saved in the bargain, in rum and six-penny ale, ere he gets home again; and even a wholesale deal in evening journals, between two youths in the street, requires to be “wetted.” Very sad is it not? But, as anything which I—who am popularly supposed to be something resembling a roysterer, but who am in reality one of the most discreet of those who enjoy life—can write is not likely to work a change in the system which obtains amongst English-speaking nations, perhaps the sooner I get on with the programme the better. Later on I may revert to the subject.
Amongst daylight (and midnight, for the matter of that) drinks, the Cocktail, that fascinating importation from Dollarland, holds a prominent place. This is a concoction for which, with American bars all over the Metropolis, the cockney does not really require any recipe. But as I trust to have some country readers, a few directions may be appended.