New-York tribune., 1922-05-21
.f,u do YOU like London

FL
,ow dyou like the town
NV d'you like the Hoxford Pike
The Dona and 'er gown
A ow dyou like the lahdedah
The too.hpick and the crutch
i ,ow did you get your trousies hon
And did it urt you much9
lco SANG cheerful coterie OF American
citizens foregathered on North River
A n;er when the liner Homeric docked
one day last week. to greet Barney
r,yrr, popular pilgrim and erstwhile boni-
t.. # the Albany Post Road just returned
,.u his first visit in forty years to London,
/ is birthplace
] Memories inspired by this ribald chanty of
,.,o cone London music hall season led to
;...rchanges of banter and more or less
a,nal invitation to not too dry celebration
w Walkers re-entry into the perils of
| volstesdisnn'
walker himself announced, in stage whs-
,.r with well simulated apprehension, that
r lad ahsent-mindedly forgotten to declare
.n.erye bottles of Genlivet. This oversight, he
1 .,erred, might bring the revenuers down on
4 rim any minute. so the welcoming committee
~.s invited to Mr.. Walkers bachelor apart
/ ,,.nt in Central Park West with view to
| .sstroving the evidence. AS Huck Finn saws,
They done it.
| The reception committee was made up Of
srLondoners dating back to the early sos,
1 md while "Old Bow Bells as Mr.. Walker
anne at once to be addressed, held more or
is the center of the stage, there were fre-
,1ent interpretations by members of the COM
/ ANY. yclept Jack Binks, Art Gamble Jimmy
I Cteathan,, All Taylor and others presented
vjh due ceremony who insisted on immediate
| animation of formality and became thence
! arward Jim, Old Top or "Alfy, Old Thing
! i the evening advanced. The first toast, "Old
= Bow Bells was of course drunk standing-a
! vsl considered precaution, since later it
tsldnt have been done with the same ease.
Tss toast was proposed by "Alfy, Old
Thing, who injected world of emotion into
lis welcome ome,' albeit with an appraising
ne on the eleven virgin quarts arrayed in
neat row on Mr.. Walkers sideboard.
some is right" responded our host, as he
asnk before disposing himself happily in
liz armchair, grunting contentedly as a man
sss when he returns after long absence to
lis own pet perch in his own favorite corner
d the room he slows his books and pipes in.
HOme, my lads" pursued Walker, as the
mpany found seats, "is where a man lives.
Forty years I've lived in these ere United
Safes H'every year or two | sez to myself,
Albert, sez, it's Ugh time you went for a
BIT IF ranble in good old Lun'non town.
I've ad my ramble, lads, and Tn, ONE again.
This 'eres> damned fire country. Fill EN-
upn added the host, sententiously, them rev.
enuers might 'appen in hany minute Then
rising, with glass held high, he added gravely:
Gentlemen, the U. S. A.
Thereafter it was pipes all round and con-
versation somewhat general, reminiscent OF a
long ago London this company had known. 1t
was Mr.. Binks. eXpatlatlng on music halls OF
his recollection. who precipitated melange OF
oldtime odd bits from score or more lncon-
sequentia dittes Of the penny gaffers' y
Bnks he was proud to admit, had patronized
music halls from the Pavilion in Piccadilly to
scores of lesser sng-songs up and down White
chapel and Mile-End, and all the way from
the Canterbury in Westminster Bridge Road
to the Peoples Palace in New Cross.
"Wot's gon on in the 'alls now, Barney?'
he demanded-"give US one of the latest
"Ah, there's where you get me on the rawr,'
said Mr.. Walker. Look ere," he burst out
emphasizing with the stem of his pipe, "there
ain t no more music 'alls like them we used
to know. Songs you can ear at the Paw, to be
sure, but wot songs, I'll arsk? Wy, these ere
lazzy fykes that amt no tune nor no sense
TO EN- whatever. might say there 'aint no
more than two lar alls now. There's the
raw an there's the old MiddleseX, wot they
calls the Winter Garden. At the Paw It's
mostly musical review-reg1ar Broadway
stun They was dancn' the shinmy larst time
was there. l ad seat in the pit. A long
aired chap sings a song in some furrln' Ian
guage-Roosian p'raps. The man sittin next
70 me sez this am were Bolshevist-'but 'es
great hartlst, sez the chap. Then e looks
me hup an down an, sez he, narsty like
FROM your h'accent,' he sez, I'D say you was
one Of our wealthy cousins wot won the war
H artist, your at l sez Hid give $40
for to ear H'Arthur Lloyd in place of i'm.
Has for my h'accent, l sez, 4 got that jerkin'
beef in Smithheld Market afore you was
oorn'
The way this feller looks at me, s'pose e
thinks I'm balmy.
III Arthur lovd' he seZ. scornful; wy