Word: gaslite
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Once an editor of England's Architectural Review and author of two Shell guidebooks to the English counties (at the moment he is doing another guide to Buckinghamshire), Betjeman is a deliberately "provincial" poet. He has an equal passion for industrial cities and for gaslit towns, entered by bicycle and artfully explored. In his prose Betjeman defends the dignity of places that humorists have poked fun at and social critics have deplored...
...rubber truncheon was standard equipment on a muddy gridiron, football was the sport of gentlemen-mastodons with handlebar mops hanging over their snarling lips. Slipping out of their four-button sack coats, doffing their celluloid collars, and carefully folding their string-ties, an aggregation would roar out of a gaslit locker-room to pull every play in the book, and some still in manuscript. Grabbing moustaches was worth a slight penalty, but the pile-on, the straight-arm, and an occasional sapping with a clenched fist were all "part of the game." For eleven such people...
...earliest editions--a collectors' item if that's your idea of a good time--carried, in addition to advertisements for "Silk Smoking Caps, Japanese" and "Brier-wood and Meerschaum Pipes, Gambier Bowls, and Toilet Articles," a pen-and-ink drawing of two typical Harvard students ensconced in a gaslit chamber. One gentleman, collared in celluloid, is reclining in a lace-fringed chair, smoking a catarrh cigarette and casually flicking ashes into a brass spittoon. The other is standing firmly before the fireplace, warming the seat of his blue serge pants, and the conversation runs as follows...
Died. Edward B. Marks, 80, publisher (Edward B. Marks Music Corp.) of some 20,000 songs including barbershop favorites and the urbane ballads of Jerome Kern, Sigmund Romberg, Rodgers & Hart: of pneumonia; in Mineola, L.I. While song-plugging in Manhattan saloons during the gaslit '90s, he saw a customer paw a tearful waitress, whipped out a pencil, wrote straight from life My Mother Was a Lady...
...years, Street & Smith has conceived and killed a fabulous brood of magazines. Last week this hoary outfit, king of the Deadeye Dick market in the gaslit days, unwrapped its first package designed for the neon-lit postwar world...