London's entertainment world is rapidly recovering from what at first appeared to be a knock-out blow. On In the last war no animals in the London Zoo were destroyed because of a food shortage. The directors and cre hoping that the present inniates restaurants, finding themselves suddenly bereft of customers, reduced their staff or closed down; dance bands and cabaret artists were dismissed.
But though the lights of London are shrouded, the will be similarly fortunate in this respect. But the food problem is certainly difficult. The seals, for instance, eat about fifteen pounds of fish a day each, and at the moment fish is scarce. Professor Huxley is experimenting with substitutes. His latest idea is horse flesh soaked in whale liver oil. out. Now, perhaps more than ever, he ce entertainment and those who eater for that need ar" quickly getting back to something approaching The grim necessities of war are not overlooked, however. The leading hotels and restaurants, as well as the big shops, provide air-raid shelters for both staff and customers; and there are many other official and unofficial shelters. In the City of Westminster paratively Provided for 100,000 people, trenches offer protection for another 20,000.
Red-lettered signs all over London point to the nearest shelter. Some of these dug-outs are fitted out on quite a lavish scale. At least one hag a cocktail bar and in another, intended for employees of a large firm, facilities have been provided for bridge and table tennis.
Text read from the printed page and cleaned; old type leaves the occasional error.