A Regular Low Quarter

Amsterdam is a city known for many things, including its infamous red light district. Now predominantly China Town and a hub for design concept shops, Daniela and I went for a stroll down Zeedijk almost 120 years after our great-grandfather - 19 years old at the time - described one of his first visits to the city with his shipmates.

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Some time in March, 1897

...A very nice city is Amsterdam only too many confounded canals cutting it, some canal sides are without railings and I shouldn’t like to be drunk coming along them.

Was in a street called Zeedijk, or something like that name, a regular low quarter, with almost every house a dancing and drinking saloon. But 8 o'clock at night the music begins, and from the street you hear an awful conglomeration of sounds, fiddles, drums, concertinas, drums, triangles and heavens tenous what not all on the go. One house is playing Daisy Bell, another After the Ball, another The Man that Broke the Bank at Monte Carlo. A dutch tune on some other house and so on. The hour never stopping but going on incessantly. Most lovely as is the music, the greater attraction is the women that now and again come to the door, to look for fresh victims. These are the dancing ladies, some dressed commonplace. While others are dressed most gorgeous in the Music Hall style short frocks, bare arms and a wondrous display of ribbons, all complete of their marvellous beauty the least said the better.

With some fireman and sailors I was in this street, standing hesitatingly, in doubt, where to go, when up comes some of the foresaid beauties, saying in English. "You want sweetheart, Johnny." "Yes, I’ll be your sweetheart any time", say a sailor named Peter, and after a little palavar we all marched in. It was a rather flash house called the Hamburgh. You can dance with these ladies if you like and stand them as many drinks as you like. They’ll sap them.

Being teetotal I took cigar instead of drink. I could say much about these houses and dancing women. The ladies are not shy or bashful, but a “leetle” too gay for me. Their way of living makes them old and haggard looking before they are much over 20. I will say no more about them t’were better far.  From the Hamburgh we were in about half dozen of the bars, which have all English names such as the “Liverpool” “ City of London” Man at the Wheel etc.

After going round we went aboard. One night I stayed aboard, it was dark about 9pm, when someone hail the ship from the quay. The watch man was going to scull the small boat ashore to see who it was and I said to him, "I’ll sail if you don’t mind." "All right", replied he, for he was not anxious about sculling the boat out at all. So I goes down the ladder at the ships side on to a light which was moored longside. The boat was made fast to the lighter. I made one step as I thought in the right direction when flop. I walked into the water, but in falling I luckily grasped a rope and saved myself from being submerged all over. I scrambled on the lighter. I made my way to the small boat, lighted a lantern marked the place were it was, unfastened the painter and sculled to the quay stains. It was a note from the ship chandler’s for the skipper, gave it to the watchmen to give the captain when he came aboard. This little incident made me vow to let watchmen scull their own boats at night time. I bought a pair of fancy slippers for my sister.

From Amsterdam we went to Blyth arriving there on a Sunday afternoon, went home to South Shields by 6:28 train and got in Shield about 9 o'clock.