SAMUEL’S CHRISTMAS DAY.

Putaruru Press, Volume II, Issue 11, 28 December 1923, Page 2

SAMUEL’S CHRISTMAS DAY.

{By ** Gvatiano.”)

Writing- in hi* <iiary on December ! 2. r ), 1666, that quaint old journaliser, Samuel Popys, says tin's of the day: “ Lay pretty long- in bed, and then I rose, leaving ray wife desirous to sleep, having sat up till four this ; morning-, seeing: her maids make mince pies. T to church where our I parson. . . made a" good sermon. Then home and dined well on some good ribbs of beef roasted, and mince pies. . . . any ray heart full of j true joy; and thanks to God Almighty for the g’oodness of my condition at this day.” Now. one may wonder why a Christmas article, written. in tills year of grace 1028 ami more than two and a-half centuries since this entry of Pepys’ was penned, should, nevertheless, carry it byway of preface. The reason is because the few words referred to comprise an epitome of volumes that might have been written concerning- ! the proper way to celebrate Chi-ist- '» mas and the true spirit that should lie beneath the celebration. In the first place, the dear old diarist, knew the value of rising on Christmas morning- thoroughly rested and refreshed. Tic had a big- day before him, what with church, “ roasted ribbs and mince pies,” to sav nothing of the after dinner teaching* of a song. Tt is decreed,” to his wife and f.i friend. **’ which song pleased him mightily.” Then lie “ walked alone on foot to the Temple, thinking to have seen a play all alone: but there, missing* of any bills, concluded there was none, and so back home; ' and there with my brother reducing 1 the names of all my books to an ; alphabet, and then to supper and to bed.” But to return to our muttons, or rather to the roasted ribbs,” as said be fore, Pepys knew the value of not getting- up too early on Christmas Day, and his wife seemed to know that value even better. Experience had taught him that one should not make any harder work of a holiday than could be helped. How many of ns to-day would benefit by the practice of Pepys? Watch a Christmas picnic party! Up betimes, cutting sandwiches and so on; getting the children ready, most of them irritable and disagreeable: then a scrambled breakfast followed by fi wild rush to the car that connects with the eight o’clock boat for Bayswater! Yes, some of them start quite as. early as eight! There’s nothing like getting in a gopd longday on the nice hot beach, you know! Then the frantic flurry at the ferries! The worming and the squirming* in the ticket queue; the hustle and bustle at the turnstiles; the jamming and cramming- at the gangway! Ail on board at last, disgruntled and dishevelled. Some find seats and some don’t, but- its all the same. It is a beautiful summer morning, the sky an Italian blue, the harbour a translucent green and all around the cliffs are crimson with the flowers of Christmas. But these things are ii> , the main, lost upon the picnickers. There, may be peace on' earth, but it certainly doesn’t exist on that boat. The children after the flurry are grosser than ever. Willie with his spade has banged little Tom over a j part of his anatomy more tender than j dangerous, and Tom has replied by hurling his bucket at Willie’s bead. ; Tr misses and goes over the side, and Tom sets up a howl as lie sees a Christmas present float away in the | bosom of the Wa item ala. This inei- ( dent starts all others going, and soon pandemonium reigns among the little party. Father, who is metaphorically whipping the kitten because the parly is going to a deity-forsaken, place like Milford, instead of to that l nice little beach near the hotel at ; Devonport, starts literally whipping the kids instead. After reducing them to submission and mother to hyster- j ics, he finds that in his heat he has ' allowed his pipe to get cold and that ; he lias no matches. He goes off to procure s;me, but by this time everyone is too busy to attend to him, for the boat is almost half-way across ! and every man, woman and child on board has begun to think of getting : oif it as quickly as possible. They are all grabbing one another’s things , and knocking- one another over and ' jumping on each other’s frames in a ■ wild endeavour to get to that side of the boat that they think it is going to berth on. In the melee father gets detached from his party. He becomes so detached in fact- that he pinches the arm of another lady taking her for mother. Mother refuses to believe this, however, when they are once more united. Eventually they get to the train of trams too late to find any vacant seats. They crush themselves on 1 o platforms and under the chair?: and anywhere else where they find room. The train starts! ft acts half-way up the hill when it is discovered that Percy, aged five, is missing. The precocious Percy is discerned sitting on the wharf enjoying the mixed bathing, quite oblivious of the picnic party which is clamouring for the conductor to stop the tram. The. conductor responds to its entreaties by ejaculating “No chance!” At the top of the bill, however, the trams stop and Percy is duly rescued in good time to catch the next tram. One feels that one ought to draw a veil over the day that follows. Father sullen, blinking in the blinking* sun and wishing that the blinking picnic had been held at Devonport, “ there’s a nice little strip jof sand there near the pub.” Mother [ alternating between moments of j moroseness and periods of peevislij ness, an«l, all the time, thinking- of [ lather and “ that woman.” The child- \ in Vi,|, '' ll, s stages of petulancy .falling out and falling in; getting into I deop water and mischief; throwing i up *?aeh other’s misdeeds and their i dumm* of sandwiches which were : mostly, sand. And the return trip—• i a replica in many respects to that out. except that everyone is ten i times more fussed and fretful. Then j home, and because father lias been lost on the v, ay, it devolves on mother to send the children to bed neither m peace nor harmony. It may. be argued thatr-tbe father I referred to. in the fact that he had (Continued at Phot of Next Column.) I

i u large family to amuse, is in an en--1 tively different category to Poors. But the writer has seen married j couples and single people spending : their holidays with just as much rush j ™i bustle. Not for Samuel! He , .ay long- in bed and then continued jms rest in church. Sauntering home lie dines on his “ ribbs ” and his I mince pies and his heart full of true -!r': ,? f course, one is not to imply | that his heart was on the menu. But j one would naturally think that it would be not only his heart that. Would be full after Christmas dinner But at any rate from whatever course he- realised the goodness of his condition. But one can picture the Caroline i gentleman going to the harpsichord, ; after dinner, and with his plump litj tie wife and the, more or less, mysterious friend singing that song I Which he said “pleased him mightily.” j Then, presumably leaving his wife ! to entertain the friend, he walked all alone on foot to the Temple, where once in.ore all alone, he expected to see u play. Note the love of takingtilings quietly—no jostling with the madding crowd for Samuel, but just a desire to bo by himself and quietly to drink in all the interesting details of the streets and the stage. And yet one could not say that he lias during the/day been in any way unsociable. ITo lias carried out ail the duties of tlie occasion. Enjoyed both a Christmas sermon and a dinner. Entertained friend and relation royally and whiled away an hour or two With story and with song. Then the final interesting touch. He would not let the day bo entirely unproductive •so lie gets his library, that which he probably, after his wife, loved most in the world, in order and then to supper and bed. No nocturnal revelfin,Sll.infr the day a, jmet.j as it was begun. And a great nany of us, perhaps, on Christmas fook C ° UM tak ° “ leaf on*/* Samuel’s