SOCIAL NOTES

Sun (Auckland), Volume 1, Issue 5, 28 March 1927, Page 4

SOCIAL NOTES

Mrs. C. Drummond-Hay, wife of a cotton planter in Fiji, and a relative of Lady Drummond-May, the European correspondent of a London newspaper, arrived in Auckland to-day by the Niagara. Later she will go on to visit friends in Christchurch.

The Misses P'oley will leave very shortly for a visit to England.

Mrs. M. E. Champion and Miss E. Champion left to-day by the Hlnemoa for Norfolk Island, where they will be the guests of Captain Robinson.

Mrs. J. C. Dickinson and Mrs. C. W. Gerrard, are Auckland visitors to Wellington.

Mrs. Edmond, of Dunedin, will be one of the Otago delegates to the conference of women’s clubs to be held here on March 31.

Miss Betty Lewis returned to Hastings last week after a successful New Zealand tour with the Maurice Moscovitch Company, in which she sang the ballad, “ Ben Bolt ” in “ Trilby.” Miss Betty will spend a few months with her parents before leaving for England.

Mrs. Entrican and Miss Shirley Entrican are at present in Wellington.

Mrs. W. M. Mowbray leaves by the Tamaroa for a visit to England and the Continent. Mrs. Mowbray expects to spend a year abroad.

Among the delegates to the conference of women’s clubs that takes place here on Thursday will be Mrs. Wilson, the Mayoress of New Plymouth, Mrs. Goffe and Mrs. C. Seymour, of Gisborne, and Mrs. Tosswill and Mrs. Owen, of: Christchurch.

Mr. and Mrs. H. Plimmer, of Wellington, expect to leave New Zealand by the Argyllshire on April 15 on an extended tour of the United Kingdom.

Mrs. Bernard Wood, who accompanied her father, Sir Joseph Ward, to Invercargill for the Ducal visit, returned to her home in Christchurch last week.

In the presence of only half a dozen people, the marrage took place at the Marylebone Town Hall, London, of Mr. HerberL Guedella, of 125 Bedford Court Mansions, London, and Miss Edith Frances Adams Leitch, the eldest daughter of the late Mr. John Leitch and of Mrs. Leitch, of Monimail, Silloth, Cumberland. Although not so famous as her sister, Miss Cecil Leitch, who was present, the bride is a wellknown golfer and has played for England in international matches. On three occasions she was captain of Middlesex County, and was captain of her county last year.

MUNDANE MUSINGS “JUST CATS” (By ONE OF ’EM) Cats, of the two-legged sort, are always with us. You may live in a very exclusive block of flats, or in a hotel where no pets may be kept, but you will most certainly encounter a cat or so! On the whole, though, I think there are fewer cats nowadays than there were of old; in the days of our grannies cats flourished exceedingly, and it was a species tolerated if not exactly loved. Needless to say it was invariably female. Nowadays there are male cats, though, thank goodness, they are rare. As a rule the male of the species human has too much to do to be “catty.” And, of course, it may be the fact that women nowadays have to work harder and have not so much time to weep, that women cats are fewer than they were a generation ago. Cats vary a good deal; there are spiteful cats, and cats that are merely soft and harmless tabbies, and, of

course, there are some very nice cats —sleek, purring, luxury-loving little things that are at least things of beauty, and thereby, let’s hope, a joy for ever. The tabbies are usually elderly, and provided they sheathe their claws, are pleasantly inoffensive, and often very kindhearted. They thrive wonderfully, especially in small circles, and in the smaller towns, and alas! often in the neighbourhood of churches and charitable organisations.

But the spiteful cats, with their evil claws that they sheathe so deftly if they think the onlooker suspects them! How they rend reputations andr destroy friendships! They purr slander softly, with so many sighs and apologies for repeating evil that we never realise what they are after! “Dear Ann is so impetuous, you know,” the cat purrs; “such a pity, for it gets her talked about. And she’s not really what everyone says she is.” This is the first time you’ve heard any slur on “Dear Ann,” and it drops a horrid little poison into your mind that is precisely what the cat intended. Cats are very clever, no doubt of that; they can praise so artistically that those they praise would a thousand times prefer to have been blamed. “Worthy,” is one of their praises; do you know any real feminine woman who likes to hear herself called “worthy” ?

“Such a dear, worthy creature,” is a phrase that we all would gladly fling back in the teeth of the one who uttered it.

“Sensible”—who likes to be called a “good, sensible girl,” at the age of twenty-something years young. Few, I imagine.

If the cats would show their claws honestly, we could meet them, but while they only spit sugary venom under their soft purr and silk#' manners it’s a hard matter to fight them —the only way I’ve found - is to beat them at their own game—and at least it’s an exhilarating form of amusement! H. M. WHEN AND HOW —TO CRY! Every woman knows that there is a time to cry, if on Biblical authority alone. Wise women know tha + it doesn’t come very often, not nearly as often as comes the time for laughter. But still it does come—there is a time when a tear in the eye is of the greatest possible assistance. The girl who has quarrelled with her fiance —and wants to make it up. Laughter is sometimes of little use here —nor is speech. But one glistening tear just shining in her eyes—that will bring him to her feet in a jiffy! The woman who has spent too much money on her clothes. If she hasn't done it too often a few tears will soften the heart of the most trying husband. All the old excuses may fail —“I had nothing to wear.” “It was so frightfully cheap.” But a couple of artistic sobs will probably extract an extra cheque.

And the girl who has made a mistake at her office, and is likely to be dismissed. Can she by some means gaze silently at her accuser while her eyes fill with unshed tears—perhaps her mistake will not matter quite so much after all!

Crying is an art which needs the utmost restraint. One should never really cry, only seem to do so. Let the eyes fill with tears by all means—but for heaven’s sake, don’t turn on a stick waterfall of grief. Real tears—real grief—are anything but becoming—the nose Is sure to become red, and the spasm to end in sniffs.

Diplomatic grief may be intensely becoming and intriguing—but its got to be done in the right way!—H.M.

THROUGH THE EYES OF A CHILD “No Sky To Be Seen” Sybil frowned and then she rubbed herself. She shrugged one shoulder and then the other. That not making life as comfortable as she had hoped, she jerked her legs alternately; but nothing helped and so she thought herself a rather ill-used little girl, says an English writer. The fact of the matter was that Sybil was wearing a pair of thick woolly combinations that morning which tickled abominably, so that she had to shrug her shoulders and scratch, to make them leave off tickl-

ing .her ribs. But there was a still worse thing about them. They had shrunk in the wash and were tight in the leg and very short for this cold weather. When mummy had taken her on her lap to ask what was the matter they had cut like anything, and it was so awfully cold, so she had wriggled down again quick and shaken herself. Mummy lhad given her a scolding for being cross, and finished up by saying that she didn’t want to nurse anyone who didn’t want her, and she would cuddle Peter instead.

This hurt worst of all. She wasn’t really cross, but those tickly things were awful and being pulled up like that made the legs tighter still, and it was so cold. Mummy not understanding had made her cry, and then she had been called a baby. She couldn’t do anything right.

Everything had gone wrong that morning. It was foggy and raw. There was no sky to be seen, and the sun shone like a copper warming-pan outside the window. Sometimes he faded until he looked so white and ill that he almost disappeared altogether. That made it quite dark, and Nanny had to turn on the light, which was frightening, and Sybil felt she would like to go and hide.

It seemed all upside down to have the light on at breakfast-time: suppose the sun never came back any more and it always kept dark like this; it would be the same as the story in the Bible, how it got dark because somebody had been very naughty. Thinking about this made Sybil very quiet and she forgot to eat her bread and milk. Suppose it was her fault that the sun had gone out, suppose, because of her, everyone would never seen the blue sky any more. A large, salt tear fell down slowly into the bread and milk.

“Sybbie kyin’,” announced baby Peter, from across the table, “Silly Sybbie! ”

GROWN-UPS WERE SO FUNNY Back went the sobs into her throat and Sybil tried to swallow the tepid mush before her. It had been made with a burnt crust that morning, and some skin from the milk had got in. These were two things the little girl could not bear. It made her feel sick, and was almost as bad as bacon-fat that had got cold, or the lumps of suet in a treacle pudding. Grown-ups were so funny, they made a fuss about putting some quite nice things in your mouth and wanted you to eat horrors like this. Mummy, in particular, had theories about “what was helped had to be eaten," and didn’t realise how difficult it was to swallow anything like that. How the little trap-door at the back of your throat shut tight and you had to keep on turning what you had in your mouth round and round, because it Wouldn’t go down. Several times she had been sick after meals when mummy had insisted upon these horrid things being eaten, and at last the doctor had be4n sent for. He had told mummy and daddy that he thought she must have appendicitis, and if she didn't stop being sick he would have to cut it out. After that Sybil had just wrapped up those nastly little bits in her hanky when no one was looking, and dropped them into the fire later.

That was what made her so frightened now, about it getting so. dark. Sybil knew that even mummy didn’t see all the naughty things that one did, but God did, and He was always waiting ready to punish you. So perhaps He was sending the fog now and everyone would find out that it was her fault and what she had been doing. SO AWFULLY PRICKLY!

Why would nobody understand? Not even daddy did quite. He got cross, when he kissed you before shaving, and you turned your face away, because he was so awfully prickly. No one seemed to guess how they hurt you without meaning to, or how hard they scrubbed when they washed you and dried you with those hard, scratchy towels. , They used soft ones for Peter, because he was a baby ; but she wasn’t very big, and no one was careful not to take hold of her roughly, so that it didn’t hurt. They didn’t seem to understand either, how much one likes to sniff at things and people. They all smelled so different, and it was interesting to try and find out what they smelled of, or why they did. It was called "rude,’' which meant that one must be careful, never, never to do it again. SUPPOSING DADDY DROPPED YOU There was another thing too. Why were grown-ups so awfully tall and big? Their heads seemed almost to touch the ceiling, and they shook the room when they laughed or talked very loud. When daddy lifted you up on his shoulder one was afraid that if he jerked you a tiny -bit higher, you mifeht go crash right through. Sometimes, he would pretend to drop you— Oh! then it was awful. Suppose he did, you would just break like Humpty Dumpty.and they would never be able to mend you again. Once she had screamed, but daddy had told her not to be a goose, she knew he wouldn’t really. But he did drop things sometimes. He had dropped her big doll, and smashed its head in, and he had only laughed. He seemed to expect that she would be interested seeing how its eyes worked with blobs of lead on the back, that she wouldn’t mind her poor, dear dolly being dead. She didn’t like those eyes either, because hers might be made on the same plan, and if she shut them very tight they might just swing round and get stuck staring into her head, so that she could see what she was thinking about. She didn’t want to do that, she thought, because she had horrid, frightening ideas there sometimes. Once she had asked mummy if they would, and if it was your eyes that made the things you saw, and why things went right away when you shut them, and came back when you opened your eyes again. But she only laughed and said what funny things Sybil did think of. She had never spent her time bothering about things of that sort when she was a tlitle girl. A FOOD REFORMER One of the chief consultant chemists in the employment of the British Government is Miss K. Anthony, whose speciality is poisons, particularly those concerned with foodstuffs, on the subject of which she recently published an interesting- book. The Home Office frequently utilises her services in connection with prosecutions for the sale of adulterated goods, and she has devised several valuable methods for testing foodstuffs in order to ascertain their fitness for human consumption.

PLEASING THE CHILDREN (By VERA RADCLIFFE.) In arranging children’s parties, the ehief difficulty lies in choosing the happy medium between overtiring the youngsters and in risking the cause for that disturbing thought, “What are we going to do next?” and “When am I going home?”

All children adore dressing up, and, the prospect of a fancy dress party is, from a child’s point of view, the most exciting outlook in a long series of party invitations. Nevertheless, a good many women do not feel inclined to turn over their houses unconditionally to the wildest characters of this world and fairyland. A COMPROMISE I heard of an excellent compromise the other day. It was a golliwog party at which each small visitor donned his or her golliwog headdress a€ tea time. This sounds as much of an undertaking as a fancy dress affair, but it is in reality, the simplest thing in the world; the caps are made with the end of a stocking covered with long strands of coloured wool, well combed out and clipped. An old woollen jumper, begging to be utilised, is admirable. Many hostesses feel that they should arrange a number of competitions, but too many competitive games mar the success of a party, because children dislike the concentration involved. Romps, nothing more or less, are regarded with far more favour, and children, left to their own devices, usually enjoy themselves in a most miraculous manner. A magic lantern show, or a cinema, suddenly announced at the height of the fun is enough to transplant any normal mischief into realms of delight. But the type of guest must be considered. Some modern children are too blase to enjoy a magic lantern, but a ‘‘home cinema” appeal to all. FOOD ATTRACTIONS Food is another important problem; in fact, one likely to make or mar the best parties. One has a good deal of sympathy with the small boy, who, when he thanked his hostess, added, “I’ve really had the most gorgeous things to eat.” It is not necessary to ruin a young digestion, or to impair it for its next outing, but all grown-ups remember, with a pang of joy, the days when speckly jelly was a dish of delight compared with the unspeckled variety at home. Cakes, representing animals and castles, are much more appealing to young minds, than more sugary, but less intriquing squares, and triangles of creamy sponge. A surprise dish is always welcome, especially at supper time, when appetites are beginning to flag. A trifle of jellied sponge cake, adorned with fruits, is quite harmless. Coloured lights in plenty, and noisy, if valueless, crackers, make tea-time merry. THE FINISHING TOUCH We all like to f'eel that our guests are sorry to leave, and children, with their very open estimations of enjoyment, are particularly amusing. When the time comes for the party to break up, many hostesses offer a tiny consolation in the form of a toy of some sort to beguile the journey home. If you do this, give exactly the same toy to every child. I shall never forget the hopeless, and quite natural looks of envy on the faces of a crowd of departing children, when one merry little creature walked her mechanical frog out of the front door, on its back, and the others found themselves with picture books and toys, which, as one disappointed little girl remarked, “Didn’t do anything.” Often it is the very last minute that seals the verdict of the young visitors. FAIRY FEET By Joan Rossiter The dance shoe' which does not glitter has no chance of being labelled “chic” this season. I noticed, th« other evening, a daintily-dressed demoiselle wearing with her be-pearled satin frock a pair of white silk dancing shoes which I imagined to be an exception to the all-glitter rule, till she turned on her heel, and I discovered that the heels were a mass of pearly gems. Another fashion decree is the existence of a strict colour code. COLOUR TO CHOOSE It is correct to wear shoes covered with the same material as the frock, to create a perfect ensemble, otherwise, gold is the colour to choose. Gold metal-cloth, or a gold brocade gives the desired twinkle to the dancing feet. Detachable heels must follow exactly the colour of the shoe, but they are studded with all shades of coloured gems. Black satin cannot be surpassed as a good “ground” on which to insert the rows of brilliants, but this is not, at the moment, so great a favourite as the golden tinsels. Fine threads of gold, caught basketwork fashion by a slender cord, make a pair of graceful sandals which are cut away on either side. Indeed, a toe cap and a heel piece is all that comprises the uppers of many of the new shoes. STRAPS ARE POPULAR The problem of how to keep on these sandals is solved by a tiny strap attached to each side of the back, fastened by a jewelled button. A button on either end of the strap is seen on many of the new shoes, both in the out-door glace kids, as well as the brocaded dance-shoes. Strapping the high-heeled shoes in this manner creates a sophisticated version of the “Wonderland” shoes which children wear, made in shiny patent leather. Among other novelties is a shoe made with a square vamp edged by a row of paste diamonds. DELICATE SURFACE A West End shoemaker is displaying a novelty shoe from Paris, which is covered with closely-set sequins, reminiscent of the scales of a fish. In a rich purple shade, the sequins give a striking effect. Very attractive, too, is the brocaded shoe with its narrow vamp laced-up by a small length of tinselled ribbon. A mere description of these shoes may give the impression that the foot it well-covered by them, but, in point of fact, the sides are sloped in the fashionable manner, and the toe cap, with the laced portion measures no more than the vamp of an ordinary court shoe.