FRILLS FADS FOIBLES

Sun (Auckland), Volume I, Issue 272, 7 February 1928, Page 5

FRILLS FADS FOIBLES

YOUR CLUB AND MINE

AN OPEN PAGE

Each Tuesday afternoon a corner will be reserved for original contributions of genera] interest to womenfolk. The subject matter is for you to —whatever topic interests you may also be of interest or amusement to others, whether it be about your hobbies, experiences, or merely amusing musings about the ordinary round of the day. A book prize is offered weekly for I the best effort, which should be brief, plainly written, and sent to “Your Club and Mine,” The Sun, Auckland. The prize has been given this week to Mrs. J. A. Colhoun, Burnside Avenue, Mount Albert, for the following article: A DAY IN TOWN Bang! Thud! A soft, warm body hurls itself violently upon me, and I wake with the certain knowledge that another day has begun. Sleepily 1 hand the Infant a biscuit and admonish it to “be good,” hoping for a few more moments in that exquisite borderland between sleeping and waking, before the cares of the day possess one afresh. But my peace is short-lived. From the next room come sundry noises and an eager voice calls, “Mummy, are we going to town today? It’s lovely and sunny.” Reluctantly I open my eyes to find a brilliant blaze of sunshine flooding the room with its glory. Truly there are compensations for living in the backblocks in this weather. From my window I can see a clump of bush, a poem in delicate shades of living green, and away there beyond a dip in the hills I catch a glimpse of the sea, blue as the sky above it and sparkling in the sunshine. The air is like wine and a lark somewhere in the glory of yellow light and blue sky is singing a paean of joy to it all.

It is a case of “all hands on deck,” so that we can get away bright and early. Small Daughter helps me with the breakfast, while Sonny follows father out to tinker with the everfaithfuj “Lizzie,” friend of all weathers and all roads. Baby gurgles delightedly upon all and sundry and preparations proceed apace. Small Daughter flies in to ask our next door neighbour if we can do any commissions in town for her, and comes back with such a formidable list that I hesitate before sending her across the road to another friend. However, I decide to be charitaL'' and self-sacrificing and over she goes—ah, my charitableness is rewarded this lady is going in herself to-day. Hubby comes in to tell me time is flying; it is time we were ready. Heavens, what a rush! At last the family is clothed, but as to being in its right mind —! One would imagine from the excitement that we were intending to tour the world. WE'RE OFF! At last! The gate bangs, the tiedup puppy yelpfe, father calls “All ready?” and is, answered by shrieks from the back seat; I settle myself and the “littlest* one” comfortably beside Hubby in the front, and we are actually off The road is bumpy and somewhat dusty; but what matter? We have the whole day ahead of us, the sunshine and blue sky are positively intoxicating, and we settle ourselves down to enjoy everything. On we go like the farmer to market—“Bumpety, bumpety, bump!” The air is clear and bracing and half a mile along the road we see one of the most glorious views the heart could wish for. In front of us, and sloping down and ever down the hillsides are rolling fields of velvety green, dotted here and there with clumps of trees giving shade and shelter to the farmhouses beneath them. Farther down is the main road, a cre.amy ribbon winding in and out and round about the" foothills, a romantic vision in the distance, but inches deep in :» particularly clinging dust, as we have known to our sorrow many times! Beyond the road are more plantations fringing each little bay and headland along whose beaches laps the bluest of blue seas. Farther still are fairy-like islands, and as we gaze along the magnificent coastline a wonderful panorama is unfolded. To our left and behind us as far as eye can see, roll the mighty hills, silent, steadfast, sentinel over the coast as they have stood for untold ages—we feel curiously unimportant before their everlasting peace. “THE ROOF OF THE WORLD" One knows that beyond them are busy towns, struggling humanity, all the bustle and the stress of life; but here they reign supreme. Man may burrow in their depths after gold, destroy their noble forests, convert their lower slopes into pkicid, prosaic farms, where the struggle for existence may continue just as fiercely, but always they tower above, aloof and everlasting. Almost reluctantly we turn to the glories on our other hand. Here the hills are less imposing, but not less beautiful. Bay and headland sweep along, girdled with glistening beach and always the rea—blue, sparkling, losing itself in the blue horizon, merging into a as blue. Truly in all a panorama to rejoice one’s eye and gladden one’s heart. Down we go, ever down, losing the sense of coming off the roof of the world and feeling that we are nearing civilisation. On to the main road at last. Now for it! Swiftly we speed onward, no one saying very much, but revelling in it all. The warm bundle on my lap is deep in slumber and for a little while comparative peace reigns. Now we are nearing town and the road becomes quite busy—lumbering carts and an old-time bug;gy we pass disdainfully; many fellow “Lizzies” we pass and are in turn passed by, an occasional high-powered car shoots in a cloud of duct, and then—round the corner and we are there! Before us lies the little country town, considered a sleepy hollow by visitors from the great world beyond, but to tie almost the hub of the universe, for in it are contained all cur necessities and little luxuries and our occasional trips into town are gala days. TOWN AT LAST To-day is market day, and the usu-

ally placid main street is busy from end to end—motors in plenty, with many honoured and venerable vehicles interspersed. On one side of the road are the shops, and on the other is a narrow strip of grass, and beyond, the sea—seeming to sparkle in sheer delight of this gladsome day. About halfway down the street is the ‘wharf, a veritable hive of industry this morn ng, for to-day is “boat day,” and the coastal steamer lies close against the wharf, cranes whirring busily, her bulk dwarfing every building in sight. Around her and beyond dance little pleasure craft, intent on making the most of this heavenly day and I think a trifle wistfully of golden beaches and -00 l But the family is clamouring around me. We alight and set about the real business of the day. Lists are consulted; Father and Sonny go off to

park the car, and we others begin the shopping. First there is the grocer to see. The list for him is always a lengthy one, and even then one is bound to forget something, or perhaps indulges in some little luxury not thought of until one sees the tempting array in the shop. This safely settled and the parcel left to be called for later, the next errand is to the butcher’s—uninteresting but necessary. Now for the little odds and ends —we saunter along, inspecting every shop-window. Small Daughter, true woman that she is, taking special delight in a display of small : \aids’ millinery. Surreptitiously I examine my purse, but regretfully I decide that Sonny’s boots must be mended first, and so we pass on. Soon we meet the male portion of the family, compare notes and decide the next move had better be luncheon. We all troop in to our favourite restaurant, and our various needs attended to, we do full justice to the fare, partly because we are really hungry, and partly because any meal away from home seems to taste nicer. The Infant placidly munches a crust, his baby mind as busy as his small white teeth! THE MAORIS’ MECCA After lunch we fare forth again and continue our shopping. My neighbour’s many needs attended to, the library visited, we begin to feel a little weary. The town is full now; it it becoming difficult to keep together. We greet many friends and acquaintances, calmly standing in the middle of the footpath to talk, ivhile the traffic flows past us like a wave, only to break round the next gossiping group. All around us are women with prams, flappers in gay attire, men who to judge by their appearance, work hard; cars, carts, horses, a train in the distance, the busy boat, and above all, Maoris —this on a Saturday afternoon is their Mecca. All sorts and conditions of Maoris; well-dressed, Europeanised Maoris apeing the white man’s dress and customs, and openly disdainful of their own race; semi-civilised Maoris, with a gaudy taste in colours and a passion for ice-cream and moving-pic-tures. This latter class predominates —there are literally hundreds of them; gay, lazy, laughing people, intent on enjoying themselves, squatting along the gutters eating fish and chips, gossiping surrounded by babies of all sizes and in the weirdest of clothes; often dirty, often howling, but all imbued with the holiday spirit. Here and there sits an ancient crone, a relic of former days, bent and wrinkled and tattooed, her dress some black garment of European origin, her toothless mouth grinning and gaping as she holds forth to the younger women. Not a word of English can she peak, but one of her many daughters is always ready to interpret. One wonders what stirring scenes she has seen in the past, and what she thinks of the transition of this little gem of a harbour into the modern place it is now. HOMEWARD BOUND But there is no time to dream today; we are pushed and jostled until Father departs Lizzie-wards and we gather together our belongings and in a little while we are packed in once more, plus a fearsome load of packages and bundles. A momentary halt here and there for stray parcels, and at last we are off again, tired but happy. The sun is sinking and the hills are a warm pinky-purple. Along the main road we fly, leaving a trail >f dust behind us, and then up, up, into the hills The sun has set now and a ‘.hill is creeping into the air. The bush is dark and mysterious-looking, a solitary owl hoots, and it is almost with a feeling of relief that I see our little settlement loom ahead and discern our own little grey home in the fast-gathering dusk. The Infant is fast asleep and the two in the back seat are very subdued. It has been a long day *or us all. and unconsciously we all breathe a sigh of relief as the car stops and we disentangle ourselves from rugs and parcels, and alight. To-morrow we shall appreciate it til, but for to-night we long for tea and then the comfort of bed and the bliss of dreamless sleep. MARJORIE M. COLHOUN. j Waists are slowly returning to their normal position. This return seems to bring a revival of the fichu effect, which, coming in various guises, from the narrow one with soft tied ends worn by our grandmothers, to the all round cape effect, soften many gowns in both silk and cotton materials.