Mundane Musings

Sun (Auckland), Volume I, Issue 285, 22 February 1928, Page 4

Mundane Musings

l At the Seaside ( Written for THE SUN.) I was lucky enough to find a comfortable shelter at the beach of my j choice the other afternoon, one that was designed by a genius. Instead of I having to sit in a long straight row, j like passengers on a ferry steamer, so ! that you felt that everyone was taking you for the paid attendant of the ; eccentric old gentleman next to you who couldn’t stop shaking his head on ; to your shoulder, and who wore a ; bowler hat and a shawl and white j canvas shoes, you could sit in comfort j in tiny compartments built to hold j only two. There was another tenant of my ! bench the other day; a large-faced j woman wearing striped washing silk, and a hair-net arrangement with a Lenglen bandeau attached. I think they are two and eleven: and the washingsilk frock was, I shoLild say, about 45 shillings. But, no . . . she was so big that she probably had to have an 0.5., so it would cost 47s 6d. She was reading “Lady Clarice’s Ordeal,’’ and I think she was enjoying it, for every now and then a tear brimmed over and trickled squidgily down her nose to break just where it was beginning to peel. The sea was in one of its pleasant moods. There was no mystery, no j anger, no cruelty in that smiling water that swayed so rhythmically back and forth. It was as ingenious as a wellbred child, and seemed to say, “Me swallow people up and suck down the big steamers and bury the bones of poor sailors in my bed? Absurd! You must be thinking of someone else.” But, in spite of its sunny assurances, the life-saving men patrolled the beach, and gave demonstrations of their skill at rescuing incautious swimmers. There were crowds of people bathing, mostly children, but children of all ages. The sun seemed to have brought them out like flies. Parents bobbed happily about in the gentle surf, with that curious up-and-down bob of the bathing parent, in complete forgetfulness of the printed blue forms, like the ones that I keep to give colour relief to my cream-painted room, that threaten immediate imprisonment if payment is not made within 11 days. And one dear paddling old lady, with her skirts lifted well above her knees and a respectable feather boa floating

from her shoulders, I suspected of be ing several times a grandmother. The composite noise of high-pitched voices, gurgles of laughter, splashing of j

feet, squeals and squeaks at the shock of the first dip, and barking of irrelevant dogs, formed a kind of symphonic accompaniment to the blazing summer afternoon. It would make rather a good theme ! for a symphony. I present it gratis, to any composer who is out of composite noises at the moment, and is looking round for another. I think the horns should introduce the bobbing-parent motif; the theme should then be passed to the strings for the general tuneless rhythm of the sea, the children, and (trombone entry here), the irrelevant dogs; while the paddling grandmother with the feather boa should, I think, be given to the wood-wind. It is odd how the sea brings out the instinctive philosopher in man. Even the comparatively small piece of sea that I chose to go and look at was enough to set one pondering and speculating. Behind me as I watched and dreamed upon the eternal nature of the sea, its perpetual ebb and flow, its large and irrevocable wateriness, there passed along the roadway a stream of vehicles, which, I knew, though I could not see them, to be composed of motor-cars, lorries, buses, boys on bicycles, one or two invalids in wheeled chairs, and other things. Behind me i there went the changing pageant of man’s vehicular transport. Behind me there passed the ephemeral, the mutable, the fashion of a moment; the motor-bus, successor to the four-in-hand; the limousine, where once would have rolled the victoria; the carburetter that has supplanted the horse: all be superseded in turn, no doubt by the aircraft of the future. Before me there lay stretched the eternal, the unchanging: the element from which we struggled out, after untold ages of struggling, puny, elementary amoebae, to lie about exhausted on the sand. | much as that fat man in the red and j white bathing-suit was lying before us. But it was not only the sea that was expressive of all that is eternal that afternoon. There passed three flappers, after whom three youths in Coney Island suits cast friendly, tentative glances. I remembered that they had passed in the same order only half an hour before, going the opposite way. The flappers were a little less haughty this time, and one of them turned round —not. of course, to look at her admirer (of whose existence she was supremely unaware), but to see the time by the clock over the tea kiosk. The same ageold, classic ceremony. But I wished they would be quick, and get on with it —or rather, get off with it —and not waste the golden hours in merely technical preliminaries. A very superior young couple passed. He in white flannels, and a soft silken shirt. She, in a royal blue frock and a tortoise-shell rimmed pair of goggles. Her blonde hair was scraped back into a near-Eton crop to accentuate her lack of personality, though she seemed to consider herself a wiggly vampire to judge from the way she walked along. They were much too high-class to notice the frivolous sea chattering on the beach below. A scrap of their conversation drifted down. It was intended to be bright as they discussed the modern in literature and art . . . poor moderns. But the little nearly-Airedale puppy, who had run away from his people just for a lark, wasn’t trying to be high-brow a bit. He stood wagging his tail at the sea and jumping about for happiness on his own shadow, and divining in his neighbourhood a sympathetic spirit, he came and told me all about it* h.m. i

FOR THE AMATEUR DRESSMAKER If the amateur dressmaker were only aware of the various aids that are hers almost for the asking, what much better results she might easily achieve! How few women know, for example, that it is now possible to take your own material to a firm who will embroider upon it wonderful sunray patterns in diamante and steel beads after the manner of the models shown in the best shops. All you have to do is to indicate upon the fabric just exactly where you wish the ornament to be drafted out. and the miracle wijl be achieved—at a moderate cost. The best plan is first to cut out the stuff by a good pattern and to fit it on. Then it will be a simple matter to decide just where the embroidery is to come, an indication by means of a thread in a contrasting tint making this clear to the worker. Embroideries in gold and silver, mingled with coloured silks, like those that adorn the smartest jumper suits, can likewise be applied by machine to your own material. The cost is very small compared with that charged for the ready-made and embroidered garment. Do not commit the mistake, however, of having the fabric embroidered before it is cut and fitted, or you may find that the design does not adapt itself perfectly to the spaces concerned. These facilities do not apply merely to frocks and wraps. The most opul-ent-looking scarf can be contrived from half a yard of georgette embroidered at the ends in silks and beads. A good plan is to have the embroidery carried out by the machinist and to add the necessary beads and diamante at home. An excellent pattern is a floral one that will permit of coloured glass beads being applied to the hearts of flowers and buds,

TO MAKE A THREE-FOLD SCREEN

: A screen is a great comfort in a bedroom where it is necessary to have ' the windows always open, and yet avoid a draught. It is somewhat expensive to buy, but a very useful one 5 may be made at home. • Get the man of the house to make a ' light frame of soft wood —each fold of ’ the screen should be 6ft by 2ft, or, al--3 ternatively, get a clothes horse of the - right size. Cover the frame with cheap _ unbleached calico, of which about one 3 dozen yards will be required. First [ throw the calico into warm water, put - it through the wringer and hang on the clothes line to dry. Before it is quite 5 dry, tack it on to the frame, beginning at the top end, turning in half an inch —straight to a thread —so as to get ? a firm hold of the calico for the tacks. 1 If drawn as tightly as possible, while ; damp, it gives considerably and then 5 shrinks again while drying, so that it ' becomes perfectly taut when nailed [ down firmly. ' After nailing the calico evenly to a ’ fold of the frame at one end, pulling it • firmly between each nail, draw it down ■ tightly to the other end and securely , nail it there. Next, fasten down the ' sides. Bo not cut off the calico, but 1 draw it over to the other side of the 1 fold and cover in the same way; then cut away the calico. Repeat the pro- ' cess with the other two folds of the • screen and leave to dry. ’ Make some size with boiling water (half a pound size to one quart water), [ When dissolved, but yet warm and of J the consistency of liquid gum, size over every inch of the calico so as to have no air bubbles in the paper which ' next must be pasted on. ' To make your paste, mix the flour ' smooth with cold water, then add boil- [ ing water, stirring all the time and add- • ing to it a spoonful of the size. Use a good thick plain paper for the • final cover. This can be ornaL mented, if so desired, with a sten- • cilled border. Cut the paper to fit the . frame; lay it on the table, brush over l with paste, and hang it on the frame in the ordinary paper-hanging fashion, T taking a clean duster to press it down i smoothly and taking care not to leave [ room for air bubbles. ? I The screen may be bound with American cloth cut into three-inch ' strips, each strip folded into two. In l binding the edges where the hinges . are to go, put two folds of the screen r together like a sandwich, then secure , the binding by means of brass nails. It ’ would be as well, unless you are someL what of a carpenter, to let the man of L the house fix the hinges on to the - screen, J.C. Boots and shoes that have become • hardened by water may be rendered quite soft again by the application of a little paraffin. The oil should be applied on a cloth and rubbed well into the leather. This also tends to preserve the leather. To cure an attack of hiccoughs, try ■ placing the fingers in both ears and 1 j getting someone to give you a drink of • j water. If about half to three-quarters 1 i of a cup of water is drunk in this way’ - the hiccoughs stop immediately. Ladies requiring toilet attention can rely on experienced service in cool, daylight, beautifully appointed rooms. 1 Permanent waving, Marcel and water waving, tinting, staining, face massage (with ice packs), head treatment, etc. i Stamford’s Salons, opposite ‘'Herald” j Queeg 31xSSt. pgog.e 42-189. 2j