The Sun 42 WYNDHAM STREET, AUCKLAND MONDAY, DECEMBER 24, 1928 CHRISTMAS

Sun (Auckland), Volume II, Issue 545, 24 December 1928, Page 10

The Sun 42 WYNDHAM STREET, AUCKLAND MONDAY, DECEMBER 24, 1928 CHRISTMAS

WHAT a city to sack,” said Blueher of London, and a study of the Christmas merchandise in Auckland’s shop-windows inspires the same sort of sentiment. Christmas customs may rise and fall, hut the practice of giving presents seems to abide and flourish. Thus the occasion has been made a carnival of buying, and Christmas crowds, eager shopping, marts piled high with alluring commodities—these are the first artificial symbols of the imminent festival. Hidden behind all this picturesque and genial bartering,' the deep religious significance of Christmas stands as firm as a pillar, the sacred anniversary round which all the gaudy superficial associations have centred. The enthusiasm with which the revels and festivities of the season are honoured does not lessen the true sanctity of the occasion, nor modify the fervour of its observance. Those who fear that the true spirit of Christmas is passing—lost in the prevailing gaiety—must consult the records of other days. These make our own Christmas festivities seem almost in danger of becoming colourless. Many picturesque customs are almost lost. But a guiding inspiration remains—the urge to gladden the hearts of others with gifts; and human kindness could ask nothing mare.

Under the glowing skies of a sub-tropical summer, we in Auckland are fundamentally unable to follow all the Christmas practices dear to the Homeland. Instead of the leaping flame from the yule-log, we have our blazing pohutukawa flaunting its banners from every headland. Surfing, not skating, is our favourite Christmas pastime; but we still observe a few of that quaint medley of rites which has gathered about Christmastide. Here and there a sprig of holly is hung modestly from a wall, a challenge to the gallant and the fair. Mistletoe there is none, and the New Zealand “gigi,” which is an equivalent vegetable parasite, seems to have no poetic associations suitable for indoor application; though out of doors, may be, it plays its part. We lack the ruddy coals of an English Christmastide, and we scarcely revel in the gaiety of those Christmas games—charades and snapdragon—which, at this distance, seem to invest the memory of' the old-world Christmas with a character seemingly much more prim than it really was. But young New Zealand finds pleasure in other amusements. The Christmas eve fox-trot can possess a perspiring heartiness unsurpassed even in the depths of winter. Waits we have none, in the trupst sense of the word; but carols may echo down the quiet street on Christmas morning, and we do not forget. The. sorrowful entry of a celebrated diarist comes to mind. With his usual candour, he made this note for Christmas, 1668; “To dinner alone with my wife, who, poor wretch, sat undressed all day till ten at night, altering and lacing of a noble petticoat.” There will he many in our community to spend nearly all tomorrow clad in considerably less than Dame Pepys. Lying upon the beaches, they will absorb a sunlight Pepys never knew in the murky winter of his London. So passes a New Zealand Christmas. We have lost some picturesque customs; but in place of these the New Zealand Christmas is developing a character of its own. If the form of its expression has been modified, the actual spirit of tradition remains firm.