Women—Beasts of Burden

Sun (Auckland), Volume II, Issue 547, 27 December 1928, Page 6

Women —Beasts of Burden

TRAVEL IN PORTUGAL I ' English M.P.’s Impression WE found that to reach Oporto we had to travel fifteen miles from Leixoes, which, to me at least, seemed one of the most gruesome, poverty-stricken spots on God's earth that I have ever sampled. And the maids'? Ye gods, the maids! To forget them would be impossible. God help them ! The sight of the women, old and young, at their work, makes a man not only blush for his own sex, but declaim vigorously against the conditions he witnesses. £So writes HVIr. James Sexton, MM*., for the Liverpool ‘‘Weekly Post."

Loads a Mule Will Jib At Picture to yourselves, if you can, women carrying" on their heads loads against which the ordinary mule would kick. As a matter of fact, I witnessed one myself jibbing against what appeared to be a lighter load than vne woman who stood looking on was herself carfying. Picture to yourselves, you dainty flappers at home, women and girls, all of them tramping barefoot along the primitive rough roads where teams of oxen find it extremely difficult to draw their loads! These women are haggard at 30, for despite the health-giving seaboard, in slums as bad as, if not worse than, those of our crowded cities, in a state of semi-barbarity, except that, with all their faults, they don’t bob their hair and show any leg above the bare ankle. Everything in Leixoes, in fact, is on the primitive scale, except for the few motor-cars reserved exclusively for the tourist who can afford the luxury to transport him a few miles away from the not too salubrious atmosphere of the not too fresh fish, which seems to be the sole industry of the small colony, to the charming, but striking contast of the real Oporto. Lisbon and the Revolution In this respect the revolution (after the manner of revolutions) does not seem to have changed things much for the better. Even in the beautiful city of Lisbon, set on its seven hills, with its magnificent squares resplendent in semitropical flora, aye, even in the magnificent gateway where King Carlos and his son. the Crown Prince Luiz Phillipe, were so foully murdered, w T e witnessed bare-footed w omen bearing their burdens, and we were beset by the beggars, who importune one at every turn, but who, in spite of their hard lot. still cling to the long skirt and hair, instead of the more fashionable styles of our own more modern civilisation, which seems to have somehow missed Portugal altogether. And in this respect at least the advantage from the point of view of modesty seems to be with Portugal. This may be part of the country’s primitiveness, of course; bul; one thing is noticeable that, with the exception of luxury motor-cars which seem to have reached the very end of the earth, there is no motor traction or power used in industrial

transport whatever, as far as one could see, all this being done by mules. One very remarkable, and in some respects pleasing, result of the revolution is represented by the Royal Palace at Cintra. For though the revolutionaries dethroned the King, they seem to have the good taste merely to keep this particular palace—the Royal Family lived for the greater part of the year in Lisbon—as a memento instead of a habitation,, even of an official character, unlike their prototypes in Russia. The tragedy, however, is the King’s palace in Lisbon itself. Here, quartered in its somewhat dilapidated revolutionary-wrecked building, are troops of the republic, whose regimental predecessors, no doubt, contributed to the original dilapidation; for though it was generally accepted that the revolution which did not immediately follow the assassination of King Carlos was relatively bloodless, the King’s palace in the city at least bears evidence to a vigorous resistance. I was somewhat at a loss to know why the palace was allowed to remain in this state—though I am informed by those who visited the palace two years ago it was then much worse—and my queries provoked an answer which was in rather bad taste. That as one good or bad turn deserves another, it was being reserved as a place of refuge for English Royalty when “the British revolution occurred.” I could not resist the temptation of suggesting to the would-be humorist that in that case it would be a wilful waste of raw material, and that every stone was doomed to natural decay.