Jane Mander Doesn’t Relish a London Christinas

Sun (Auckland), Volume III, Issue 851, 20 December 1929, Page 5 (Supplement)

Jane Mander Doesn’t Relish a London Christinas

Born in Auckland, Miss Jane Mander won fame with her ■■Story of a Neio Zealand River.” She has lived Since, then in Mew York and London, and has published several successful novels—“ The Passionate Pilgrim.” “The Strange Attraction,” “The Besieging City” and “ Pins and Pinnacles.” Miss Mander has been a frequent contributor to THE SUM.

I am not the best person in the world to send a Christmas message to Sun readers, as I loathe both “messages” and Christmas,

and, as an exile from home, cannot be expected to enjoy a celebration which is peculiarly that of the happy hearthstone. However, as I also loathe dispensers of gloom, not only at Christmas, but at any time, I must struggle to say something cheerful, and at least I can congratulate New Zealanders on an open air season, which is what any self-respecting Christmas ought to be. Don t let the panegyrics of literature and tradition lead you into supposing that the English Christmas is any better than yours. It may be the time of those glorious log fires you read about (unknown in the cities), but it is also the time of asthma, chilblains, rheumatism, colds, and the 'flu. And as for Christmas in London well, the one time in my life when I am tempted to take drugs is the month before it arrives. It hangs over London an ominous inevitable incubus. It dominates all phases of life. This friend cannot take a walk because of some Christmas shopping to be done. That one cannot go to the theatre for a similar reason. The homes where you dine are dining you no more till that ominous “it” is over. The people you ask to dinner cannot come. Civilised life is dislocated. Christmas disrupts all your interests, holds up the regular procession of the arts, surrounds you with a most amazing number of people who expect tips, and bring to your fireside the saddest collection of lonely souls ever got together. Sighs and groans fill the air. “Oh if the d d (Christmas concession to the gentility of my countrymen) thing were only over” is the chorus. And once it is, what a change! On the 27th of December gloom is gone. One’s look is now joyously forward. The shortest day has passed as well as the worst. Two minutes of light, one now gaily remembers, is gained every twenty-four hours. New Year next week. Spring is coming. Somehow, in our relief, we always say spring is coming immediately after Christmas. when, as a matter of fact, it is anything but coming. But the belief is the measure of our thankfulness that the horror is over, and that something not dreaded is ahead. And so, my dear Sun readers, to bed, with thanks in your prayers for a sunny and picnieky season that, yourselves collaborating, may bring you a little spontaneous joy. And I would I were with you this year to see it. JANE MANDER