Somnambulism

Sun (Auckland), Volume III, Issue 857, 28 December 1929, Page 1

Somnambulism

Still Forms that Glide Through Night TRAGIC OR LAUGHABLE Every now and then, one comes across stories of the extraordinary exploits of those unhappy people who can never be sure when they slip beneath the sheets whether they are to enjoy a normal night’s rest or whether they will glide, unconscious, through the night to add to the extraordinary doings of sleepwalkers. To the outsider the somnambulist is either a subject for study or amusement. He is, however, regarded rather differently by the members of his family who can never be sure what he will do next and what the result may be. In a small flat in a seaside suburb dwell two girls. One, who had been working particularly hard, unexpectedly developed somnambulistic tendencies, much to the alarm of her friend. These symptoms became apparent in a most alarming manner some few weeks ago. The two girls had spent the whole of a Sunday cruising in the Gull with a party on a launch. They had landed at Motuihi in a dinghy and had found some difficulty in embarking on the small boat from the slippery deck of the launch. Early in the evening the girls arrived home, happily tired, and went to bed. Their beds, it should be mentioned, are on a balcony overlooking a concrete yard. The story is then carried on by the girl who is, in a sense, the heroine of It.

“I had been asleep only a short time,” she said, “when I was roused by Audrey’s dreamy voice, ‘X am going to get into this boat if I try all night,’ she exclaimed. The voice did not seem to come from her bed, so I sat up to take stock of the situation. By the light of the moon I saw her with both legs over the verandah railing ready to jump. I sprang from the bed and held on to her shoulders, calling for help the while. After what seemed an age, our landlady came and we hauled Audrey back to safety. As we hauled, she woke and demanded what we meant by pulling her out of bed in the middle of the night.

“This was the most startling of Audrey’s exploits,” continued her friend. “Other incidents that have not approached a near-tragedy have been rather amusing. There was the night when she sat up in bed with the fixed idea that I was drowned. We had been to the Tepid Baths together and I heard her sobbing to herself as she murmured, ‘Poor Elsa. She dived and never came up again. I must go and empty the baths. Her body will be at the bottom.’ She struggled out of bed and walked toward the window. When I restrained her she cried ‘I want to pull tho plug out!’—and she woke.” The young sleep-walker has already made two attempts; to walk the streets in night attire sc;, to guard against future accidents, her ankles are now firmly tied to the frame of the bed before she sleeps. There is still the haunting fear, however, that she may struggle free from her bonds to glide through the silent streets until found. Or perhaps a fall over the cliffs to the sea might end her eerie walk. These possibilities have been fully considered by both girls, who are showing signs of the strain. It is at present hoped that, after a good holiday, the distressing tendencies will be gone, but in the meantime, the one girl wakes in the morning, still tired, and wondering whether she has done anything- particularly outrageous during the night. Her friend enjoys only broken sleep as she knows only too well how the slightest twist of fate can turn a laughable incident into tragedy.