Along the Road

Waikato Times, Volume 119, Issue 19887, 16 May 1936, Page 15 (Supplement)

Along the Road

Things are a little excited in the valley. Both Ben and I have been asked to take part in a play that is to be presented in the hall at the near-by village. For the moment I have forgotten what the entertainment is for; indeed. I probably never knew. It seems that there is a part in the play that is guaranteed to suit me and one that Ben will fill. I am informed, with credit to himself and to the Valley. I have not yet received my book of words—that may be because I have asked to be put down as understudy—but Ben is already deep in the study of his role, and I get the benefit. There is supposed to be a touch of the Irish brogue in Ben’s part, and to hear that lad trying to catch it is one of the funniest things I can recall. For the past three days everybody in the place has been “The Broth of a Bhoy” Rehearsals are to commence next week, in the school, and the hardest worker will be the prompter. This outbreak of dramatic fervour. I fancy, can be traced to these drama clubs or committees, promoted by the Women's Institute. It appears that the Institute near enough to be called ours has been doing good work. There is certainly a surprising interest taken in the drama, and it must be good. My most sincere desire to be excused is that I want to see Ben make his first appearance before the footlights—if we have any. I do want to see that. In years long past I' saw some of the world’s greatest, but, as a comedian, I feel that Ben is about to Eclipse Them All. When, years ago, I had access to a good library I used to read plays more than novels. The reason is, I suppose, that so much is left to the imagination. I could see each scene, and seemed to hear the actors and actresses as they played their parts. We all, as Shakespeare said, play many parts, and I have had to witness some real dramas in my day. I once stood on a wharf and watched a woman wave goodbye as the liner carried away the one mail in the world that she really loved. She smiled bravely and a little handkerchief fluttered from her beautiful hand, but she could not command her eyes to play their part; they told the tragedy. When the ship was well down the harbour she walked along that wharf with head erect, acted her part as a brave woman, and let no one see that she bad come to the crisis of her life. I watched her anxiously, sorry to know that she suffered so, but at the same time, completely puzzled. She was a fine woman and that man who

An Occasional Column

(By the Swagger.)

sailed away was as near as any man I have ever known to being a complete waster. What she saw in him I never could undeistand, but I have come acros-s that puzzle many’ times and am satisfied that no man can understand. The Working of a Woman's Heart, the things that win her lasting affection are for most men a mystery. But never can I forget how that woman, that day, acted her part. It was wonderful. Yes, in the real tragedies of life one sees men and women act wonderfully: I once sat with a little woman in a room, and on the table was the evidence that her husband had been unfaithful. She did not act then. I had been his friend, and her friend, too, and the tears ran down her cheeks as she sat there in her misery. I was seeking for ways to console her and at last mentioned the children. “Yes,” she said to herself, the children." And from that day till now she has acted her part. She keeps that home beautiful, receives her husband’s guests with quiet dignity, and lives for her children. But she is acting a part, except when it comes to the children, acting it year by year. I had hoped that gradually that awful blunder would be forgotten, but I now realise that it never can be. It is some years now since we last met, and bravely she told me of how the boy was getting on, and how well the daughter was doing, and instinctively she came to my unasked question. “But—” and there were tears in her eyes, “It can never be the same.” Brave heart, she acts her part, acts it without the world knowing. Once I talked about these things with a learned man and he explained to me how practically everybody erects barriers between themselves and the world. They act a part, pretend something, and live their real life behind it all. You have often heard it said that some person is all right “once you get to know him.” That means once you have seen through the part acted, got behind the barriers, come to Know the Real Man. But I am sure that no man can act his part as well as a woman can act hers. Women can present a smiling face even if the heart is breaking. But with the admiration that that always commands from me there runs a regret that it is not within my powers to ease the suffering when she stands alone; unless, it may be, that an unspoken sympathy, that I have felt myself, may in some way be communicated. I always hope so, but never expect to know.