WHILE THE KETTLE BOILS

New Zealand Listener, Volume 2, Issue 27, 29 December 1939, Page 42

WHILE THE KETTLE BOILS

Dear Friends, Christmas is now two days old, and at present we are in that "between" stage-with one lot of holidays behind us, and another just ahead of us. Did you enjoy your Christmas? I hope every New Zealand household was a complete and happy one last Monday. I always think this day of the year lies closest to every mother’s heart, for despite the extra chores, the bustle end the preparation, every mother’s chick comes home to roost for this annual family gathering. Little differences and quarrels are patched up, big boys and girls become kids again, the aged know a fresh stirring of youth as they relive old triumphs and old memories-while for the child-ren-well, who shall deny them their Day? Father Santa still rides his reindeer through the sky to-day, and many a small heart beats quicker this Christmas at the sound of some unusual stir in the family chimney. These very words recall an incident in my own childhood that is of interest at the moment. I had fallen reluctantly to sleep on Christmas Eve night, after vainly trying to keep awake and surprise Santa on his way down the chimney. At the first glimmer of daylight I awoke. I can still recall that exquisite sensation of joy and wonder as my gaze went to the two other beds where my sisters lay sleeping. There on the end of each bed~ post a pillow-slip bulged with toys and gifts. Mysterious glimpses of scarlet and tinsel. Unimaginable things. Finally I turned to my own bed-post, and there to my horror and blinding disappointment my own pillow-slip hung slack and empty. Heartbroken, and sobbing bitterly, I ran to tell my mother and father that Santa Claus had forgotten me. They told me I must surely be mistaken, and to go and take another look. I obeyed, but without hope. I had already seen that empty pillow-slip. But as I came back into the room, something caught my eye. Something shiny black and scarlet that protruded beneath the bed. I pounced on it and dragged it to light. It was a magnificent stove in black and scarlet, complete with pots, saucepans, frying-pans, kettle, and griller! The blissful, over. whelming relief of that moment. I had not been forgotten after all. The family of boys with whom I am staying made a massacre of the pudding on Christmas Day in their search for threepenny bits, bachelor buttons, lucky tokens and the like. They turned a cold eye on the ceremonial fowl, and devoted themselves exclusively to dissecting the Christmas pudding. The sands of the ebbing year are running outand 1940 is already peeping above the horizon. I wish you all a lucky, a happy, and a prosperous New Year. I hope it may be for you like the Australian boomerang-returning you all the good fortune that went amiss in 1939. All the best! Yours cordially,

Cynthia