THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WHISTLE

New Zealand Listener, Volume 2, Issue 36, 1 March 1940, Page 42

THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WHISTLE

When The Exhibition Isn't Exhibiting

tion? It’s really, in a ‘way, the best one-child-dren all in bed and your neighbour to mind them-and off you go, free as air, for a three-hour prowl of all the nooks and crannies you were dying to explore the afternoon your brought. Aunt Maud and her feet got tired, No good going in a crowd like that, anyhoweveryone wanting to stop and look at different things and the endless.argument about which which Court next and getting home late for baby’s feeding time. Much better at night with just your two selves and three jolly, empty hours. Besides, there are the lights-rippling up, rippling down against the black sky, piercing the long still pools, and the fountain flinging up a sixty-foot noose or breaking suddenly like a great coloured flower. Inside, everything lit and festive , . . it’s an outing worth while! wer * * ‘ ae But have you stayed till Closing: Time-till the long shrill whistle goes-five full minutes. of deafening sound that puts an ‘end to everything? When. you take your hands from your ears the stalls are cleared arid shuttered and dim--the. last of the workers are snatching up coats and bags and making for the last busvhome. sig *: eo Ce: If you should stay later than that-but, of course, you only can if you’re allowed-you'd know a different Exhibition, a secret and intimate one. You'd witness the strange nightly ritual-bands of attendants who come and go about their duties, silently like priests, removing the-last evidence of the day. But it’s all a very secret and'.intimate affair. The Exhibition-that Colossal _Performer-isn’t exhibiting. AVE you made the night visit to the Exhibi- -* * %* Once I had to wait for a friend whose job went on beyond the long shrill whistle. I found a chair among the General Exhibits and sat me down with a cigarette. All about were empty stalls-silence. And one after another the lights departing like a stage dimming for another act. Then, in the distance, the Players. The sound of many feet approaching up the two outer avenues of the vast hall. On three sides I was walled round by a partition. I was hidden away in the wings, I listened. Somewhere out of sight a great clanging arose. No voices. And then a quiet swishing that grew-like the surge of an oncoming tide. Just as I thought the wave must break, the players rounded the corner and the surge ceased suddenly while they stared at me. Then I understood the mechanics of the business. Each man was armed with a long-handled broom with the longest sweeping part I had ever seen-so long, in fact, that wires were fixed to hold it firmly in place. It would never do for a wobble to break that rhythmic swish, Each broom pushed before it an ever-growing heap of the day’s leavings-paper, boxes, lost handkerchiefs, crumpled cards, wrappers, cigarette-ends and just plain dust. The cleaners stared once and then moved on, steering their small pyramids of rubbish to make a central mountain. Then they turned and trudged away and I was left alone. Suddenly-quite near-the floor opened and a man rose out of-a bright lit space. Ha! The villain of

the piece, I thought, and prepared to watch his stealthy movements. He moved with long strides this way, then that, reaching up with his hand to pull here and wrench there. With each movement, from far away up in the rafters, came a grinding noise and a rattle as ventilators swung into~ place, Then he descended quickly .into: his. mysterious Inferno and pulled the trap-door. down on_ his head. I lit another cigarette. Curious pantomime. I -was enjoying myself hugely. Next Act, please.. 2 Ah, now I could hear it, somewhere in the wingsa like thunder, and again many feet. And round the corner into view they came-surely the Seven Dwarfs-pulling a low waggon, six a side and one walking behind. On it were piled enormous bins with corrugated sides: Past they went and out of sight, then a clank and a clatter-and when I got up a moment later to see, the carefully-built mountain of, rubbish just wasn’t there. What now, I thought? Perhaps nothing more, The stage was.silent. I pulled a little table towards me, a stub of pencil from my pocket and began to write, But the play was not over. Slow heavy steps, this time, pausing, moving on, but, always out of sight. And then in full view beside me, a great black figure-surely the High Priest of all. c I prepared to cower. But he removed his headdress with one hand and with the other .loosened an.enormous blue macintosh at the neck. He wwe a long, slow, friendly grin, : "Doing your homework?" he. said. ‘Mor "Yes," I replied," "-just, that." There was silence while he thought it out. "Terrible place, this, at night," he observed, "T like it," I said, "You wouldn’t, for eight hours at a stretch," he said, grimly. "On. your own.’ "Probably not," I agreed. " Not too often." _ "You've seen that tapestry" work round by the Women’s Court?" " Yes. % "What sort of chap would you have to be to do that, do you think?" , I considered. " Just any sort of chap-probably a nice sort of chap." -"Think I could do it?" "Tf you. wanted .to." "TI think I'll have to try," he said seriously, "Ta have to find something to do on this duty." % 2 % "Ready!" ‘A long call echoed down the avenues of dim shapes. " That's: for me," I said and gathered up my things. "Tl give you a light with my torch," said the High Priest. ‘‘Two thousand. stitches to the square inch. What is it-patience; or what?" "Hmm... patience, mostly, I should say," I replied as. he greeted my friend, turned. the. key in the lock and let us out of the temple. % * * "Nice policeman, that," said my friend as we made off between the dark’ flower-beds towards the main gates. " Terribly sorry I kept you waiting so long after the whistle." "T liked it," I said. "It's rather nice to know the Exhibition when it isn’t exhibiting."

Ann

Slade