TAKING PERCY TO THE GARDENS

New Zealand Listener, Volume 2, Issue 38, 15 March 1940, Page 11

TAKING PERCY TO THE GARDENS

by

Phyllis

McDonagh

Percy would be spending two or three days in Wellington on his way through to the South Island. Percy was my cousin, rather a nebulous one, for I had seen him only five or six times in my lifemainly when he was a nasty freckled-faced little boy who insisted on flicking my ankles with a switch as a sort of playful pastime. But Percy, we heard, had grown up inte the masculine counterpart of a Blué Stocking. He had forsaken all his nasty ways, and developed into a studious, sober-rninded young man. 5 HBG He was to afrive on Monday, and I was instructed as a dutiful cousin, to go in and meet Percy, entertain him for the day, and bring him home for dinner. ‘ T breakfast, Father announced thé news. Bad Beginning The day did not begin very well. I was twenty minutes late, for one thing. It was all the fault of

the bus. I was just getting in, when I remembered I had no cigarettes (I felt quite sure Percy didn’t smoke). I jumped out again afid ran across to the corner shop to buy a packet. You would have thought the bus-driver would have used his head and realised I had run off to buy something. But no, when I came out again-it could not have been more than five minutes laterthe bus had gone! Was I mad? I had to wait fifteen minutes for the next one. Percy was waiting for me at the Railway Stop, and I could see by the look of his face he wasn’t taking it too well-my being jate, I mean. So the first thing I did was to apologise and explain the delay. Percy’s palé blue eyes, which hadn’t altered much since he was a small boy, regarded me thoughtfully through his pincenez. Whén I finished explaining he said: "What a girl!" Now, I think it was real nice of him to take it that way, don’t you? To offer the other cheek, as it were, by paying me a compliment when I didn’t really deserve it. It showed what a nice spirit he must have, though you would nevér suspect it to look at hirn.

"Now, what would you like to do, Percy? I though it might bé a good idéa to take 4 run out to the Exhibition-the Roller Coaster is a real thrill-and as for Jack and fill. . ." Percy gave a nervous little cough. "Well, I was rather counting on seeing the Gardens. I’m pretty keen on that sort of thing." " God's Children " I struggled to kéep the dismay otit of my voice. The Gardens? But why the Gardens? The prospect looked as bleak as Percy’s pince-néz, and I could jee my day’s pleasure receding with the Roller Coaster. Still, I remembered my duty and managed to enthuse a forced interest in my voice. " But that would be lovely, Percy. I haven’t been there for ages, and really, I’m very fond of flowersthey are such pretty little things." "They are God’s children," said Percy, piously. That statement kept me busy all the way up to the Kelburn cable-tram. I had never thought of them that way before, and it just goes to show that a person can be a poet at heart, and but for a chance remark, you would never discover it. I looked at Percy with a new respect. It was Percy’s first trip up in the cable car, and éven this short trip made him quite car-sick. He hung on to my arm, as he said he had the most

powerful desire to jump off into space. I was relieved when we reached the top. Sibi Percy on Poppies The Gardens looked lovely this day: Everything was so fresh and green and colourful. The flowers, as Percy said, were more than just pretty little things-they were God’s own children. I was détermined not to let Percy’s superior horticultural lore keep mé lagging too far behind. I remembered hazily a bed of red poppies in the lower Gardens, and draggéd Percy off in search of it. My guess was correct. There it was-glowing brilliant and dazzling in thé sunlight. I felt a shine of pridé-as if I had grown them myself,

"Now, what do you think of those for poppies?" " Ah-Eschscholtzia-one of the most intéresting éxainples of seed distribution. . . The whole subkingdom of the spermatophytes or séed-bearing plants is divided into two classes-the Gymnosperins and the Angiosperms; the last being divided again ito two other classes-the Dicotyledons and the Monocotyledons." That took the wind out of my sails a bit, but I was determined not to be outdone. The pretty heads of a bed of Scabias noddéd to mé. Here I was on familiar ground. "What darling scabias-ahd how prolific!" " Scabiosa Caucdsica," corréctéd Percy austerely. "An éffective colour scheme by the side of that Mathiola, don’t you think?" "That what?" "Mathiola- of the 6th order -Cruciféeral. 28 Généra-common gardén-name — Stock." "Rather a mouthful," I giggled. Percy looked at me reprovingly across his glasses. "We have the botanist Linnzus to thank for simplifying the names of plants and flowers. Originally they were almost unpronounceable." I swallowed my protest, humbly. We had turhed up a shady path, bordered on either side by dense foliage and spreading ferns. I recogniséd the friendly face of a puriga. "Ten’'t it sweet," I éxclaiméd, "like @ lovely, cool, shady umbrella."

Percy’s cold eyé swept the small férn-clad gorge, " Pteridophyta," he remarked briefly. It sounded profane. I moved on hastily to avoid another blast. Percy was close on my heels. In his cold way he. appeared to be enjoying himself. Percy Recites Shakespeare With his stick he pointed to a pretty little bed of wild pansies. "Know thém?" It seemed too good to be true. " Heartsease;’ I gabbled. Percy did not appéar to hear. His héad was thrown back and his Adam’s Apple moved up and down as he recited in a sepulchral tone: "A little Western flower, Before milk-white, now purple with lové’s wound, And fiaidens call it love-in-idleness . . ."

I félt a rush of unwillitig admiration. "Oh, Percy, how clever you are! Did you réally compose that all on your own?" Percy’s chill gaze seeméd to pass over me arid wither me. " Shakespeare," he replied cuttingly. I swallowed hatd. But; on second corsideration, I was glad it was Shakespeare, I might have known this cold fish could not compose ahything so dainty. . . We moved ort. The sun was hot and my feet began to ache. There was a cool spot of shadé bénéath a big trée, and I suggested we sit down. "Look!" said Percy, quickly. "There's a Creeping Jenny." "Where?" I cried excitedly. "I can’t see her." "She," said Percy scathingly, "happens to be a flower!" I went hot with moftification. How was I to know? I'd never heard of the beastly thing. But I bit my lip, and kept silent. Milk and Water Percy, with a magnanimous gesttiré,

pointed to the water lilies. "Water lilies?" I said-but without hope. " Nymph-aeaceae," said Percy, " Quite an interesting history-they extract pure tannic acid from the flower. Thé Turké have a method of preparing a cooling drink from this type of lily . . ." The word "drink" acted like a spell on mé. Straightway my fainting soul thought of tea. I made the tentative suggestion to Percy. Hé looked at me in pained surprise. "Why, Dora, don’t tell me you are a tea-drinker, You are imbibing the poison of tanhic acid-might as well eat those lilies. . ." " Coffee?" I pleaded. "Oxalic acid-just as bad." "Cocoa?" I croaked. 3 Packed with oxalic," he pronounced, "might as well drink poison. What about a glass of milk?" "Can’t stand the beastly stuff!" , "Théri what about a nice glass of cold water?" "A bus!" I muttered hysterically. "Never héard of it," said Percy. "A bus! — Home — let’s go home!" With tottering steps and reeling sénsés, I made for the Exit... * * * That night, at home, I heard Percy tell Father that I was a nice child, really, but a bit backward!