SUNDAY CONCERT

New Zealand Listener, Volume 2, Issue 47, 17 May 1940, Page 42

SUNDAY CONCERT

(Written for "The Listener" by

Wanda

Hall

mother was listening to the wireless. She always did on Sundays, and he had to play quietly by him-self-not that he minded that — there were so many things to do. But to-day he wanted to make things. To make something real; not cut-outs, or building set castles or things with cotton reels or daisy chains, but something useful, something that would belong to the grown-up world. It was a sulky-faced boy who kicked a mechanical toy until it broke; then he stood still a moment, staring intently at nothing, then burst into activity. He went for his bucket, his spade, then up to the wet bank to get the best clay. A stick to mix the water in-no, the stick was no good, so the small hands worked the icy mixture and a jersey sleeve wiped drips from eyes and nose. For a while he squatted there, his hands L: was Sunday afternoon, and his

modelling carefully, his skin pricked to gooseflesh by an unnoticed wind. It was finished, and he carried it carefully to the kitchen to see if Janet would bake it for him. She would, and she would call him when it was ready. So he went out again and sat thinking of all the things he would make. He would use them; he would give them away; he would have a factory and get lots and lots of money — "Oh, it is finished? Thank you." He took it, rushed to the sitting room and. bursting in, said: "Look Mummy! A cup and saucer. I made it, and. I’m going to -" "Dick! Haven’t I told you over and over again not to talk when I’m listening to the wireless, and look at your hands and your best shoes and trousers all covered with clay and all over the carpet too. Oh, you’ve spoilt everything, you horrid little boy."