MY DIARY

New Zealand Listener, Volume 3, Issue 57, 26 July 1940, Page 40

MY DIARY

By

Kath

MONDAY: On Monday, Hig always groans extra loud when the alarm goes-all alarums and no excursions! And rain too: "Pll get rained off to-day," Hig said, "Sure as eggs." Who'd be a wage-slave, I think resentfully, every morning as I take the icy plunge at 5.45. A faint consolation to see lights across the way and know that others are in the same box.’ The chaos is appalling, and calls out for what mother calls elbow-grease. Look at it! Len’s brilliant attempts at rigging a wireless, an eruption of bel:s and screws: muddy boots, a heavy sprinkle of cake crumbs. How did they find my chocolate cake? The only place left for hiding treasures is on my person. Yes, the house is.a ruin; it’s raining. Wet Mondays are the’ devil. TUESDAY: Our butcher is good fun, not that he knows it. If the shop is: fairly empty we have a word, mostly about the war. Mr. Hutt thrives on rumours and interprets each new event in the light of the Scriptures. "It's a worrying time," he said this morning, "it’s the time ‘of the Second Coming. Matk my words," I did. I told Hig at tea. Hig chuckled. "Poor old Hutt doesn’t know who’s coming or who’s going." I'd like to be as certain as my _ butcher. WEDNESDAY : I got out of bed on the right foot and went like smoke from the word Go. I simply glissaded through the ironing and even had time to make a big batch ‘of cheese scones, a good way of getting rid of that piece of stale cheese. After lunch I was hugging the sun and darning socks like an old contented cow. Then in rushes Dod, a nasty rent in his. pants. "Mend them mum," he says. "They are all I’ve got, ‘cept me best." "Say "please," I say tartly. Of all the jobs. Talk about Atlas with all the world on his back. THURSDAY: Lovely and sunny again. I rushed round and left a lunch for the youngsters. Thursday is a grand day, really; you can breathe. In a gay recklessness I

didn’t even walk to the 4d section, but took a 5d instead, Dash it, I'd earned it, and might even drop in for a cup of Continental Coffee. In New Zealand we smother coffee with boiled milk, But this is the real thing. I had a wild hunt for many things, including lunch-papers. I tried nearly ‘every place in town and actually landed one roll. Staggering at last to my tram (not drunk, but laden), I collapsed on the seat and started counting my parcels (including a huge cauliflower, wrapped in newspaper). Everything except my precious lunch paper! FRIDAY: Gave the rooms a bit of a flourish. Tidiness is my motto, but Hig says I’m too kind to the cobwebs. Oh well, spiders must live. In the afternoon my nose was deep in a book when in walked Agatha, cock-a-hoop as usual. She flung her fur down anywhere and started about her boy friend (she’s not so young either). "A new one?" I queried. "Why not?" said Agatha. "Wilfred called in

yesterday and said ‘Where shall we go?’ And I said ‘Let’s go to Maybank; it’s so lovely and quiet; I want to commune with the birds-to be one with the universe — YOU know, the cosmos." "I don’t know much about the cosmos," I say, refilling her cup, "I only know my suburb." Agatha is very much in tune with the infinite. SATURDAY: Always a day of rush, the youngsters getting in the way, and to-day it was Hig as well. He was putting a new faucet on the scullery tap, so I couldn’t do my usual cooking. I sent Ray out to buy a sponge and we all liked the change. Good news. If it’s fine to-morrow we’re being taken to the Clevedon farm, Here’s luck, SUNDAY: Hooray, no rain. A _ biting wind, though. At about 10.30 Jean called with the car and Christie in it; Ray would be able to amuse him. What beautiful rolling country Clevedon is; the Sussex Downs must be something like that. What a glorious log fire they had, and I couldn’t stop eating the homemade wholemeal bread; I was worse than Ray! We went out to see the old sow with her new litter of nine. Ray and Christie squealed with delight and certainly the piglets, especially the two tan ones with spots, looked as if they’d been cut out of wood. "Aren’t they comical?" I said, and Jean capped it by saying, "They’re very Walt Disney." She’s always pat like that; I can only think of things afterwards.