ROSES, ROSES ALL THE DAY

New Zealand Listener, Volume 9, Issue 231, 26 November 1943, Page 12

ROSES, ROSES ALL THE DAY

Street Collecting Can Teach You Much About Your Fellow Men

OU. would think — if you never done it-that selling Roses, Flags, or Poppies means just standing at your allotted corner with a box in one hand and some roses (or flags or poppies) in the other. You would think that there are just two kinds of people: Those Who Buy and Those Who Don't. But there is much more to it than that. When you go "off duty" after two or three hours of selling, you leave a box behind you full of small and bigger silver coins and perhaps containing a note or two of which you are very proud and do a lot of boasting. But you take with you some knowledge of your fellow men and women which you did not have before. The Willing and the Reluctant Among Those Who Buy, of course, are very many who do it willingly, even happily; they have their money ready, often more than just a shilling. They do not wait to be approached; they give you | a friendly smile which seems to say: "You and I are in this, aren’t we? And you like it.’ They are the ones who make the "Seller" happy and justify her job. Quite a number buy because they have to; when they dig into their pockets or search their purses for a shilling (or a sixpence, two threepennies, and three pennies, but by no means a florin) you can actually see them think: "Well, I might just as well buy one and be done with it." There are some who are reluctant buyers and must be persuaded or forced to take a rose and give a shilling. To the "Seller’s" mind these are the most triumphant experiences; she has seen them pass one or two other collectors without buying; obviously they have dodged many before them. But she is determined not to let them go before their buttonholes are properly adorned. She develops several methods for the purpose which

might be classified as "appealing," "flirtatious," or "reproachful"’; one of them will often prove successful. She may let good clients pass while she is dealing with such hard cases; but she does not mind. Colour Preferences Then there is the choice of colours which makes selling roses vastly different from all other street collections. My first customer was my young son, who spent five minutes admiring the differently-coloured roses in my box before he took his choice. That should have made me think. Yet, I was surprised, when walking through the Waterloo train, to find out that all the men (without exception) wanted red roses and red ones only. By the time we reached Petone I was running short of red ones and I had to try and persuade my women customers into choosing blue

and green ones (bad sellers)..I did so by referring to the colour scheme of their ensembles or to their complexion. Mainly the latter worked extremely well; women like their complexions to be referred to. The Non-Buyers Those Who Do Not Buy, of. course, are much more interesting and revealing than Those Who Do. First of all, it is amazing how many Wellingtonians walk about the streets without small change-at least on Rose Day. I pity the tobacconists and Post Offices who have to change a pound note (or a fiver?) when they sell a packet of cigarettes, a box of matches, or a stamp. Some of the No-Change-People are genuine. though. They tell you they will come back later, and they do. This (continued on next page)

(continued from previous page) happens several times every collection day and it always is a happy reunion, gratefully acknowledged by the "Seller." Some people have No Money At All. They are inclined to tell you their whole Life Story, and you feel you have to listen sympathetically, while from the corner of your eye you see some sure cases pass by. You wish to believe them; you surely do not want them to waste the money they haven’t got; but you do not want to waste your time either. One of these produced a shilling, two threepennies and a button from his pocket and told me that this would have to do for his lunch. I felt an urge to take the button and give him a rose (a blue one); but I was afraid that the person who was to empty my box in the evening might misunderstand the presence of the button and take it for an untimely practical joke. So I let him go, button and all. Some Give Advice There are people who don’t give money; but they give Advice. One came up to me, a woman, and said in a confidential tone as though she was presenting me with a most valuable secret: "You try and get hold of fat elderly gentlemen. They are rich." I did not think much of this advice. I know quite a number of fat elderly gentlemen who are not rich. I cannot see why there should be any casual connection between being Fat and being Rich. (Fatness is not always a consequence of over-eat-ing). Even less connection did I see between being Elderly and Rich (the contrary might be the case). And moreover I have had much proof in the past that the Rich-even if they may be recognised by being Fat and Elderlyare not The Ones Who Give. So I took her advice, but I did not use it, and I did not give her a rose for it( not even a blue one). Among my advisers was an old man who offered me a piece of philosophy in lieu of a shilling. It was a difficult philosophy, rather vague and _ hazy, something about the skies being full of aeroplanes designed for destruction and God being beyond and above those aeroplanes. I had an idea of what he was aiming at, though it was not too clear to me, nor to him, I am afraid. But I could not see why his philosophy should prevent him from buying a rose. He ought to have come to the opposite conclusion, I thought. I did not dare to argue with him however: for a number of péople had gathered around us, and I feared he might produce a _ soap-box and mount it any minute. So I preferred to sell roses to the other people and let the old man have his skies and an empty button-hole.

Once-but that was on Poppy Day when the fighting was still on in Africa -I had an encounter with a man who had had one too many. I had not realised it when I offered him a poppy, and I was glad that the bands were just’ passing and holding the attention of the crowd. For he shouted at me at the top of his voice: "You women," he yelled, "You are standing here, selling flowers! Our boys are fighting over there. It should be the other way round!’ I tried to picture myself and the like of me in the desert warfare, standing up to Rommel’s onslaught.. It would not work. I tried to imagine soldiers of the Second Expeditionary Force standing in Willis Street and selling poppies. It would not work either.

Those With Principles The last type of Those Who Do Not Buy are those who don’t do it On Principle. They have "I-would-not-buy-a-rose for-the-life-of-me." written all over them. In a way I admire them, however little I may agree with their probable principles. For it must be much more difficult to walk through the streets with an empty button-hole and a Principle than to buy a rose for a shilling and be one, or at least appear to be one, with the great fraternity of rosewearers on such a day. But what I cannot understand, and do resent, is that they are so nasty. about it. There is much hostility in the way they away or look right through you when vor approach them with your box and roses.

After all, we do not want them to sell their principles to us and pay a shilling on top of it. We stand for one thing; they stand for another. Could we not just grin at one another and respect our different points of view? With roses (and with flags and poppies) it seems to be as it is, with many things in life: we notice that thefe is one thing we do not share; it may be a liking, a conviction, a creed, or a political opinion. That divides us. We forget that there may be many things we have in common. We could live so much more happily, spare ourselves and others so much heartache, if we remembered the many things that join us instead of insisting on the importance of the one by which we may be separated.

B.

H.