DUST-BIN ROMANCE

New Zealand Listener, Volume 14, Issue 361, 24 May 1946, Page 5

DUST-BIN ROMANCE

Sir-I read with envy and some amazement the short story under the above heading in a recent Listener. Where in New Zealand is the garbage man who "comes around the yard with the bin on his shoulder." Is there really anywhere in New Zealand where that happens? Lead me to it, because alas! my dust-bin will never bring romance to my back door nor will my dust-man (you see-where I live he’s not a garbage man and somehow dust-man seems-well-more polite) never gives himself the chance of seeing how charming 1 look as I sweep my back doorstep. Ah! No! for every Thursday night I must remember to shoulder my own dustbin to my front gate and plant it firmly outside the gate. I am certain my dustman would never see the sunrise tints in a mud puddle or the dewy beads in a spider’s web, as Emmie’s did. Why, he doesn’t even see my bin if it’s just inside the gate (and it’s a fairly big tin,

too). And another thing-although I’m sure my bin is just as neat and dainty as Emmie’s was, I’m certain he never feels it is a pleasure to empty it for me. No, he just bangs it over the side of the cart (I hear him every Friday moraing as I am having breakfast} and then he just throws it in the gutter along with the lid and there they have to stay until I sneak out later and retrieve them. I am not naturally shy and nérvous and I have not nurtured an ungratefdl parent for 20 years, but I do draw the line at vamping my dust-man, breathlessly or otherwise, outside my front gate, and so I’m afraid he will never know how much I long for him to come to my back door and I-well-I will think of Emmie every Thursday night as I shoulder my own garbage around to the gate-think

of her wistfully.-

JUST A-WEARYING

FOR HIM

(Christchurch).

(We hate having to, tell our correspondent that our short story was sent from Australia.- Ed.)