REDRESSING THE BALANCE

New Zealand Listener, Volume 25, Issue 632, 10 August 1951, Page 8

REDRESSING THE BALANCE

tury good theatrical com-’ panies began to visit New Zealand. Before that. we had been too poor and_ insignificant, and above all, too puritanical to attract much talent. Bland. Holt and another company that gave us melodrama sticky with sentiment had been my sole experiences, ‘but my husband was a born theatre fan.|//It happened that his work et that ‘time took him to Wellington weekly. He would return glowing with Some play he had seen and -would urge me to go and see it. He took me to the Broughs-my first real. play. When it came again, Dandy Dick as its masterpiece, was given as a benefit for the contingent departing for the Boer War. The emotional Mrs. Brough wept copiously in giving -her farewell speech. Nellie Stewart in Peg Woffington, Sweet Nell, and others opened my eyes and heart to theatre. A lafge party from: Levin went down to that. Howard Vernon and the Castle girls brought Gilbert and Sullivan to Wellington, and it ran so long that grand opera followed. Both these I saw with my student brother, who, afraid of wasting time, Studied till the curtain went up. SPATE of good plays followed. My sister -and I had an occasional inexpensive flutter-bed and _ breakfast and cheap seats. She said, "I want to take you to tea, before the play, with old Aunt’ and Uncle S., but we must be sure not to mention theatres." This aged couple had been her neighboursgood old folk who had got rich by accident and had never thrown aside a habit or a prejudice or principle that beol the end of last cen-

longed to their circumscribed youth. Their house was an artless museum so full one could barely move; stuffed bitds and wax flowers, lufmps of coral in tall glass cases, shell atid tortoise-shell boxes, ornaments made of seaweed, a map of the world on a large white umbrella, glass penholders full of sweets — everything that had only its age to recommend it. "Pity yous be going so early. We'll come a bit with ye," volunteered, our host. "What the deuce now?" whispered my sister so that I had much ado to hide laughter in

a spasm of coughing. ~ "Where did you say yous were meeting your friend?" Conversation halted, but they stepped out like chickens and soon we had to explain where the friend was to be met. "Scots Pie Shop," which, as old Wellingtonians will remember, was directly opposite the old Opera House. We all arrived there and "just as we suspicioned," no friend awaited. By then I was feeling like a soda-water bottle with the cork half removed and could ' not have spoken. "We can wait, can’t we, Feyther?" said the old dear. We saw the theatre filling and heard the orchestra strike up. With a sound

« like a hiccough, I said, "I wonder if h’could be waiting at the tram stop?" "Hel" cried the old lady, a young man!" If she had said "the devil himself’ her voice couldn’t have conveyed more horror. Then they drew themselves up and said a cuft goodbye to their disappointing guests. There was a sad and most moving curtain raiser and then a comedy called, I think, "Three Men and a Cab." It concerned a man who told some inngcent fib to his wife and got himself so much more and more involved in wriggling out of it, that he was suspected of the worst crimes. Every time the gag, "More

lies! More lies! More lies!" was repeated, with our overstrained emotions, we were ijl with laughter. LITTLE later" a gay, attractive amusing little lady from Melbourne came to live in Levin. She smoked-at that time unfashionable or, to most people, simply shocking. She had an income of her own and an ayid appetite for life and its pleasures. She tempted me to ‘take more trips to Wellington than I otherwise should have. Under her influence I outgrew cheap ‘seats. "We simply must see Wilson Barrett.. . ." or "So primitive of us ,not to see Julius Knight; I’m sure he would need our patronage." © ; Np hnS I had at least the remnants of a frugal mind. The best seats were hever more than five shillings, but it was necessary to stay the night and hotel bills were another matter. I found a decayed gentlewoman of overwhelming respectability who would give us bed and breakfast for-lI forget, but some ridiculous amount. I wouid say: . "I'll go if we stay at Mrs. Missdale’s." Reluctantly she agreed, but as soon as we were in the train s!.e would begin speculating on the people we might meet at the Royal Oak (all farmers stayed there), and then: "Oh, but we aren’t going to stay at deat old ‘Oaky Poky,’ we are to stay at Mrs. Mustibones. Do you really enjoy carrying smelly candles up spooky stairs instead of lights, fires, smart waiter with sherry, etc.?" And then if I was not very wide awake she’d say to the cabman, "Royal Oak please." NCE when my economical will had prevailed she came into my room after the play and sat talking beside my bed for an hour or more, I nothing loth, ‘She was always interesting. In the train on our way home she said: "We can never go to Mrs. Mustibones any more." | -"How’s that, Lady Luxury?" "She doesn’t like you-she _ disapproves." | "I suspect it’s the company I keep ‘that she doesn’t like," I laughed. "No! Not now. You see I left all my cigarette butts in your candlestick and took mine, nice and white, to my room. She knows now that it’s the tall dark one that is fast and bold." : And it was true. The next time we applied to the lady she regretted "no room." Of course, we did not see all~--or even all the best-of the plays that came to New Zealand, but I am always glad I had that orgy, for during most of the years that followed play-going was impossible. The stage has changed quite as much as most other things have changed in my long lifetime. How gay it was then, how rich-plush, velvety and luxurious. No social-problem plays such as, those of Ibsen and later G.BS., which pressed real life on to our consciousness. It was pure entertainment. The men wore tails and the women their gayest gowns and jewels. It was surely right for that day. Two world wars and the shadow of another have induced the thought that it behoves us to consider the problems of our world.