(10) Honours for the First Lady

New Zealand Listener, Volume 37, Issue 947, 4 October 1957, Page 12

(10) Honours for the First Lady

HE Mayor of Dunedin listened care- '" fully as Aunt Daisy declared open the Otago Advances Fair, then spoke quietly into the ear of Aunt Daisy’s daughter Barbara. "My word," he said, "she packs a lot of meat into her mince!" His Worship showed a critical appreciation seldom given Aunt Daisy’s work. Once a schoolteacher, she crams her speech with information, and, except for occasional hyperbole, uses words with precision. Success in broadcasting, she says, is due in part to "plain talking of English." Television too is amenable to the Aunt Daisy manner. After a trial telecast in 1951, a Listener reviewer wrote, "Aunt Daisy may be that rarity, the natural radio artist who becomes with: out training or change the natural television artist." She would herself welcome the little silver screen. "I think it’s fun," she says, "and I often say in the mornings that I wish I had it, because then I could show things to people." Though she is ready for television, Aunt Daisy allows that television may not be ready for her. "It’s always been our very good custom," she says, "to wait until things are developed overseas. When all the mistakes have been ironed out, then we do it. We have the benefit of everybody else’s brains, and of course we do it better. New Zealand has always done that." But when Aunt Daisy made her first Auckland television appearance, the medium was clearly still in its slapstick, false-nose and custard-pie stage of development. The introduction of a live monkey to the set behind Aunt Daisy’s back did little for NZBS-TV, though it undoubtedly demonstrated the unwavering savoir faire of television’s first lady. For Aunt Daisy, the visit to the set of the Governor-General, Sir Bernard (mow Baron) Freyberg, provided the climax of television stardom. "Poppy of 1YA was there," says Aunt Daisy, "and

she said to me afterwards, ‘Well! I’ve never seen the Governor-General hugging a girl before.’ Because he’d put his arm round me and told me I'd been wonderful. I loved that so much, He was like a great big friendly bear." IKE genius, radio performance is 10 per cent talent and 90 per cent hard work. To keep her mind and conversation fresh, Aunt Daisy has made four trips overseas; through radio and newspapers she keeps abreast of local and overseas néws; and, where Wellington offerings permit, follows the latest movements in music and drama. When time allows, she reads. "I don’t now like the old classics," she says. "I read all of Dickens in my time, but was never keen .on Walter Scott. Then, as time went on, different books appeared. A Man Called Peter and Rebecca I liked, and Booth Tarkington and Edna Ferber used to write sorne good stories. I like Ngaio Marsh-the Americans call her N’guyoh, you know. But I don’t like mystery stories generally, certainly not the ones that bring in Americanisms like ‘Yeah’ and that sort of thing." — Discussion of other writers reveals that Aunt Daisy hasn’t read Evelyn and doesn’t like War. "I was through the Pacific during the war," she says, "and it was horrible. I don’t want to read war stories any more than I want to see films about war." The great problems of war and peace, she considers, are largely out of her hands. "I don’t think there’s any use our worrying about them," she says. "I have the greatest admiration for the statesmen and, the people who have the reins of the world, and I think it’s dreadful to sit about and. criticise them when they’re doing everything out of public spirit and getting nothing out of it." Neither would women make better rulers than men. "I don’t want to see

women in top positions," she says. "I’m not a feminist in that way. I’m just thankful that J don’t have to do it, and I follow the Scriptures and I’ve got faith that everything will come right, because God is in charge. I’m sure that God will triumph in the end. I know He will." ‘THIS firm faith allows Aunt Daisy to de‘clare that if she had her life over again, she would not wish it different. "As the time went by," she says, "I often might have thought of something different, but now I wouldn’t. Because it’s worked out so well.

There’s a beautiful hymn which says, ‘Hast thou not seen how thine heart’s wishes have been fulfilled in what He ordaineth?’ You didn’t see things were right at the time, but you see it in the end." In the life of her adopted country, Aunt Daisy sees a similar pattern of things working out for the best. "Of course in some ways I like the old ways better," she says. "I don’t myself want to go to nightclubs; I think they’re very dull. But the young people like them, and of course they will have them. And I think music has moved on immensely. We used to have much less music, and of course since the National Orchestra things have moved along so well. "IT find young people so clever too. They car do things we were never allowed to do. They know it all, and they’re very clear-eyed. Look at the girl in The Reluctant Debutante. Sie could manage everything. She could

manage her old man perfectly! I’ve a great admiration for our young people. I find the greatest goodness in them, eand they’re very well-behaved towards older people. They look after me, and they ask me to all their events, and they mean it, though I don’t often go." Ready acceptance of whatever life may bring forth leaves little room for active dislikes. One of the few Aunt Daisy allows herself is for people who greet a sunny day with the statement that it will have to be paid for-it will certainly rain later on. "I think that’s absolutely irreligious," she says indignantly. "To think that God can’t give you a comfort without taking something away with the other hand!" Another aversion is for theatregoers who open sweets and nuts ("though it’s not so common nowadays") and sometimes put an a performance of their own. "They nudge each other," she

says, "or they nudge me, and they laugh so long that the picture’s gone on before they’ve finished." HAVING endured her own share of kicks, Aunt Daisy has scant sympathy for people who whine. Taxed with the question, self-pity was in fact the only vice she could think of, To be fair, she was busy at the time, contemplating the universality of such virtues as sincerity and commonsense, coutage and kindliness. Being small, Aunt Daisy admires what looks like the calm assurance of larger mortals; in particular the confidence of her adopted countrymen. "New Zealanders can work hard," she says, "but they are able to change in the evenings and dress beautifully, and they can hold their own, anywhere-at ViceRegal parties or anything else. They know how to behave. "And fairness is another great characteristic of New Zealanders. How often you.hear it said, ‘Fair enough.’ I think that’s good." Modest in her style of living, Aunt Daisy has a small wardrobe consisting mainly of costumes and a few dresses fot summer time. She wears the same hat for sq long that she claims a new one is uf§ually noticed with surprise. Her chief sartorial ambition is to have a clean pair of white gloves every time she goes out. She has never achieved this for any considerable period, but with her blonde hair in a careful coiffure contrives to present a trim figure to the world. Whether she would look as sweet upon the seat of a bicycle built for two will remain forever unknown. She cannot ride a tandem, nor any other kind of bicycle. "When I had sciatica after Freddie was born," says Aunt Daisy, "my husband bought me a beautiful bicycle, hoping it might improve the sciatica. Oh, I was terrified! I’d no idea of anything mechanical, and of course I’d just fall right over. Dad had to sell that bicycle. I never rode it once." CITY-DWELLER by choice, Aunt Daisy likes her hillside home overlooking Wellington harbour and has no plans to move. "I’ve been to so many parts of the world," she says, "that I could hardly choose one part from another. But one of the most beautiful sights I know is the drive in from Karehana Bay to Wellington along the West Coast, when there’s snow on the Kai-: kouras in the distance. Round the Thames coast is lovely, too. I’m told the Riviera looks like that. And I love the smell of New Zealand bush-it’s different from any other-and to see tata in bloom and clematis draped across the treetops. You see that a lot round Rotorua." The thermal area is Aunt Daisy’s favourite holiday spot. She went there for ‘therapy after the birth of her first child, and hes had a warm spot for the hot springs ever since. Author of recipe books and expert on exotic dishes, Aunt Daisy is a plain New Zealander in her own tastes. "I like roast meat and vegetables," she says. "I stick to old-fashioned be Her Sunday joint is almost invariably roast lamb. "I’m not so fond of beef," she says, "because to start with I can’t carve it, It slops all over the plate. I was never very good at carving. My sisters refused even to let me cut the bread, and my son Freddie says he always has to cut off the first slice because I’ve done it crooked." On the subject of vegetables-which she labels "greenery"-Aunt Daisy has similarly d te views. "I don’t like cabbage," she says, "and I don’t like

cauliflower. When the children were little I used to cook them because it was my duty, but nowadays I have peas every day. They’re frozen peas, you see, and I don’t have a thing to do!" A favourite dish is curry. A listener once told her, "Your voice takes on a reverent note whenever you use the word curry." Aunt Daisy was taught to cook it by .an Anglo-Indian, Mrs Lennon, a friend of New Plymouth days. "You fry the onions first," she explains, "and then you sprinkle the curry in. You must fry the curry, and then you can do the rest. I don’t like cooked rice with it. I have greens-well-peas." Apart from curry, Aunt Daisy does not bother herself with foreign dishes, or even with the richer native ones. "I used to be fond of oysters," she says, "but I’m not now, and I’ve never cooked pauas or anything like that. For puddings I like jelly and junket, and of course apple pie and plum pudding and ginger pudding. Oh, and Madeira pud-ding-that’s a sponge, and I like jam at the bottom, though Barbara prefers it with syrup." Aunt Daisy likes finely-sliced leeks and celery cooked together and thickened with milk and cornflour, but claims to have no personal "special" dish. "Except," she adds, "that people do like my stews. Dad used to say my hand hadn’t lost its cunning. I don’t use a lot of seasoning. I like the plain stew just with carrots and onions. Barbara cooks them with all kinds of things, but I never put anything peculiar in." ALKING of cooking has for Aunt Daisy largely replaced the practice thereof. "I’ve never cooked much since I’ve been in Broadcasting,’ she says, "especially after my husband retired. He was very upset at having to retire in the depression, but it doesn’t matter if the husband or the wife’s earning the money so long as you have it. Dad was a very good cook and very fond of cooking, so as I was earning, he was only too thankful to cook. Poor Dad." This direct experience of the indignity which hard times can inflict on the common man has given Aunt Daisy unbounded respect for the reformer. Once, at a banquet, she admired the then Prime Minister, Peter Fraser, aloud as "a man who works for ordinary people." The Prime Minister overheard the remark, turned to her, and _ said, "But you’re not ordinary Aunt Daisy!" Having never thought of herself as any way extra-ordinary, Aunt Daisy was thrilled by this Olympian expression of what most of her listeners had been thinking for years. She insists nevertheless that when she broadcasts she is simply talking to ordinary people about ordinary things in an ordinary way. "I’ve never tried to have a technique," she says. "I talk just as I do at any other time, except that I’ve got it prepared and I’m not jumping from one thing to another." Her radio success Aunt Daisy concedes has been "really phenomenal and a great satisfaction." She _ derives honest, downright pleasure from both the esteem of the mighty and the often thunderous acclaim of the common man. But her deepest source of pride lies in the private satisfaction of having successfully provided for her family at a time when work-especially for women-was notably hard to get. She also, of course, enjoys the day to day challenge of work in broadcasting. "Radio work," she says, "is something I like to do all the time. As soon as I get in the taxi in the morning I feel better, no matter what the day has (continued on next page) :

The Aunt Daisy Story (continued from previous page) been like. And once I get to the studio I feel perfect. Nothing else matters. I've got the people out there and they love talking to me. "On the mike, I’m not talking to any single person, Sometimes I think of people in hospital,. but I’ve lived so long in the country that I think a lot of people in little places-people in the distance-people in the hill country and the high places in Otagoand the shut-in people everywhere." JHAT is the secret of Aunt Daisy’s success? "I think," she says firmly, "that to be successful in anythingand everybody wants that-is certainly never to be mediocre; to be sincere; always to want to do the very best you can; and certainly that you couldn't care more!" It is a commonplace that the Establishment is slow to recognise and reward artists, sportsmen, or entertainers. Not till 1956 were Aunt Daisy’s services to radio-and in wartime, to her country-recognised officially.. In the New Year Honours of that year was announced the admission of Maud Ruby Basham to the fifth class of a modern (instituted 1917) but nonetheless honourable order of chivalry. She was made a Member of the Order of the British Empire. Aunt Daisy’s brother-in-law Ernest Muir and her daughter Barbara accompanied. her to the investiture at Government House, Wellington. "We had had a rehearsal the day before,’ she says, "and had been told how to bow or curtsey, and how to back out, and so on. On the day, the knights came first, or course, and then they went through the list till at last a man announced the M.B.E., Civil Division, and my name-Maud Ruby Basham." There was an apparent pause in proceedings. Aunt Daisy’s diminutive four-feet-eleven inches was not visible to the asembled company as she walked forward. But as she mounted the dais a whisper-unseemly, Barbara thought, in such a dignified hush-ran round the room: "It’s Aunt Daisy!" Barbara need not have felt embarrassed, for the Governor-General himself promptly widened the chink in the armour of protocol. "You know how men, especially soldters, can talk without moving their lips?" Aunt Daisy confides. "Well, when Lord Norrie stepped forward to pin the ribbon on me, he leaned forward a little and whispered, ‘Bravo, Aunt Daisy!’ I had to curtsey, and I didn’t dare smile, but oh, I felt so marvellous!" f In these circumstances it is exceedingly probable she would have been forgiven her smile. It is possible, in fact, to forgive Aunt Daisy almost anything. She is the kind of person who steadfastly refuses to believe ill of anybody, and whose conversation reflects the joy and hopefulness of human life rather than its sadness and its ‘fears. Devout without being righteous, she carries into everyday living all the hopeSUTMMTPTA TET TATE AOE TE SLATE AEB ETRTET PASH ARARBSL TAGLAR,

1H ful and rewarding tenets of her faith. She preserves the child’s_ infinite capacity for wonder and delight in simple things, and, if the seeds of boredom lie within the self, has ensured that hers remained unfertilised. Her inward qualities of intelligence, strength and resilience are expressed outwardly as a vivacity, force and charm that few, if any, can resist. It is therefore in pursuance of Aunt Daisy’s wish that her story ends with the words of a 16th century prayer engraved on the walls of Beaulieu Abbey: "Oh Lord support us all the day long of this troublous life, until the shadows lengthen,. and evening comes, the busy world is hushed, the fever of life is over and our work is done. Then, Lord, in Thy mercy grant us safe lodging, a holy rest, and peace at the last. Amen." THE END (The Aunt Daisy Story is to be published as a book. It will be slightly expanded and fully illustrated; and the publishers, A. H. and A. W. Reed, expect it to be on sale before Christmas.) TUPPER TTL PT RTE Peas TY