The Letters of Annabel Lee

Radio Record, Volume I, Issue 22, 16 December 1927, Page 6

The Letters of Annabel Lee

My Dear Elisabeth, The rustle of spring at last, in fact to-day there is an unmistakable scent of summer. And no time ai all to bask, for the end-of-the-year turmoil ‘is upon us. Holiday arrangements must be made, entertainment extended to unexpected trippers, a choice made of gifts not too blatantly unsuitable for Aunt Julie, Cousin George and the rest, and the burning question decided as to whom to tip and whom not to tip amid the multitudinous odd-jobbers who burden the financial landscape at this ‘season. Among the welter of beautiful vanities on view in the: shops, and articles of quite meritorious usefulness, there is no excuse whatever for choosing other than wisely and well. If one but had the vulgar and desirable treasure chests of Fortuna-tus-or was it Ali Baba?--what a gladsome time we could have-and give. For ’tis not the gay and prosperous, but the lost and unhappy, for whom Wellington’s brisk and breezy dwellers keep their softest spot and most. elastic purse strings,, as witnessed their ready response last Friday to the ery of the children, the kindly and efficiens eadgers raking in many shekels for St. Mary’s Home, Karori, the Boys’ Home at the Hutt, and Fielden Taylor’s Babies. For the right gift for your man, or anyone’ else’s, choose one of the delightful collar-boxes of British Xylonite, that is made to resemble so closely the rare and expensive tor-toise-shell. Also is it to be had in manicure-sets, hand-glasses, and other oddments for the dressingtable, procurable for a quite modest sum, and almost as attractive to the eye as the real thing, and so to be ‘treasured, for are not most things judged by their appearance, the outside of the platter? Aren't we all, in fact? Particularly "us girls"! If Gerald, or Geoffrey, or Jonathan isa "literary gent" (like Silas Wegg)

why not try the effect on him of the narrative of turbulent seas and a far country, written by that poor old man and great traveller, Aloysius Horn, These strange episodes of adventure and daring, fished up by kind and clever Mrs, Ethelreda Lewis from the mazes and memories of the mind of a dilapidated vendor of tinware, make singularly absorbing reading, although perhaps not the taste of the devotees of the "pashpash" school of fiction, Among our merchants and magnates, lawyers and litterateurs, butchers and bakers and candlestick-makers, there are those who resent the rut, in whose blood runs a persistent strain of the Viking, calling to adventure and the high seas, and to them I commend these marvellous tales of the Ivory Coast. Dunedin has lately ‘welcomed back to its heart several once-upon-a-time boys and girls who lived.in the same parish, almost in the same street, and now are citizens of that wider world towards which some of us turn wistful eyes. Among them is Mr, C. R. Allen, novelist and playwright, to the quality of whose literary achievement our lethargic Dominion is just beginning to wake up; Mrs. Elmore, whose pastel pictures remain in ‘the memory for fidelity of portraiture, flawless technique. and. poetic colour; and Captain J. Ritchie (lately in command of the "Dunedin’’), back on furlough at his old home, before leaving for England, and eventually Washington where he has been appointed naval attache to the British Embassy. Several new "masks and faces" are to appear at the imminent performance at Wellington of the National Repertory Society. Which is all to the good, as some slight feeling of resentment exists beeause certain members of the Society so far have had none of the limelight, no opportunity of making their mark, toeing the line, and (in the vernacular) paddling away with the peanut

-or perchance the .reverse! The Milne playlet, "The Boy Comes Home" will be diverting; extremely interesting also the tragic, most poignant "Riders to the Sea," by J. M. Synge; while Mr. Charles Allen’s "Posterity" is looked forward to with keen interest by those who have in mind the wit and glamour of his work. td This is the Glass Age, and lately I beheld roses and lillies, quite \arge ones, fashioned of this perishable substance, with waving petals, long, long stems, stamens and pistil and all complete, shining and shimmering like running water, and of.a cleverness and beauty quite miraculous. These I left for the lucky possessor of a mahogany table like yours; und instead purchased needlework posies and peacocks and other feather fowl of brilliant colour and weird origin, these being quite new and extremely up-to-date, the parrots in particular. For a short vacation, smart black, shiny, flat hat-bags are to be had for 25/-, and easily manipulated in that last-minute rush up the gangway. The little journey of to-day is so much simpler than of yore, when unattached women viewed with trepidation the prospect of luggage and locomotion. Now clothes, seen and unseen, are silken and scanty, hats small and easily housed, taxis within the reach of all, and the age of chivalry no more dead than ever it was. Particularly do I commend the daylight trip to Lyttelton organised by the much maligned and indispensabl Union Company. More exhiliarating and interesting than the dark and dismal all-night passage, and enjoyable even to one who prefers to remain in city pent rather than venture forth in any boat whatever on the waters of Babylon, or Ccok Strait, or even the Styx! Except, perhaps, round and about that solitary, lovely island yclept Stewart, where little trips in a cutter remain long in remembrance, when the boat rushed along in the tumbling water almost turning over on its side, salt wind and spray in our faces, while above and around circled the graceful gulls in a erystalline light that flooded the sea and the shore of the world. Of some such hour must Robert Louis Stevenson have Ween thinking when he wrote- 4 Give me again all that was there, Give me the sun that shone! Give me the eyes, give me the soul, Give me the lad that’s gone. Your

ANNABEL

LEE