The Letters of Annabel Lee

Radio Record, Volume I, Issue 27, 20 January 1928, Page 6

The Letters of Annabel Lee

My Dear Elisabeth-

All New Zealand, in especial, the Capital City-for Trentham was to have been their triumphant bourne -is in suspense concerning the fate of the two brave men who essayed to fiy the Tasman. The trail they blazed apparently held some peril, some snare they had not foreseen; and, in spite of the hope that springs eternal, it is to be feared that for them there will be "no more the heat of the sun nor the furious winter rages.’ Most of us are gamblers at heart; we are thrilled by those who put all their chances on one throw and all their eggs in one basket; we have a quite inordinate admiration for sheer pluck and endurance, and the national imagination has been captured by the daring of the two aviators of whose fate in the meantime only the gods can tell. January, that uninteresting month, goes its slow way. Nobody is in town, nothing much happens, fashion for the moment is defunct. One big drapery house has added to its already innumerable departments another in the shape of a beauty salon to aid imperfect femininity; another is demolishing part of its shop on a well-known strect cor-Khan-ish edifice to while away our hearts; while another’ wellbeloved sartorial shrine in Cuba Street is selling off, closing its doors, and giving away, so to speak, all of that stock, the quality and beauty of which she who shops can tell. One hears that in the quite near future we are to be frilled to the waist, which now at this long last is to be at the spot where a waist ought to be; which, alas, means a long farewell to the graceful line, the pliant elasticity and grace so dear to our hearts. Clothes, though sometimes tiresome, are very interesting. What would we do without them? There is a cult in the wider world, one hears, that advises a noclothing cure for all the ills that flesh is heir to. A book has been written on the healthfulness of the nude by an enthusiast named Hans Saren, who advocates sunlight, the more the better, on the human form, sans frocks, sans "lingerie," and (some will say) sans decency. The book has been carefully translated by Arthur Jones, and has had a considerable sale, being illustrated with | quite realistic photographs, which

have attracted some purchasers in the mistaken belief that it belonged to that strange form of reading matter yelept indecent literature. Mr. Saren’s effort has won the tolerance of that‘ broad-minded ecclesiastic, Dean Inge, who, while stating that he considers the author a fanatic, thinks his theories will do good and is not averse from their publication. How amusing, to be sure, to visualise one’s dearest enemy taking a walk abroad in Nature’s garment! Alack, we are not all modelled on the noble lines of Milo’s Venus, nor do many of us rejoice in the slinky allure of the nymphs of Botticelli. Shoes that are pointed, "stays" that were tight, indolence and slackness have done their fell work, and the human body, that masterpiece of beauty, has fallen from grace. Mr. Beverley Nicholas is amusing and irresponsible concerning his contemporaries in his latest "Are They the Same at Home?" which will prove delightful reading to those who adore personalities and like to hear about "certain people of importanee." Myr. Nicholas’ pungent and penetrating comments are intriguing to a degree, as he makes merry, with witty impartiality, at the expense of the admirable Miss Ellen Wilkinson, and the mereurial Suzanne, playwright Pinero, and _ versatile Lloyd George, the modern Noel Coward, and the improving Mr. Wells. Nothing of caution can be discerned, discretion does not appeal to this gay chronicler; all is fish that comes to his net, tolerance is thrown to the winds, while youth and a charming audacity make hay of all and sundry. Very different, very I¢isurely, very enthralling is Sir Edmund _ Gosse’s "Leaves and Fruit," the recollections and impressions of a long and richly gifted life. Much does he write, in classic prose, of events and people he has known; and the book contains ripe criticism of art and letters, nor does this great thinker and writer disdain the modern literary young man and maiden, even though they be as exasperating as that highbrow family, the Sitwell trio. Lucky are those who can beg, borrow or steal a copy of this delightful book. Saturday afternoon found me, accompanied by one other, in the De Luxe Theatre, which I find most restful in its colour effects and feeling of spaciousness. Viewing that

enthralling picture "Ben Hur," I concured with the opinion of the unconventional Auckland divine, who recommended his flock to see it, even ‘though they had to live on an apple a day for a week, or words to that effect. One does not readily forget the realism and terror of the galley seene, nor the thrill of the galloping white horses and charioteers in the magnificently staged race. Ramon Novarro is so virile and handthat it is regrettable the makers of some a hero, and such a fine actor, the film did not choose as a foil for him a more characteristic type than the sugary blonde who plays the part of the slave girl Esther, simpering and shaking her fair, childish ringlets until one longed to slap her. The Biblical story is introduced with skill and reverence, Miss Betty Bronson, in the glimpse we have of her as Mary, being reminiscent of a Madonna whose lovely face hangs on my wall in reproduction of a famous picture in the Florence gallery. There was nothing to offend, and much to admire; and in one of the scenes most relevant would have been Mr, Chesterton’s deification of the humblest of domestic animals. "Fools! For I also had my hour; One far fierce hour and sweet; There was a shout about my ears, And palms before my feet." In this week of waiting and watching for news-for the fate of the aviators has been in our minds, and keeps reeurring to us all-what a boon has it proved to listen to such news as there was given over the wireless, in the clear and measured accents of the announcer. I do not yet possses a crystal set, though I shall in the quite near future, but in the house of a friend I heard of the efforts being made and of aeroplanes cireling the sky in fruitless search. It may be, as some say, that these two young men were insufficiently equipped, not experienced enough, to make the hazardous experiment. I cannot tell. I only know that courage warms the heart, and if it happens that, after making their great gesture, they are no more seen, "He that dies in an earnest pursuit is like one that is wounded in hot blood; and a mind fixed and bent on something that is great doth avert the dolours of Death."

Your

ANNABEL

LEE