The Letters of Annabel Lee

Radio Record, Volume I, Issue 34, 9 March 1928, Page 6

The Letters of Annabel Lee

My dear Elisabeth: Picture plays there are that transport one to a land of romance, others like "The Bat" give a genuine thrill, and some are merely boring in washy sentiment or blatant vulgarity. For sheer rollicking fun, however, it would be hard to surpass "The Kid Brother" now showing. Mr. Harold Lloyd knows his metier and sticks to it, and delightfully amusing he is, with an appeal quite definite, his art, in the opinion of many critics, surpassing that of Charlie Chaplin. Mr. Lloyd’s engaging smile is a considerable asset, possessing an ingratiating quality that goes to the heart of weak woman. Also visited this week was the Britannia Theatre, where Mr. Rod la Rocque swaggered and made excellent sword-play as Brigadier Gerard. Very attractive was the valiant braggart and the lady to whom he paid deferential and masterful court was portrayed by an actress of considerable fascination, a rare quality in a picture and out of it. Miss Phyllis Haver looked a lovely coquette in picturesque hat with sweeping plumes and_ the high-waisted, clinging gowns of the Napoleonic era. The great Corsiean found surprisingly good representation, looking un- cannily like the familiar pictures. All very dashing and daredevil and unreal as a page out of those books of our brothers we used to steal in our very young youth, and devour in some sunny, solitary spot with beaming eyes and bated breath. Very intriguing are the autumn modes, even though displayed on days when the sun shines with enthusiasm and the heat approaches tropical fervour. The new line of coat is viewed with favour, particularly a graceful clasping front effect, and strange, colourful fur and feather garnitures, such as never grew on beast or bird. Striking a new note are many jumper frocks, some appliqued with skill, others of sober hue relying on elegance of line and loveliness of material so it would seem, that we shall go bravely clad when winter comes. One coat greatly furbedizened was of bottle-green velour, its curving gracefulness heightened with rows of infinitesimal tucking, which swathed themselves round their temporary home on a waxen lady, finding bourne in a gleaming buckle that was almost jade, One night I dined with L--, lately widowed and_ inconsolable.

Wearing a gown of black, with long strands of jet that rippled its entire length, with silvering hair and aloofness of gaze, she presented a picture in the miniature genre, the effect heightened by a wonderful clasp of diamonds that invited one to envy. This ornament of great beauty and value, she told me, was fashioned from an old-fashioned locket of the Victorian era, huge, elaborate and dull. The stones were re-set by a clever worker in gems, the result being a jewel lovely enough to flash from the brows of Cleopatra herself. Tis regrettable that cream-colour-ed gowns and garments for so long have been done out of their own, so helpful and becoming are they to all ages of women. One remembers how lovely appeared Dame Ellen Terry, her glorious youth then but a memory, when she visited our far-flung islands. Clad in trailing draperies of ivory velvet, the contour of face and head recalling memories of perfect presentment of Shakespeare’s most adorahle women, Miss Terry held our hearts in the hollow of her hand, even when she forgot her lines in the potion scene and apologised most sweetly for the lapse. But yesterday it happened that my eye lighted on an enveloping coat of creamy marocain, horizontally striped across skilful slimness, the large and undulating collar hailing from some imaginary region of the Antarctic, the entire ensemble eminently suited to the blonde maiden who walked in beauty on the Quay, an astonishingly tiny black velour rammed down upon golden earlocks, the whole suggestive of a black and white drawing by Aubrey Beardsley. : How interesting was a window recently dressed to exemplify an inspiring world-wide movement. Against a background of banners ofthe different branches stood a perfectly turned out figure of a Girl Guide, navy blue suit, slouch hat, leather belt, gloves smartly thrust therein, all very workmanlike and attractive. Much do I admire the detached and purposeful demeanour of the members of this admirable body, as they go their way, from the dear small Brownies to the Commanding Personalities that are as the Olympians. Their obvious aloofness and capacity to mind their own business, unheeding that of others, is surely the better part of good manners, as well as the sign and symbol of fine ambitions and worthy ends.

; | Why it is that attractive women bring upon their heads the verbal stings and arrows of the Unimpeachable, the Wowser and the Dud? Wit, charm, elusive appeal sometimes vaguely labelled S.A., all add to the sparkle of life, which is short at best, and apt to be dull? Recently at a function Clarissa was a _ success. Clad in a gown of her favourite blus, that is neither cornflower nor periwinkle, but a kind of midnight effulgenee between the two, fashioned by her own clever stitchery, with her poise of mind and swift wit, she was much appreciated and had an hour of social success-only a comma, so to speak, in the long and strenuous pages of the chronicle of her days. A dowdy matron eyed her. ‘"Clarissa must be fifty-five, and looks it by daylight!" quoth she, infusing as much vitriol into her remark as Mr. Holland in his remotest reference to Samoa. I am deep in The Journal of Katherine Mansfield. What a genius was this girl, who went forth from our young country, and through years of experience most bitter, il] health and a frugality that was almost poverty, held to the great light vouchsafed to her by the high gods. In the Journal, most intimately reminiscent of a life which ran its brief span in thirtytwo years, lived to the hilt in emotion and achievement, we view the world as seen through the eyes of this greatly-gifted girl. Fascinating to a degree is the revelation of a spirit beyond our ken, but not beyond our admiration, and, although with a sense of prying at revealed intimacies that are no business of ours, we read on, thrilling to manifestations and imagery of extraordinary sensitiveness and brilliance, allied with a strange and beautiful translucence of expression. It is as though that quivering awareness were a spiritual canvas flooded with the true colour and suggestiveness of a world that for most of us has lost radiance and spiritual meaning. Nobly generous of nature, idealistic, quixotically true to the light of truth that flamed within her pain-racked body, Katherine Mansfield sets forth her rainbowhued thought in lovely sequence for the delight and bedazzlement of minds more pedestrian, eyes that as yet see but as through a glass darkly. Your

ANNABEL

LEE