The Letters Of Annabel Lee

Radio Record, Volume I, Issue 49, 22 June 1928, Page 6

The Letters Of Annabel Lee

| i Soe bl "Rew" athe In Dublin's fair city, i Where the girls are so pretty, | to Dunedin; and woo’d and married} and a’ quite lately was one of the most engaging members of the Scot- ; tish city’s delightful Younger Set. ! The marriage of Miss Betty Reid: to Max. Mason aroused much interest, | for her own and her mother’s sake, | and also because her father, the late | Mr. Charles Stuart Reid, is held in|! affectionate remembrance by many | friends. The golden-haired byride’s rwedding garment was fashioned of | 'vellum-tinted georgette, fiared skirt | ‘revealing gleaming glimpses of silvery sheen, long veil of tulle falling softly in pointed draperies. Bridesmaids clad in sunset-coloured frocks of that taffeta which holds such ‘charm for the hehelder-though not invariably to the wearer, as it is liable to dire disaster a? the splitting | with equal truth and point | | variety-with insets of golden tulle, hats of rose-colour and slippers of gold, added colour to a _ beautiful group. Four radiant girls were conspicucus at this happy gathering: ‘Miss Greta Finch in rose-pink, black hat picturesque with pink rose; Miss Nancy Barr very lovely in beauteous ‘shawl of mother-o’-pearl tissue; Miss Marjorie Statham, «as always, extremely distinctive in oyster satin | frock, one slender shoulder revealed ; by slipping shawl; and Miss Mary Blomfield in shawl and hat of dreamy-tinted pastel tones. Fullness | of skirt was noted in many gowns, | some dipping ever so gracefully, and quite a few were longer at the back, @ more fascinating mode of the moment than it sounds. TPHE Muse of Poetry and the Drama smiled upon the Otago Women's Cinb on a recent evening, when a talk was given on "Glimpses of Literary ; London," by New Zealand's poetic playwright, Mr. C. R. Allen. Of an |

interest beguiling was the tale that was told of impressions of personalities etched on a mind so plastic and savoured with an alert and farreaching intelligence. Ingrained in the heart of the hero-worshipper is a simple delight in daily details of the lives of the illustrious. ‘What porridge had John Keats?" hold perennial interest. Mr. Allen’s witty chat, however, did not concern itself With matters so mundane, although he did mention Rudyard Kipling’s present preoccupation with farming, somehow a surprising pursuit for the author of "Plain Tales."’ Anccdotes of Belloc, Mascfield and Chesterton held much interest in this unusual and delightful dissertation, which was rarely illuminating concerning thronging modern Intelligentsia, from one who is himself ga star in the sparkling firmament. We are intrigued to know that Mr. Alien’s play, ‘The Singing Heart," with its captivating central motive and melodious phrasing, is to be put on the market by Basil Blackwell, together with three others, in which is included "When Mr. Punch Was Young," which many people consider the best of the plays. PATHETIC have we shown ourselves of late towards the political situation, all the talk ‘twixt me and thee being concentrated on matters of present urgency, such as the scrimmage over the War Memorial, hideous street noises that fret the nerves, the June sales, the best way to make toheroa soup, and so on. Collectively we have held our breath over that exploit miraculous of Capt. Kingsford-Smith and his giants of the ether, and listened to some quite excellent programmes over the wireless. But we have not bothered about the looming Election until last Thursday night, when we went to the Town Hall to hear the speech of our own J.G., the darling of the Reform Party, its bonnie Prince Charlie, its Young Hopeful. Very early we had

to go, for the crowd was immense, and all innocent and gay, while waiting for the conquering hero, we chanted lilting community songs will enthusiasm, keeping a watchful eye on the door while blissfully warbling how Annie Laurie gie’d her promise true. To the skirl of the pipesthan which there is no more inspiriting marching music or more desolate lament-entered the Prime Minister, all smiles, accompanied by adherents and satellites and Wise Men of the clast and the north and the south. Excellent was the address of the evening, homely, heartening, and relating to great and good deeds accomplished; covering finance and farming, pigs and property, all the lay of the land and the fun of the fair. And listened to with deep respect by an audience as polite and prim as a party in a parlour: no heckling, no prodding, no eggs! When the turn came for the Minister of Education, he proved amusing and told some good stories; while Mr. Rolleston won hearts by his modesty in comparing, to his own detriment, his speech with one that might have been delivered by the Finance Minister, and going on to give a few short, too short, comments on war and peace. An appealing speaker, with a diction |that pleases, and an attractive personality. But I tire of statistics, and we had a good many of them, and gazing at the Olympians, wondered if they could possibly be as good as they looked. Are they the same at home, in fact ? Opportunely I remembered: "Pluto, Pluto, William Tell Used to yell, and yell, and yell ! Little John Sebastian Bach Refused to go to bed in the dark; And the infant G. F. Handel Couldn’t sleep without a candle: While William Shakespeare used to bawl, And wouldn’t go to bed at all !" Your

ANNABEL

LEE