Annotations of Annabel

Radio Record, Volume II, Issue 9, 14 September 1928, Page 14

Annotations of Annabel

EAREST: Greatly prone to admiration of gay garments not too bright and good for human mortal’s daily mood; yet, wandering through shows of spring, one views distrustfully seasonal modes, compelled to a dark doubt that only unerring taste wil! score, she who is able to pick a winner, so to speak, amid the changes and chances of the sartorial handicap, the flux of fashion and le dernier cri. And ’tis sometimes well to ta’e a sporting chance, the highly possible contingency being that not she who plunges, but she who hesitates is lost. For a’ that, however, one surveys with considerable pessimism frill and plastron, odds and ends and bits and pieces tacked on te a2 once austere simplicity; realising that she who mixes her colours is oftentimes in as great need of straightening up as he who mixes his drinks. Wit English Rose, I contemplated recent millinery display. "‘So this is New Zealand"’ quoth she in disdain. "Why, in London we can buy better and more beautiful for half the price!" intonation indicating that not only in price and quality is the great city triumphant. And though comparisons are not particularly perti- nent between old civilisation and new, weak woman finds the hat of her heart, some adorable wisp of buckled ribbon and straw, and relinquishing it, wistfully parodies the ‘‘Maud" of her schooldaysO, that ’twere pcssible, After long stress and strain, to secure it at a not too soaring cost. S it perchance that your Annabei grows "old and grey and past desire’ that "the goods" of the season fail in appeal? They like me not, the looming modes, this uneven skirt, that wide hat sparsely decorated, turning one into plain presentment of the Miller’s Daughter," so loved, so mourned in the days of Tennyson the Poet and Victoria the Perfect; the ‘"‘little’’ frocks (in all but price) burgeon at unbecoming outposts of one’s person, creating bitter regret for lovely lines of lost silhouette, a haunting fear that The slender grace of a day that is dead Will never come back to me! With all deference to rapid disappearance of a charming mode, however, *tis an imperishable truth that Adam finds Eve in frill and furbelow the

same not unattractive enigma ag in skimpy skirt and cigarette; just as Himself retains perennial charm in boiled rag, plus fours or motor kit. HANGE is in the air, of making of coils and coiffures there is no end; we live in a ripple of wonder as to what will happen next, scientific, platonic, political. On the one hand tempestuous religious body insistently emphasises sins of society; on the other Kingsford Smith and his attendant braves contemplate flight into the unknown, a voyaging through ultimate ether which may or may not land them in port and happy haven. Sunday or Monday, if and when they descend to rapturous plaudits of a crowd that gives thanks to Allah for valorous achievement, it is hoped that protesting minority will raise no unwelcome clamour of personal opinion. AFTER unlovely picturisation of machine-ridden world exploited in crude and ugly "Metropolis" of the sereen, one felt out of love with latest and greatest inventions. Interest revives. however, in hearing of an up-to-the-minute Terpischore who, forsaking eternal Charleston, Yale Blues and classic meanderings, finds inspiration in no beacon-light of imagination, but models bizarre and eraceful gyrations upon the intricate curves and right angles of man-made machinery. Miss Cynthia Maugham, relative of the distinguished novelist of that ilk, originates her daring danees, smart London flocking to see the charming poseuse, who has chosen so strange a metier in which to revenl her strangely intriguing talent, ‘OW small a cause in the world’s immensity can cause discomfort of the most acute. Down our street, a kindly God-fearing thoroughfare under the shadow of the Tinakori Hills, the crumpled roseleaf exists by virtue of a man’s inhumanity to a dumb animal, and incidentally to a harmless neighbourhood. Dumb, did I say? Alas, far from dumb is "that big’ black puppy, restlessly straining at its chain from morning till night and night till morning, his frantic protests against an adverse fate causing men to curse and the gods to weep. Is it obtuseness thus to keep in imprisonment an unhappy animal, or lack of imagination, or just plain, straight-out cruelty ? I commend all such cases to the humanitarians in our midst. Your

ANNABEL

LEE