Passing Pageant

Radio Record, Volume XII, Issue 25, 2 December 1938, Page 10

Passing

Pageant

by

Trevor

Lane

« WO days after we left Tenerife the life and soul of the ship, Baroness Von Sechirnding, gave a eocktail party. — ‘Thad meant to be there, but two hours before my inside seemed to tie itself up in small, uncomfortable knots and I went to bed instead. Next morning, returning slowly and painfully from the bathroom I ran into the ship’s doctor. ‘‘ Ah-ha,’’ he said jovially, "cocktail party was too much for you last night. You weren’t at dinner?’ "‘T wasn’t even at the party,’’ I.said. ‘I had a pain under my pinny and I went to bed.’ . He. became. suddenly, professional. ‘‘Well, that’s where you’re going right now. . I’ll have a-look at you." * §° for the next ten days, . while the ship . crossed the Equator and continued through the South Atlantic toward Cape Town, I stayed "abed, frozen outside . with ice packs and inside with ice . eream and cold milk.

a ‘My cabin became the meet‘ing place for half the ship, and I was better informed on the scandals, love affairs, quarrels and gossip of the passengers than anyone else on board! I became the sort

of Father Confessor and confidant of matrons and their husbands, girls-in-love and young-men-out-of-love, Finally the doctor firmly tacked a notice to my door, ‘‘No Visitors, Please.’’

MY first glimpses of Cape Town were the tops of a few buildings seen through a chink in:the windows of the ambulance. I can remember a big. ‘red sign, ‘"Woolworths Are in Plein Street.’? I don’t know why I should remember that . Just one of those things that in one’s s mind. The nursing home had’ been told of my arrival by radiogram ...a bed was ready’. the doctor was there ...a shot of morphia ... two _ huge negroes carrying me to the operating theatre... a silly line from ‘Chu Chin Chow"’ running through my head‘Carried on a golden palanquin’’’... . the sleepy thought that I forgotten to tell the doctor what was the matter with me.. . glorious African sunshine down on the operating theatre . . night . . . a terrible- thirst oe 8 drink of lemon... the operation had. been over. for hours. $ * [> ND "80, nstead of. a brief e twelve hours "im Cape *: Town on:my way to Austraie ‘ha: and. New Zealand, I had five ‘weeks. ‘there-perhaps the happiest ‘fos "weeks of my life. ~ . ! _ Pu admit that I was rather. } spoiled. The passengers who had. disembarked, called to see :meé and ‘brought their friends. . The" sun* shone every. day. 5 Aid, after a fortnight I was. « allowed ‘to get up." Farst: _ thing "I Gd. was to stagger "‘uncentairly. down the front.

steps and plant a slippered foot firmly into the nearest flowerbed. ' The matron wanted to know what I was doing. I explained that I was in the unique position of hav-

ing been in South Africa — -two weeks without setting foot on it. The footprint beside the cinerarta was meant to rectify that. HREE days after I arrived in Cape Town there was Union Day, .a holiday to mark the formation of the Union of South Africa. Military parades were held everywhere and, in almost every instance "Die Stem Van -Sud Afrika’’ was played instead of the National Anthem. ‘-A tremendous hue and ery was raised in the Press, so much so that the lJLondon ‘«Times’’ and the ‘‘Manchester Guardian’? both: devoted: editorials to the subject. .Feeling ran high and it was said if the incident had occurred before the elections instead of after, the result might have been very. different. . Cape’ Tow’ theie are four ' daily papers, two printed in anid: two-in Afrikaans, which .is a_’sort’ of bastard Dutelr and. the. ‘ational’ lan: guage. of South Africa. ‘ All street signs, timetables, telegraph: forms and so on are printed. in. both languages, THE ‘AFRIKAANS. ALWAYS BEING PLACED. FIRST! | ual walked into a "shop. one day buy :something or other-I forget what. The girl’ behind the counter said im perfect: Eng- : dish, "don’t. peek Suge "only Afrikaans" Pee ae ate

‘And I don’t speak Afri-kaans-only English,’’ I teplied, my British pride nettled. L did my shopping farther down the road. ~ T hospitality and kindness of the Cape Town people is something Pu always remember, I was © positively embarrassed by the number of ears that were put at my disposal, the imoitations to lunch and dinner and theatres. They have some quaint expressions; too. The first time T was asked to go to a ‘‘bioscope’? I had visions of @

rather naughty peep-show of 1890 vintage. But they meant the ordinary everyday cinema, which is still called a bdioscope in South Africa. T became quite good. at referring to the veranda as the stoep and. I even lear ned to sing ‘Sart Marais.’ M Ber. I rather fear for Cape Town. It has a slightly old-fashioned air now-the post office in Adderley Street is big and rambling with funny little windows and lots of towers and turrets. Lazing in the sunshine are the coloured flower-sellers with their huge baskets of gay flowers gathered from the veldt. The: railway station is rather like dear, dirty old Victoria Station in London ... twodecker trams rumble alongside . the latest trolley-huses. In a year or two old Cape Town will have disappeared. Night and day ‘dredges and all the paraphernalia | of progress are at work on the harbour of New Cape Town, By 1945. the city will possess a new: £10,000,000 ‘harbour, the waterfront end of Addérley Street will /have moved nearly a mile out to sea, the old, .quaint. post "office will be supplanted by a huge’ new umpteen-story structure.’ The railway station is to ‘be rebuilt, too-something fitting as ‘the terminus of ‘Africa’ s railway system. i Rumour says that the British .Government’ is. heartily _ in favour of Cape Town’ s big new. ‘harbour. scheme, ~ Intérnational complications may: bottle up the‘Suez: Canal -.at any’. "time" and. Cape. Town "will Beeoine. one of | the -most: important ports in the

All these old buildings, part of the charm of Cape Town's Adderley Street, are soon to be pulled down. There’s a new and opulent Cape Town cbout to be born.

Trevor Lane’s Passing Pageant takes you today from old, but ambitious Cape Town with its £10,000,000 harbour scheme toa glimpse of the homes and hearts of some of New Zealand’s brave and lonely women. Read about Dorothy Wood's Happiness Club . . . bringing joy and cheer to thousands. That's Dorothy on the right.

world. That’s why the Dutch contractors are working 24 hours a day for the next seven years! 4 [ovEty Cape Town... I " have memories of you that last evening when our , Ship slipped away from the \ Cape on its long journey to y Australia, Table Mountain loomed dark against the sunset sky, the lights of the city twinkled their last good-bye and the people on the wharf, hundreds of them, sanz a plaintive farewell song. A Ww HE faces that pass by in the’ street-with a smile, with a frown-the people who sit about you in. the cinema watching the anties of Mickey

Mouse or Charlie MeCarthy ... who can guess what tragedy or despair may be lurking in many hearts? But there is someone in Auckland whose sympathy and human undecreouding have brought dappiness to lonely souls, laughter to lips that have been grim with anxicty. LI mean Dorothy-Doro-thy Wood of the Happiness Club-the girl who has created something out of nothing and brought working girls and women toiling on outback -farms into one common bond of human love and friendship. Dorothy’s Happiness Club is a grand institution and it deserves to flourish. WHEN I was in Auckland not so long ago I asked Dorothy to let me see some of the letters she gets from

people ... and what a ‘volume of tragedy and comedy, courage and fellowship they make! I’ve asked Dorothy to let me quote extracts from two or three of them. Here’s the first one-a human document from a hard-working woman who lives on a farm out of Waihi. She writes to thank Dorothy for the programme of the Happiness Club Ball in the Auckland Town Hall-but she tells her own little tale: It is some time since you so kindly sent me a programme for the Happiness Ball and I never wrote to thank you. But I sent out big thoughtwaves of thanks -I hope you got them. I have put the programme away in my treasure box. I think you would smile if you saw my. box-it has things like the chocolate wrapper from the first cake of choco- .

late my husband bought me, the empty packet from the cigareties he had to smoke to get courage to ask ‘‘wilt thou,’’ the sprig of orange . blossom off our wedding cake, a nail that punctured a new tyre as we set off on our honeymoon, a menu I ‘‘borrowed’’ from the hotel, a very worn shoe-her first, a few programmes for differ-

' ent events that have some special memory attached, and _ @ dozen and one things that — I wouldn’t part with . for gold. . BUT now her letter takes on a note of tragedy-a mother

laying bare her heart to someona who has brought new joy and interest in her life: Her letter goes on... Dorothy, the other day I heard you saying to someone, that ‘‘it was best when it was sudden and you knew they didn’t have to suffer.’? I expect it was: to someone who had lost someone dear. You see, Dorothy, I once had the little boy and at one year 10 months he toddled down to the water trough and there I found him floating with his wee arm held out as if beseeching.someone ‘to take him before it was too late. I nearly went mad, Dorothy; I was’ on my own with the three children, one. a baby- of | six months, the eldest only three and it. was nearly a mile to the nearest house. All the neighbours were wonderful-my own people. could not haye. done more. I hope you don’t ‘ind all this, but I can’t talk about it even to my husband and some- |

times I long to talk to someone who can understand, some woman. I have three girls and God has been good so I smile and hide my hurt. It is nearly four years ago, but even now I ean’t put my hands in cold water without turning cold inside. ¥ AN’T you sce and understand the tragedy of that poor soul, and can’t you feel a little prayer of gratitude and thankfulness welling up in your own heart. There’s no antidote for selfpity like the story of another’s misfortunes. Here’s the letter of another farmer’s wife whose lot is mostly hard work. But she’s, not too busy to think of someone else-her lonely old mother who lives in Auck--land... . Ce Once again, Dorothy, I'am writing and begging -you tf you would be so very kind.as to help my mother. If she can join your Happiness Club and meet some’ members, if only she could find someone to’ | go" out." with occasionally, perhaps for walks on Sunday or to the pictures sometimes

' . eee -I’m sure among the Mappiness members she could find some bright companion, perhaps lonely, like herself. She gets so muserably lonely, Dorothy, especially at. weekends and she is so shy. I’m sure if she could go to your Happiness Club meetings and meet people it would do her the world of good. * quEre’ S-aery right from a .mother’s heart in the next letter I pick up. Her only child, a proud headstrong girl, had left home-gone . without word or warning. And then the girl is found, desperately ill, penniless, but. too proud to seek the help of the mother who nurses a_ breaking’ heart. Just listen to her letter . I have been very ill with worry over my daughter, my only child whom you already know about, and _ her terrible. misfortune, ‘put what I want to say. is this-God "bless the woman in ‘your Happiness Clab who came upon . Naney i in her time of. trouble. YT don’t know. if she is young. : or old, but what a heart she has! You should be very happy to

think you have such a lovely woman in your club; we will never forget the kindly deed she did and may she eet repaid a thousandfold. My girl would have died, I am sure, only God seemed to send a helping hand. I, her mother, did not know of her being out .of a job and i ean tell you it has broken my heart