AN AUSTRIAN BACKWATER.

Auckland Star, Volume LIV, Issue 72, 24 March 1923, Page 17

AN AUSTRIAN BACKWATER.

BEAUTY, POVERTY, AND PRIMITIVE LIFE. A NEW IMPRESSIONS. (By F.M.M.) A golden valley, truly just now in autumn weather golden with beech and j maple, mountain oak and birch, with patches of wheat and rye in open spaces. 'Vivid splashes of scarlet from rowan tree, barberry and viburnum, carpet of orange bracken—all the wonderful colouring thrown up in relief by the background of sombre pine, forest. . And at back of all, towering snow-capped mountains and a vivid blue sky. A narrow valley this; one could almost call it a. glorified gully were it not for the chain of snow-covered mountains standing sentinel at each end. Through tho I valley tumbles a river, a very noisy little [ river, fed by many waterfalls, and in spring much overfed by melting snows. Perched on mountain slopes wherever foothold is possible are picturesque chalets standing in a tiny clearing. Here intensive culture must be carried ' on to enable the peasant family to live. I fur they have no 'way of earning money, I and exist on the little they can produce. I A wealthy family may graze a few cows' on the mountain slopes and keep half a' do;vn sheep, shorn twice a year to pro-] vide winter clothing for the owners.' Others own a goat or two. and to keep a ! pig is real ■'swank." and gives tone to the community. This is not it valley knoivn to Cook, or beloved of tourists, who turn aside to the more spectacular Salzburg and other lxMiitiful parts of the Austrian Alps. Not being a tourist, j but merely a visitor to a dear friend j living here now. 1 have time io wander j about, poke into many hidden corners, i and see much that is humorous as well i as pathetic. j In my valley the peasants are low; voiced and overpowering!}* polite. A'■ walk up the village parU'.kes somewhat i of a royal progress, so many and varied j are the salutations, from a simple "good day" to "Clod greet you,' , or " Kiss yotir | hand, lady."' The men sweep o)V their I befeathered comic opera hats, and the children, the dear little quaint crea- 1 tures, insist on being noticed. A curt- ' sey or smile is not suliicient, they love to shake hands, and for the smallest : gift—a plum or apple—will kiss your; band and offer you a "hundred tbou- ; sand thanks." Such poor, ill-nourished 1 little mites. Many of them come daily to my friend's house for a meal, and they are wondering bow to keep them alive this coming winter, since the American supplies have ceased. What we in our prosperous colony would eon- 1 eider the necessaries of life —such things as bread, meat, milk, butter, and sugar —are quite beyond the purchasing power of any but the rich, and even money cannot procure butter or milk, i

When they talk of feeding the children I naturally suggest good, strong soup. What can they make it of? No meat. "Oh, well, vegetables, with plenty of rice, sago, etc." Quite impossible to buy. '"Potatoes V We only have what we can grow ourselves. "Bread and coffee? - ' We might manage coffee without milk or sugar, but bread or flour we cannot buy for them. The peasants live chiefly on coarse rye meal mixed in a pan with any grease procurable, and they really like it. A loaf of brown bread costs now 3000 kronen. Two years ago my friend paid that sum for a new piano in an oak case —the money now will only purchase a loaf of bread! Then the wages of a servant were 40 kronen a month, now they are 40,000, which after all is little, more than 1/ a week. Certainly " Mitiopa" would be the place for the poor rich with British money, where one gets 1(1,000 kronen for a" miserable " bob," and can live in luxury in the cities for 10/ a week. We British seem to be the only solvent country in Kuropc, certainly the only one with a silver coinage, and presumably a gold one somewhere behind the Bank of England, Here in our valley the war of the outside world passes by unheeded. That the men fought and the women suffered in the late war is testified by the simple memorial, a pile of stones with names engraved on a top one. erected in their memory; but one doubts if they ever considered the why or wherefore, or even against whom their country waged war. Une of the things that strikes mc most here is the extreme, docility of the animals —not the docility which comes from oppression or cruel treatment, but an almost human realisation of what is expected of them, and a politeness that would shame many humans. On a mountain height one day I came upon a dozen sheep, hardly recognisable as our animal of commerce, with their long legs, shorn bodies, and diversity of expression. They took an immediate interest in mc. pressed round jealously to be patted and noticed, and one blackfaced beau with a glad eye put a foot on each shoulder and tried to lick my face. At this exciting moment a girl came out of a chalet in the valley far below and rang a bell. Like a flash all the sheep, including my devoted admirer, disappeared over the edge of tlic mountain and were galloping down the precipice, seeing which could reach the yard lirst. My poor fellow made a late start and came in a bad last. The oxen and cows, all huge creatures, very longhorned and fierce in appearance, and at first, when met in narrow mountain passes, one instinctively looked round for a handy tree or rock. Each animal carries a bell and one can hear the varied chime before the originators appear in sight. They invariably take the outside edge of the track and stand politely till I pass. Occasionally a Socialist lady, with an "as-good-as-you-are" air. may occupy the middle of the path too leng. You address her sternly' in German (if you can), her companions turn and regard her reproachfully, and she slinks into line in a shamefaced manner. 1 really half expect them all to bow and say '•ftuten Tag." and I have difficulty in repressing my "Danke Schon."

Oxen, of course, are used by the richer people for all farm work and traction, but the cow seems capable of everything except milk and butter. How can she fulfil her function in life when she works all day like a horse, poor thing? I-arge herds, of course, are kept on the mountain top 3 during the summer months, and it is made a great occasion 1 when they are all led down to the val-| leys at. the beginning of October. Wej saw such a procession one day in the Salzburg Valley—a quaint and picturesque ceremony, pach section of cows had two leaders, which carried enormous bells, were covered with embroidered cloths, and garlanded with wild flowers. They took 1 lie middle of the road this time: they quite felt they were in the limelight and for one day, at least, would exact the "deference due to mc." All the cows carried bells and wreaths of flowers, and some had tlicirj owner's coats and general swag fas-1 toned between their horns. The men,l in green jackets and feathered hats, walked at one side, exchanging pleasantries and good wishes with the holidaymakers who ran out to greet them. On this property there is one particularly large ox. a re:tl mountain of flesh and bone, and as he lay in the yard one day.] we conceived the idea of an Arcadian j group, with him as a centre-piece. Accordingly our party proceeded to make! ready and selected various spots on the recumbent animal on which to pose. It was a slow process accommodating so] many, much retarded by the untimely! merriment of the younger folk. AII| was ready, every smile fixed, and the; amateur photographer prepared to do tho deed, when the stage decided that, the position was rather cramped, andj he would stand up. The lady of t lie j house had selected the tail end as tlici place of honour, and. as that particular! quadruped always rises with his hind I leg=. she had a long and perilous descent before reaching the ground. The! others slid gracefully, and the only remaining poseur was the schoolboy astride between the horns. The animal just stood up and looked apologetic. One could almost hear him s,-,y. "go I sorry to interrupt the performance, butj you were very slow, and six at. once — well there isa limit to what a fellow can stand." i