LET'S LINGER LONGER.

Auckland Star, Volume LXI, Issue 199, 23 August 1930, Page 2 (Supplement)

LET'S LINGER LONGER.

THE WINTER MORNING FEELING.

BUDGETITES GIVE THEIR VIEWS. - Winter mornings are most certainly unpopular with the younger generation, nevertheless the special subject letter last week was Well contributed to. The prize was awarded to Alfred Ansiey, 35, Hatrick Terrace, Wanganui, whilst the works of Sheila Quinn, Kathleen Sheehan, Marjorie Morton and Doris Brown were highly commended. Next week's subject will be: "My Ideal Holiday." 2, Stanley Point Road, Devonport, August 50, 1930. Dear Peter Tan, — I am sure you set the subject, lhese Winter Mornings" out of sheer malice. I eihaps your own l'eet have triz (school,,m language) during those awful •^en one crawls out of warm,- cosy bianKcts on t cheerless, liard mats. I know only Lo well that mine have. Therefore, to you want to gloat over the ietters other poor sufferers are sending 111 and clesciiDin a their "cold morning" feelings. I think, however, that our heroic efforts are rewarded later on in the day, tor these cold, frosty mornings we luive experlenccd of late have been succeeded by beautuui sunny days. The mornings I detest are those when no sun tinges the east with a soft, warm glow, but the sky assumes a dull, leaden coioui. They are mornings that seem to ioretcii a horrible day. Although some people say they "like" winter —and, indeed the majority of old people prefer it to summer, the latter being too hot for tlicm—the younger generation would much rather have summer. _ Summer—when we can swim, swim and swim. How I love it. y Yours sincerely, KATHLEEN SHEEHAN (age 13). 36, Sherwood Avenue, Grey Lynn, August 0, 1930. Dear Peter Pan, — Why are we afraid to leave our beds on these winter mornings? It seems so cowardly to be scared because there is a nip in the air. 1 should really like to know why it takes such a lot of "making up ones mind" to get up on a cold morning. In summer we are only too pleased to be able to jump out into a cold bath. Doesn't it seem funny that in hot weather we are only too glad to get cool, while in winter we almost pine for the hot, scorching days ol summer? . Perhaps I am speaking for myself only, but I know that when I am called to get up there seems to be something which makes me want to cling to my cosy bed—something which somehow makes it impossible to get up. I wonder if your clOck ever plays the tricks which mine seems to play ? As I gaze at it I feel sure that while I lie in bed it just rushes around, but the moment I leap out it goes on so calmly and so staidly. There are some people who, as they enter the tramcars in the morning, seem always to make a point of saying, "Oh, isn't it cold?" Thcv are the same kind who always say in summer, ''Oh, isn't it hot? I'm roasting." Of course it's cold, but why not grin and bear it? I often envy those people who are able to jump out of bed and run outside and have a really good snowball fight before breakfast. When people begin growling about the cold I often think that tliey should be transported to the equator, where it; is always hot. Then we who enjoy the slight nip would be left to enjoy it by ourselves. Yours sincerely, MARJORIE MORTON (age 15.) 35 ; Hatrick Terrace, Wanganui. Dear Peter Pan, — Winter. . . . and, more particularly winter mornings. What visions must the words conjure up for some people. What feelings most boys and girls have upon that subject. Every winter morning comes the call from mother "It's time to get up." A nose appears above the warm blankets; a little shiver funs up and down the spine of the rudely-awakened sleeper, and then with a mighty effort one renders up the ghost by throwing back the blankets and leaping clean out of the bed. _ Outside ii white world glistens in the first pale sunlight, and all the glories of nature in winter arc revealed under the spreading rays of the rising sun. It always seems to me that a winter morning is just like the time when the world is first awakened after a long desertion. It appears as the old palace of "Sleeping Beauty" fame must have appeared to Prince Charming. The sun's rays are the awakening kiss, and the cold, still earth responds to their magic touch as the princess did to her prince. Slowly crawling humanity comes out of doors; voices resound In previously silent streets; the wheels of industry commence to '"revolve and slowly and surely, God's mills grind on and on, unheard, unwatched and uncared for. But these last few winter mornings have been stirring ones for Wanganui residents, since this lias been ilie coldest snap for thirty years. Two weeks ago to-day we awoke to find a thick mixture of' snow, hail and ice coating the ground—a glorious dazzling spectacle, unlooked for, unexpected [. and unheralded. What a winter morning v was that! Would that all our winters would contain such a morning of unlimited g l fun, exhilarating play and joyous i" I laughter.

Your sincere correspondent-, ALFRED ANSLEY. 3, Tennyson Street, Mount Eden, Auckland. August 11, 1930. Dear Peter Pan, — "These winter mornings!" Ugh! Those few words have the power to send most violent shivers down my spine, and to make me turn a decided bluish hue. Most decidedly I do not like the bitterly cold mornings we Aucklanders have been having of late. In fact, to be quite candid, I jolly well dislike tliem. It was on the very coldest morning we have yet had (perhaps you remember it), and having by physical force been pulled out of bed by my unsympathetic family, I was marching along the road towards my tram stop. I couldn't have been any colder, therefore I stepped with positive pleasure on all the crispest, hardest pieces of ice that bordered the road, and all the little white soft heaps of hail stones. My face was red, my nose redder. I, careered madly across the road and boarded - the tram. "Hullo," said one of those horribly invigorating persons one occasionally meets, "Isn't it a wonderful morning? I've walked round the block twice." I shivered involuntarily; was rewarded with several shivers from fellow ice-bergs and looked at that uncanny person anxiously. Mad? Undoubtedly. For the rest of the morning until the sun shone down wclcomingly on my particular window I sat and shivered. The moral in this pathetic tale is doubtful, but after all we arc all human Peter Pan. and the mornings of late have been most particularly unsuitable for those who like to "linger longer" in the comfortable warmness of their beds. "The Early Bird Gets the Worm" is the age old proverb that hangs above my bed. These cold winter mornings, however, one is quite content to miss the worm I think. Don't you? Your sincere friend, SHEILA QUINN.