A SUNDAY WALK.

Auckland Star, Volume LXII, Issue 282, 28 November 1931, Page 2 (Supplement)

A SUNDAY WALK.

(By Phyllis Crowley. 79, Ponsonby Road, Auckland - r aged 17.) I was out walking alone-—like liipcat. It was a Sunday afternoon, very sultry, with bursts of sunshine now and then. The hcrat waves danced their devil dance on the concrete road ana a puir of smoke followed a swift-going car. Carefully dressed girls and boys with clean knees and well-slicked-back hair were properly going to Sunday School, their Bibles and prayer books under their arms, Out of a house, banging the door after them, ran. three girls carrying bathing to'wels and costumes, and from the big front window mother watched them go. A woman sat on a verandah talking "baby talk" to the baby on her knee, A man came out of a side street and went up the steps. "Oh, look! Who s that,?" cried the young mother, holding up the child. The "crows" and "goos" and general exclamations died away behind me. ' "Sweet! Sweet!" sang a canary plaintively. "Sweet! Sweet!" "Oh, shut up! Shut up I" bawled a parrot in reply. It was Silenced by distance; and the sunlight bounced back off the white paint of a house, all closed and silent, as if itself and owners were Asleep—the Sunday siesta. For the moment everything was very quiet; and the geraniums in the small garden hung still, a few petals- lying on the ground beneath them. Next door huge opium poppies, wonders of flaming orange and jetty black, leaned at angles, as if their large heads were tOO-heavy, or as if they were drugged with their own opium. A bumble bee dropped from above a?id "zoomed-zoomed" above one; cyfer so slightly its petals quivered ail invitation. The curtains came waving out of the windows of a house. They flipped and fluttered, but no one came out or entered into the darkness that lay beyond the open door. A cat ambled up the garden path and watched me curiously through the gate. A tram went rattling past; stopped while the driver did whatever they do when they come to those green boxes with the little clocks, dropped Out sOine people, engulfed a few, and rattled a\vay. Out an open door, down the steps, and across the green lawn, ran two gay young things in vivid green to the waiting motor car. A young man held open a door and there was a burble of merry talk and giggles. The house door shut With a bang. Further, on a low fence with a broad top, sat an elderly couple, He wore a Small, bright flower in his button hole, and she a spray on her fur. | I passed opt of sight 6f them and under the cool shade of thick, green trees overhanging the street. It was a grateful respite from the sun. The big building—an orphanage—was closed and quiet. There was no sourtd of merry girlish voices, nothing to intimate that this was the homo of many girls. A cyclist went flying' past, pedalling furiously, and the air quivered in his wake. A young lady in a white dre3s ran past to catch a tram, her white shoes flashing—backward —forward—-backward —and behind her fluttered her' bright blue coat. From an open window came the sound of voices—Sunday visitors, probably. A little girl came 6Ut of a gate, Saying to someone behind her, "Oh, I'm not going yet/' She came towards and passed me. Then an elder sister came out and followed her, Crying, "Irene, come back at once. You're not to go yet, do you hear? Come back!" "Mum!" yelled a shrill child's voice from somewhere, "have you got a penny ?" A gramophone played "Climbin' Up The Golden Stairs." The plaintive strains of the minstrels' voices floated after me. On and on, slowly and, leisurely, I went, and the fine dust from the loose metal flew up in a fine mist and settled all over my nicely polished boots. I watched the young couples who went stroking past and the cars with fathers intent on the driving and guests and families in the backs. It was an ideal Sunday, quiet and peaceful. Here Were no worried business people} just people taking rest and leisure. I had now reached some large open spaces of vacant land. On the high distant skyline stood a church, and from its small, equare steeple sounded slowly, softly, a tolling bell. The rolling sound dropped at times to but a murmur, thenj up again, tolling, tolling, calling softly, sweetly, gently to worship.

Mistress (testily): Dear me, I told you to fill that pepper pot quite an hour ago. Haven't you done it yet?

Maid: Not yet, ma'am. It is such a job getting it through the little holes.