BACK TO SCHOOL.

Auckland Star, Volume LXVII, Issue 57, 7 March 1936, Page 1 (Supplement)

BACK TO SCHOOL.

END OF THE HOLIDAYS.

THE BACKBIiOCK CHILDREN.

(By M.E.S.)

At the beginning of the holidays it had not been necessary to think about h it at all. It was enough that the r children were at home once more, that again voices laughed and echoed in the c quiet farm-house, set so far from its c fellows that the native birds sang at its f very doors, perched so high in the moun- g tains that in early mornings the. mist t lay in pockets all about it while already £ the sunlight flooded the plains. The f summer holidays were blessedly long; ( there was no need at all to think of _ that relentless February day when the house would be silent again, when the _ children must go back to town and to ' school, and to the whole exacting business, so thrilling to them, so bleakly unwelcome to their parents of "growing up," and "fitting themselves for a career." Because she was but a human and normal mother of very human and normal children, inevitably there had been momenta during the next seven weeks when she had found herself thinking , without the usual shudder of apprehension of the end of the holidays. For example, there were those wet days when she tried to cook dinner by spasmodically dodging round a huge pingpong table to reach stove or sink while three voices argued vociferously, and the puppy, smuggled in against all orders because "he's so little and wet, yapped incessantly in generous and miscellaneous partisanship. Again, there were hours when the whole world seemed to echo with the pounding of horses' hooves, and the mother was forced to retreat indoors to avoid the sight of small figures recklessly urging half-broken and wholly-enthusiastic kaiporkas at impossible hurdles, or when she was summoned out by the distracted squawking of her treasured pullets, herded into a corner by a puppy who alternately leapt maddening or lurked terrifyingly, but who was always applauded °by - the children, "because he must have something to practise on, 01 ; how can he be a good sheep dog? . . . Yes, there had been moments when even the mother of the children had wondered why her soul had grown so , sick of silence, why peace had even seemed to her the least desirable of 1 heaven's boons. ! Yet always at the back of her mind ■ even in those humorous and inevitable • moments, was the knowledge of tile 1 I read ful blank, the strange, primitivi ! sense as of a violent rending apart, u ' va"ue incompleteness which, by ail inscrutable decree of Nature, must always

be the fate of a mother bereft of her hi children. She knew, of course, that this b( is the inevitable lot of backblocks ai women, that the ache would pass, as all ai passes, with the blessed salve of time; hi yet, reasonable though she strove to be, I a there remained the actual parting to be endured, the first week of separation to sc be lived through when the serene, unchanging forest, the remoteness of the 1 hills, the very orderliness of the little 1 house itself would all intensify the 5 parents' loneliness. The children were aware of it, of course; increasingly and uneasily aware of it, and showed their fleeting unhap- tl piness in a painful deference to her tl slightest wishes as the end of the holi- ti days approached. During the last day kor two they grew subdued, ceased to |, quarrel happily, watched her furtively, 0 cried a little in their secret beds ii at night, and dried the dishes ri with an eager compunction that amused and hurt her. The tension of the days, i increased by this elaborate and unusual t virtue, tried them all, until each in " their heart echoed the weary exaspera- f tion of the littlest one when she cried \ petulantly: "If we've got to go away, c I'd rather go now and be done with it." j Flooded Roads. i e The actual departure was less of an ordeal than usual, because the disastrous j storm that had wrecked the farm fences and swept away every flood gate on the 1 place ten days earlier had also made the road down the mountain impassably , for wheeled traffic, and thereby lent to j the hated journey certain new excite- ( ments and pleasurable thrills. It was , comforting to be able to ride until the , very last moment, while father came behind leading a pack horse well loaded with the family's suit cases, and amus- , ing to think of the quick change that would be necessary when they met the service car 15 miles further on. On the whole, all this had its consolations and was infinitely preferable to chugging a dolorous way to the main highway in the ancient family car. The last breakfast, as usual, remained a choking and . insufferable ordeal; the mother of the children had prepared it with a careful nonchalance and they made a point of 1 eating it as casually, talking spasmodically and usually all together, telling , each other that a year passed very , quickly, that perhaps with prices so much better they might be able to come home for the short holidays, or tlieir ■ parents pay that long-promised, always- . deferred visit to town. The puppy, it . is true, proved a trifle upsetting, for, with the 6ad wisdom of his kind, he • appeared to sense change and unliappii ne.=s in the air, dogging their footsteps I with a woebegone air and a certain chastened pleading in his eyes. It was 5 unfortunate that the Littlest One, in 1 an unguarded moment, was trapped into f savins: "He'll be just a dog when we see him again." for this drew upon her the da'rjrer alances of the other two. and necessitated a burned exit to remove l> an imaginary smut from an infinitesimal „ nose. ( But on the whole they kept un appearances very well, laughing at the incon- ' griiitv of school hats and badges above. ■ and dungarees below, thinking one and s all with- incredible felief, "Anothef lialf-

iQiir and we shall be gone, and it will >c over." Even the most honourably ind painfully eaten breakfast must end, md the last package be loaded.upon the lorses, the last girth tightened, the ast farewell sternly said; one by one ho ponies passed through the gate in >olemn procession, their wise eyes askng the reason for this pace so different : roin the. usual scuttling gallop, their •iders drooping a little in the saddles, yet turning to wave a stoic good-bye at the corner before the bush engulfed 1 ;hem. They had gone for almost a year. ( New Interests. The mother stood Tor a long time at '< :he hedge, watching the dust settle on ;he bush track, and the inquisitive fantails come out to inquire lier business. she knew that already the children's jiief would have lifted a little, that they would be discussing the difficulties sf changing into decorous school wear in a public road, would have decided to race each other to the next corner, and probably be even quarrelling a little upon the merits of their ponies. The black cloud would desccnd again when they must pfU't with their father, say good-bye to those beloved horses, climb into the service car and turn their faces definitely to town; but the journey would have excitements of its own, the change from car to boat and boat to train, and to-morrow they would be back in familiar surroundings with their friends and their new interests. It was exactly as she'would have wished it. A tui's clear call startled her in the heavy silence, and with a little sigh 6he thought that she had hardly heard its voice above the din of the last seven weeks, but that she would hear it clearly enough in the months to come. Then a new sound rent the air, and turning with a start she saw the puppy sitting forlorn and neglected in the middle of the lawn, dejection in every curve of the plump body, intense selfpity in the back-thrown head; impossible, to emulate that vast egotism. With a little laucli the mother picked up the sentimentalist and ran back into the house. Life had begun again.