SPRING-CLEANING CRUELTY

Auckland Star, Volume LXIX, Issue 220, 17 September 1938, Page 5 (Supplement)

SPRING-CLEANING CRUELTY

For Women

J T comes to all of us, soon or late, and surer than the sprouting of the daffodils or the desire to buy a new hat, it marks the coming of spring—this almost creative desire to brighten the nouse up.

Nj.thing, Kiirelv, is so much a certifi- . to of our interest in life-in spite of ih "V,""'?* . and charms around us— than this desire to live entirely alert, with new things.

Hut I would write a memorial to the ♦*ti ' Hr - thrust awav. Mere IH a beauty in neglected things." Une of our jtoets says:

' oan, l;«c4 Play ' hC grudging t'C'Ti <>f time, with all colour und the form the hours dispart.

1 here is not much of the mystic about the alert-eyed housewife in battle >V'th the dust of the ages. "The artistrv of time! ' she snort*— juwt look at this worm-eaten old rocking chair—it's going <>n the tire at last." And like the treacherous enemies of other rears, she strikes behind the arras of the heart at someone wlio«e memories are bovnd to the chair. An older woman who rocked this vandal to sleep, in more leisurely days; what time she indulged in the little reading of romance that she could steal from the workaday world. It is a one-sided struggle, as a rule, in which the older woman surrenders, saying: "I knew this urge myself once! She is young and what dfelight it will give her!"

Tn this business of spring-cleanin j there is material for ail epic novel, portraying the conflict i>etween old and new; torn pages of history; much scope for philosophy; and certainlj- adequate matter for «tudies in character, and the conflicts that occur between women in households.

Not every old thing, of course, falls to the degradation of the dustbin, or the inhumanity of the bonfire; some last, lurking love keeps tlieni hidden in lark cupboards or attics. If you want to get at the very root of the matter of spring-cleaning, do not stop with your admiration of the new beige and henna scheme for the sitting room, but say, too: "And what have you hidden in the cupboards?" And the true reply should be, not: "A lot of old rubbish," but "old loves, old thoughts, old hopes, old days, old ways, and the history of a century "

I was looking through an old jewel case a little while ago; it is very aged and «o shabby "that nowadays it is stowed away at the bottom of an old bookcase. In the years gone by there would certainly have been room for it on one of those elephantine pieces of Victorian furniture. Now, itself in turn, "it is the hiding place for numerous family treasures too out-moded for constant exhibition. As one investigates, taking hold of the top layer of old letters and photographs, tarnished medals drop down on to the bottom stratum of watches that won't go, and fat, old-fashioned rings. There fe a miniature portrait of a soldier, painted on glass; and how beautifully colourfill he is, for he was in the Army long years ago, 'when there was no need of camouflage, and a man went about, bravely important in scarlet-red and gold lace s<] niggled epaulettes. The painter has placed inbi* hand a pink rose, a seeming incongruity, until one looks at the eager and innocent young face, and thinks of the hazard* of the

ByBart Sutherland

soldier's life. And down amongst the dust that always collects at the bottom of these boxes there is something rather touching to me; beautiful clean lengths of medal riblwn, wrapped in tissue palter, so that the soldier- absent now from all earthly roll-calls—should be seemly if called suddenly to parade. I hi» l>o\ is full of al! sorts of records hat, according to our standards, would be better wiped away. Here is a faded photograph of the monument to the officers and men who fell in the fatal fisjht on Majuba Hill, in February, 1881. in my later years, by reason of'all the expository literature' published, I have got used to the idea that my country v»as not always right; but I have never yet become sufficiently hardened—as some do. in the ardour of their striking an original thought -to hold the cjnai lit idea that she is always wrong.

We want to look back over the years, and spring-clean them, too, forgetting that those others had their standards; and it behoves us to keep the beet, while learning our lessons from the bogies in the dark cupboard. There is much talk nowadays, of re-writing the history books; to get the facts right, ctrtainly; but don't let lis overlook the undoubted fact that lif<; itself is not entirely fact. "A myth lias power, and a good myth, truth." Men will always need this legendary of courage to help them in the difficult situations. Let the child know that we are looking forward to the time when war will lie as out-of-date as duelling; when, if the soldier survives at all, he will be used in an interrational service for the keeping of the law; but do not hide from him the ancient, courage of his race. It is no shameful standard to live and die by. Most of us are such lovers of order that we should like to spring-clean our very lives. It is, |»erliaps. no sordid aspiration, but rather a testimony that we have living souls. But it shows, also, a certain crudeness and lack of wisdom. "There is never time to say our

last word," save Joseph Conrad, "the last word of our love, of our desire faith, remorse. . . Few of us want to recognise that; we rather admire the methods of the Victorian, Miss Braddon, who, however vague her endings may he for aesthetic reasons, gives ua & satisfactory washing-up bill at the end of her books to let know just where we are

"What remains to be told of Sybil's life-historv ? Another year of quiet widowhood, in spite of the pleading of a devoted lover; and then, on a °rey morning at the beginning of the year, the plainest of weddings in the parish church at Ardlfeton. An Italian honeymoon, which lasted from winter to spring. . . ."

Some people's lives are worked out deanly like that; others' are not.

1 ask you to be kind to the "old shades" in the cupboards, for reasons of wisdom, mainly, but for self-comfort, too. Ihe day will noon come when someone younger than yourself will turn upon you and say: "But aren't those ideas a bit arky i \Vliat> about letting ine turn this place out?" And count yourself lucky if she leaves you something in a cupboard to look at occasionally.