WHY BOTHER TO BATH

Auckland Star, Volume LXIX, Issue 280, 26 November 1938, Page 2

WHY BOTHER TO BATH

VISITORS are one of our pleasures in the backblocks. To those gallant spirits that brave our muddy roads and flooded rivers during winter months, we feel a very lively gratitude, mingled with a certain apology. What have we to offer to com* pensate* for these trials? « Nature, it 1# true, Is ever with us, and never more so than when the season's harrier# have cut us off from every distinction. But she is almost too much upon our doorstep and with too little alleviation. Open spaces can pall when they are as open an all that—miles and miles of uninterrupted view with only the silent and watching forest a« light relief. Mud Intervenes Of ordinary pleasure there is none. Tho nearest town is thirty miles away, "and of those miles a great many are unadulterated mud. From that distance even the best of picture shows fail* to allure, and young hearts must pine indeed for dances that would pursue them nt. cost of such effort. We are not rich in neighbour*, and few women consider the claims of social in the wintertime. Certainly there is a political social in the local hall next month, but even that wild gaiety seems inadequate return for braving th« dark morass that local authority deems a road. We will, we think, pay for our subscription*, bake •ome cake* that a more venturesome neighbour will deliver—and remain thankfully at homo. Kor here, if the truth be known, lurk the only attractions that we have to offer our friends or ourselves during I

these long months of winter. They are simple enough—a good fire, an unfailing supply of hoarty hark logs, and plenty of books. For communication with the outaido world —and who could be happy without it, or lor,,,the matter of that, with it just now? l —there are wirelesa and telephone, and for excitement the daily work of salvage and rehabilitation that a. severe winter cntftils amongst the flock. Simple pleasures, we are willing to admit, and mostly of the inateiiali-t ic order, lint tlioie friend* who like UK well enough to'endure such rigours usually understand us and our life sufficiently to enjoy them. They bring us great plca-iirc and are welcome ;is those lir<t bursting bud* on the wattle trees with their promi-e of spring once more upon the land. Yes. it is the winter visitor »hoie friendship is pro\en beyond (|iie-tion. In summer we feel that we ha\c our modest, attractions; we are within reach of civilisation, a pleasant drive from the hot city streets to the slmdo of the forest. Sleek horses seem to offer themselves as willing sacrifices for aspiring riders, deep cool streams beckon teasingly; there are high hills to be climbed in the cool dawn and enticing, \v inding roads running through the dim heart of the bush. Oh yes, we have our attractions in summer and we have our visitors, too —shoals of them. Some of tliem arc a little tiresome. T do not mean our friends, the people who really know us well and fit into our I life. I refer to the brand of visitor

IN THE COUNTRY?

By M.ES.

who is not really at home with lis, who regards us as a somewhat curious exhibit and who does his hearty best to make lis feel entirely comfortable with the distinguished guests from town. Those phenomena are usually friends of our friends, or busine«s men whose work has brought them for a week-end into the country, agents who make our house a centre while they "visit round tlie di.-triot," or political canvassers who nre endeavouring to learn all about the baekblocks in three days. They are usually a little trying and we cannot even tlatter ourselves that they enjoy lis any better than we enjoy them.

One of their amiable hut unsatisfactory habits is to insist on living down to us. We are farmers and therefore interested in very little beyond stock and the price of wool or butter fat. They determine at all costs not to talk above our heads and therefore involve themselves in endless discussions that bore us almost as devastating!y as them. If we try to steer the conversation to world affairs, or even to local politics, they mount the rostrum at once and lecture us upon subjects which, with no particular conceit, we venture to think we understand rather better than they do. When we tire of their monologue and attempt to assert ourselves, they look surprised and say, "Wonderful t limy, this wireless. Farmers are getting quite up-to-date nowadays."

•'s, my experience is that farmers most eertainly bath just as reuularlv as their town cousins. It is the visitors who don t. \ ear alter year the country hosts have the same experience; thev listen to tales of their quests' devotion to that inoriiinjr plunge in icy water — but see them <lisap|K-ar into the bath-

Rut it is not only in the realm of the mind that we linil tho-e guests irritating. Indeed. >u frail i- human nature, that we f.omet i inos feci wo would rather lie thought ignorant than dirty. For the popular idea with a certain typo of tovviii-nia n appears to be that fanners do not bath. 1 haw known such men express naiv surprise when shown into the bathroom. "Don't bother about mo; the kitchen .-ink will do mo \ery well."' they say heartily, and when you venture firmly to insinuate that you prefer to keep t lie .-ink for dishes, they talk vaguely about the wash Steered at last relent los-dy into the bathroom, they congratulate their hoste.-s fervently u|Kin the possession of what they too evidently regard a* a rarity in the backbloeks. "I'll bet it's crowded out on Saturday nights," I myself unco heard one such miracle of tact declare facetiously. Why Not Bathrooms? Now why should not farm lnui-os have bathrooms? The oinallei-t cottage in town would bo considered incomplete without one; why should the cit v worker be assumed so much more fastidious than the farmer? As a matter of fact, after a lifetime of farm experience, I could count on one hand the houses I have seen where there U no Mich amenity; where the house is old and dilapidated and the farmer has no skill with tools and no knowledge of plumbing, the position is a little diflicult, but. I have seen many interesting makeshifts resorted to by the farmer who refuses to do without his daily bath. A bath in the wat-h - house is a favourite' solution, with a copper tire close at hand to heat the water for his ablutions.

room hall-dressed ami emerge after a couple of minutes apparently clean for the* day. *'(>h. one doesn t bother about that sort ot in the country; I'm oil holiday," they tell you— and the one ehaiacteri.-tic all such holidavs have in common is a complete respite from bathing. ]n the matter of shaving thev appear more generally to observe the conventions, proliat.lv 'lx-cause slackness brings its own puiiishnient—but they bath reluctantly and as little as possible. Jn the matter of dress, too, they show themselves only too accommodating: "Mustn't look out of place," thev tell you, and either borrow clothes from their host or out an assortment of dilapidated shorts that make their hostesses start nervously and hunt up their supply of safety pins. Thev consider shorts to lx! the only wear in the country —except when they are jroing out for a severe crosscountry walk, when thev borrow a pair of dungarees about which they are extremely facetious

and particularly don them to grace their host c-- drawing-room in the evenings. "Must do in Home as the Romans do." they say blandly, oblivious of the fact that their h<*-t would as soon wear pyjamas in the evening as

They moan well, we tell each other tl-Ojapsi iritijrly: their attitude of mind merely relied* the eharacteristin snobliorv of a certain class of man who is unable to dissociate inferiority from tlie tanners choice of profession; it is the old cry of "all fanners are fools," and after all the guest is onlv doing his best to meet his host on his own lo\el. J hat he is succeeding merely in proving his own innate sense of superiority is not, we are sure, what he intended, to r hit* is a kindly heart and without malice.