NOISY STREETS

Dominion, Volume 23, Issue 75, 21 December 1929, Page 27

NOISY STREETS

THE HOLIDAY RUSH CHRISTMAS APPROACHES

(By

J.L.G.)

There is no need tor anyone to ask wlint season is upon us. "he city streets tell loudly and noisily all that we want to know. Wellington has just leached the noisy stage that continues until Santa Claus leaves his various gifts in the stockings of the younger generation. The streets—especially in the afternoons — are uncomfortably crowded. Strangers wander aimlessly along the city’s none-too-wide footpaths, as aimlessly looking into most of the shop windows. Children who have been visiting Santa Claus and who have collected a miscellaneous assortment of whistles, hooters, trumpets, and other disturbers of the peace, vie with each other in trying to make the most noise. Tired mothers, accompanied by equally tired, and m many cases, fractious children, take up the greater portion of the footpath. The progress of a mother with her children at this time of the year is certainly slow, but by no means sure. The greater part of her time appears to be spent in searching for wandering offspring. What with motor-cars, and trams, and bicycles, and attractive shop windows, the lot of a mother must be decidedly hard just now. There is a “Christmasy” air about everything. Shop assistants are kept busy from early morning until closing time and have reached the stage when they automatically' ask every customer, “Is it for a lady or for a gentleman. The population thinks in terms of Christmas presents, and half the people wear a worried look—lack of finance being responsible for a good deal of it, and uncertainly as to what to buy, for the remainder. , The footpaths are a babel. Some of the talk is most amusing and some a trifle pathetic. . ~,, . “Well, you know.” says a middle-agea woman. “John has got everything., and I simply don't know what to buy mm. “I think it’s an absolute shame, wails a flapper. “There is Mae off for the holidays. and I've go to stay right here m town. I think ” But the rest of her thoughts are cut short by the raucous voice of an over-tired woman, laden with parcels and trying to converse with a friend and keep an eye on her offspring at the same time. “I always.say, Mrs. Blank, that Christmas time is—Hazel, come here at once, do y°“ hear me? Look here, Mrs. Blank., if Christmas doesn’t get over soon I think I’ll collapse. Jimmy, leave Hazel alone. Be quiet! One more word from either of you and you shan’t see Father Christwas. Stop crying, will you!" Then one hears from old people engaging in reminiscences. Next passes another elderly woman accompanied by her husband. They look in a shop window, and the old lady says: “Do you think we can afford it? After all. it would only mean getting something cheaper for ourselves, and —well, George is the only one we’ve got left.” And so the talk continues. The gay is intermingled with the sad. Everyone has something different to speak about, so much to do. and so little time in .which to do it. It is the time of the Christmaa rush, the time when every person, be he rich or poor, has but one aim. and that is to get ready for Christmas. On every side, one hears peonle saying that they hate Christmas, and will be glad when it is over. They may say as much, but I wonder just how many would like to see the end of the year come without the usual celebrations. Not many. I’m sure.