MODES OF THE MOMENT

Dominion, Volume 27, Issue 35, 4 November 1933, Page 14

MODES OF THE MOMENT

Passing Notes by Jane Wellington, November 3. Dear Mavis, — Queer things crop up in cities to annoy the peaceful householder—things like cats in the garden; a fire-practice outside your bedroom window at 6.30 . a.m., when you’ve worked till close on midnight the day before; trams yon miss simply because the conductor doesn’t turn his head quite far enough round. And to-day I’ve heard a new one. A friend of mine, having got her new spring suit and a summer hat, had the doors of her house painted, all new and shining, as a welcoming gesture to the season. She tells me that hawkers, from whom she suffers at the rate of from eight to ten a day sometimes, have amused themselves while waiting for the doorbell to be answered, by scratching their initials on the fresh, inviting surface, making finger-marks, and arranging odd and fantastic patterns with their thumb-nails. There is no harm intended. It’s just a pleasant little pastime. But my friend finds her door looking very like the gates and fences in the vicinity of a district school. What to do? A nice, fierce Alsatian is all I can suggest. Dogs can be effective, I know. There was a great actor once, who lived in Sydney during his later years." There are people who remember George Rignold, but not of your generation. In the days when 1 had stage-fever someone gave me a letter of introduction to him, and hearing that it would probably take weeks to see him at the theatre I bravely culled one hot afternoon at his house. I opened tlie tall wooden gate in tlie wall of “Woodstock,” and shut it behind me. Instantly four wild beasts flew at me, making a great hullabaloo, one of them getting his teeth into my print frock and tearing it rather badly. Retreat did not occur to me. I was young. I walked the short distance to tlie front door in a state of abject terror, but with the thought of tlie possible eyes at a window to steady me. To appear afraid under inspection from the world’s greatest Henry V. was unthinkable. And then dear Rowlanu Watts-Phillips opened the door and shooed the creatures off. “What made you venture?” she cried, her funny, clever face screwed up with concern. “Couldn’t you w-r-ead the notice?” They’re all gone now; the “Governor,” Marie, his wife, and poor Rowland, who played ducks and drakes with her genius. And it doesn’t matter J saying that those dogs; I came to learn, were really very fierce, kept so in order to ward off the too-insistent creditors. Something of the sort might be done for tlie unthinking vandals who spoil newly-painted doors. I haven’t left myself very much time to tell you of the fashions, but at. least I can report one very pleasant mode of the moment. Much is being done this year with real flowers, and you hardly ever see an artificial posy worn. If an evening dress has a flower-trimmed skirt or bodice, that is a different matter, and then the decoration is frankly unreal and fantastic Hugo organdie roses, in the same colour, may be the only ornamentation on a perfectly simple princess organdie frock. But shoulder-sprays of real flowers are very popular in the evening, and in the daytime we pin quite large bunches of one of the sweet-smelling spring flowers on our coats or dresses. It is wonderful what character can be lent to an outfit by the right choice of the flowers worn with it. Now I must go! Much love. Yours, — J AXE.