WHITE FLOWERS.

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXVI, Issue 20426, 30 November 1929, Page 1 (Supplement)

WHITE FLOWERS.

THE COTTAGE NEAR THE BUSH

BY ANON.

I was pig-shooting on the eastern side of the mountain when I came upon it, un-

oxpectedly, surprisingly. The tiny cottage was set in the middle of a bush

clearing, and before it were tho remains of a flower garden, overrun now by a riot of flowering bulbs. It was tho mass of whito and starry blooms that caught and hold my eye. They were everywhere, clustering on tho neglected flower beds, starring tho rough grass, even thrusting inquisitive heads between the broken steps that led up to the low, verandahless door. And, over all tho ground, that carpet, of white! Never a glitter of gold to gladden the eye, nor gleam of amber or palo primrose-yellow to vary the palo shimmer of that whito and foaming sea of bloom. In that wild and neglected spot there was something unearthly in it: ghost-like, almost sinister, it seemed, in its austere and remote beauty— As I stood gazing a man's voice suddenly broke tho silence, uttering the very thoughts that oppressed my mind. "Whito (lowers! A bit sad and cold.

ain't they, mister?" I agreed, and the acquaintance progressed easily, as it does in the backblocks. His wife was evidently away, for, though the house bore every sign of a woman's presence, she was not in evidence. Presently we were sitting over mugs of strong, milklcss, bachelor tea, I filling my pipe, my companion talking with that pent-up eagerness that showed a heart too long starved of sympathy. Wo wore sitting on the crazy steps, looking out at tho white carpet of bloom, and beyond, where the clearing fell away to miles of cool, green bush. Never a note of colour to refresh tho oyo; green and white were tho only hues in that world, it seemed. . White flowers at our very feet, noting in the green of rough grass and neglected shrub; beyond, lightly and carelessly flung among tho sombre green of the bush, were wreaths and cascades of white clematis; at the edge of the clearing, driving out the grass and stealing the pasture, straggled clumps of manuka, starred al I ready with myriad snow-white blossoms

Four Years Away. Again the man voiced ray thoughts. " I always did hato white flowers. I remember, when she first bought the bulbs and planted them, I said, ' I hopes they comes up yellow and red and pink—not white.' She laughs and says, Silly boy; whoever heard of and pmk narcissi ? And why not white ? like a funeral,' :-ays T, but she only slips her hand in mine and says, ' It's not funerals you'll bo thinking of when you walk in my garden,' lhat was the wintci of 1914, nine years ago. Wo was both gone before they bloomed, for flowers is late up here." " You were at the war!"

" Four years away. She wanted to try and carry on here, but it wereu t a woman's work. You see. I had made a start; got a hundred acres in grass, and we didn't want it to run back to manuka and wineberry." " And your wife 1" " She worked in town and waited. She weren't unhappy, so she always wiote. But she lost the boy that came soon after I'd gone—town milk and town air, she reckoned —but I don't know.' His apathetic gaze had returned to the white flowers at his feet, and I sought to rouse him. " You came back hero together V "As soon as we could. But it was tho spring of 1919, and the first thing wo saw was them cursed flowers all over the place, gone wild. She called out at the sight, and laughed at my face, and then cried a little at tho thought of my words about funerals and the boy sho had buried —for they was white, all white—and how they had thrived in those years! Only thing that had, for the bush had come sneaking back. The clematis was early that year, same as this, and there it was, trailing up all the wineberry that had come stealing my good grass. Yes, my heart felt real heavy that night, but slie came and sat oil my knee. She's a little thing, my wife, with them sort of ways —and we got. to planning how we would make it all over again. There was my war gratuity, you see. and she'd saved £3o—God only knows how. Well, the land swallowed it all."

Mother Nature. " It's hungry land, I can see that." "Yes, it seemed as if it would only grow (lowers well. She used to come in with her arms full of clematis or manuka, or some such rubbish, and she d look up in my face and say, ' See what Mother Nature's sent me now, dear? It's surely me that's the favourite, not you, for it's white flowers she gives all through the year. First, my bulbs, then the clematis, then, close on its heels, all the manuka and rangiora, and then, later on. the lovely thousand-packet—for it is all lovely, though you may hate it, dear ?' All the same, she planted yellow bulbs and orange ones, too, year after year. 'l' or you, you silly dear,' she always says, but I know she wanted them, too. But they never grew, only them cursed white ones." Something eerie in the man's tone startled me; I peered through the dusk at his drawn face, but he was gazing moodily at the white blossoms which lie hated. The failing light made the whole scene weird and fantastic; it was the hour and the place for strange fancies. "I must get on," I said, rising to my feet. He did not protest, but followed me to the gate, pointing to the bridletrack that lod through the bush. " That's your way; it joins a clay road two miles down that leads to a settle-, ment. Only six miles, it is, but 110 ono over comes up here. A lonely spot it is." "Ah, well!" my tone strove to be matter-of-fact, " you have each other." He missed my words, intent 011 his own train of thought, gazing back furtively at the ruined garden behind him. " White and cruel," I caught the mut-

lercd words. " They've got me down now. I think slio saw it herself last spring—they've got hor, too." Triumphant.

" Still, sho must be pleased to have such a wonderful show." The folly of those cheerful words that sounded so hollow! "I've never seen any narcissi flourish so marvellously." " Yes, they've got possession, and they're hardy. I planted somo on her grave last winter —she'd made me promise to —and they're corning through good." He turned hack to tho house, nor ever saw my start of surprise and dismay. I glanced back in farewell at tho lonely cottage; in the half-light it seemed that there was a winding-sheet cast about it. The other day I passed that way again.

I came from the other sido of the ridge, and was on it before I realised, but 1 knew it at once by the carpet of white flowers. In the five years the forest had stalked gauntly forward, and even tho trails of starry-eyed clematis that now grew almost at the door could not veil the grimness of its threat. The cottago had fallen to a horrible decay; the doors were gone; you could enter by the gaping hole where the chimney had once stood; the windows had been wrenched from their frames. Who had troubled to plunder such penury? I looked through the gaping doorway. There were dark holes in the floor, and. peering through one, I saw, with a feeling akin to horror, the pure white flower of the narcissus. I thought of the man's words, " They've got me down." 411 was gone, all forsaken; only the white flowers bloomed on, aloof, immaculate, triumphant.