The Old Playhouse.

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXIX, Issue 21130, 12 March 1932, Page 4 (Supplement)

The Old Playhouse.

MEMORIES OF CHILDHOOD. By KATHLEEN ODKY. Whakaniarnma, Tnuranga. (Apo 17.) It was a typical summer day with a tiny bree/.o to rustle tlio leaves of llie mi rod and ratas. The heat of the noonday sun had lulled the gay, little songstois to repose, so it was only the suund of my own footsteps that broke the silence of the slumbering bushland. It, was just a plain, little path, which at one time had been trodden a thousand times, but now it was over-grown and wild. Bush lawyers thrust their clinging arms at my frock as I passed, but I heeded them not. My mind bad travelled backnine, or was it. ten years ago to the last time I bad walked down that little path to the playhouse beyond. Then 1 had been a small bare headed girl with long, dark curls reaching to inv waist, and now f was grown up or almost ! Sorrows and joy. sunshine and shadow have crossed my life in the intervening vears, vet the golden days of my childhood, which my surroundings brought, hack to me, stood out like banners against the surrounding darkness. Pushing aside the thick leaves and creepers, I walked once more along the track to tlio place where my childish dreams and ambitions were locked. It was just the same, although in one sense, entirely different. T soon reached the door of our playhouse 1 paused before going in; it seemed as if I was treading upon sacred ■ 'round. After pushing the boughs away from the opening, I entered, anxious to sec its appearance after ten years of freedom from the band of gleeful, laughterloving children. It was exactly as I knew it, would be, this little house that held such precious memories of long ago. Sitting on a stone seat inside the dooi, T viewed the tiny apartment; over in the corner were the remains of a fire, a few blackened pieces of wood and stones. How maiiv times had we squatted around that fire," Indian fashion, cooking crayfish, which we pretended were real steaks of venison? Beside the fire, lying on its side, was a very ancient, kettle half-eaten with' rust, but which in the years gone hv had proved a perfect receptacle for boiling potatoes in. As my eyes, roving round the place, lighed on various objects a hundred, pleasant little incidents came hark to me. Willi a sigh I stepped outside and carefully, almost reverently, I replaced the branches to the entrance. As I turned round a joyous burst of bird song greeted me: a breeze suddenly rustled all of the trees maJving a. song all of its own, while the To Puna gurgled and laughed as ithad done in the years of the past. So, with a song on my lips. I retraced my footsteps along the little path, leaving behind nm for ever, all of my childish whims. Oh, it is wonderful to be able to cherish memories of our youth, of care-free days when no clouds darkened our bright young lives: how little do we. realise what a beautiful time childhood really is; true, we have our sadness, but then sunshine is n1 \v ays just around the. corner to make us forget, our darker moments. May all those girls and boys ivlio read tins learn to cherish the memories of their younger davs just as f have done, so that they will be a never ending source of sweet pleasure during the years to come.