WINDOW-PICTURES

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXX, Issue 21640, 4 November 1933, Page 1 (Supplement)

WINDOW-PICTURES

BY BKRTRAM MCANF.NEY

ADVENTURES OF VISION

Sun on the pavement. Brick and stone of a city throwing back the sunlight and the noise of noonday traffic; throwing dark shadows and making silent places. Hurrying feet —feet on the treadmill.

In the shop windows, spring—the artificial spring of man. In the air, spring—real spring. And over all an intensely blue sky. A voice within mo cried, "Escape! Escape! Is there no way?" #slavc that I was, -chained to a routine by shackles of necessity, I answered, " No, there is no way." As if at some indecision in my voice, the towering buildings seemed to stare forbiddingly, tho traffic to roar ipenacingly. I hurried on. My luncheon hour was slipping by. Then, wondrously, in the heart of tho city, I found a way of escape. A picture-shop window arrested me with its warmth of colour. Quiet colours, gay colours, attracted and held my gaze. Tho prints behind the glass were to me like an array of magic windows opening on to a wider world. Holding pride of place in one cornor of the window was a large print of a sailing ship:

A Clyde-built ship of fifteen hundred tons, Bluck-sided, with, a tier of painted porui. Gloriously, she rushed across the open blue water, spilling it white with her keen bow. I yearned to be aboard her and, as I did so, time and place seemed to slip away, and T found myself braced against a stanchion, with my feet firmly planted on her sweeping decks. For long minutes 1 stood there drinking in the beauty and the strangeness. Never before had I been aboard a sailing ship at sea.

. Dreams of the Sea I looked aloft at the towering spires of canvas. 1 watched the heaven-sweep-ing trucks till I became dizzy. I listened to the savage song of an untamed wind as it tore through the taut cordage. To windward the bulwarks lifted above me, outlined against the deep blue sky. To leeward I could see white water racing past the scuppers, hissing as if in rage at this thing of steel which cut through them so cleanly, but so cruelly. Beginning to feel my sea legs, I made my way cautiously aft, inspecting everything as I went. Then, in my innocence, I. climbed a ladder ■fo what must have been a sacred part of the ship: for no sooner had I reached the top rung than one who looked like Captain Aliab himself knocked nie sprawling to the deck. Regaining my feet, I found myself back on the pavement in front of the picture-shop window. . A little breathless and quite excited by my adventure, I decided to try another picture. High up on the back wall hung a print labelled " Sea Dreams." On the pebbly foreshoro of a rocky coast stood a ragged urchin, with the small waves of a tranquil sea lapping at his feet. Brown was the rocky coast and blue were the sleeping waters. Brown were the boy's hair and skin, and blue were his eyes. The light in his eyes was remarkable. All the sea dreams that had ever been dreamed by all boyhood were locked behind those eyes. 1 thought of trying to tell this boy that the sea is not always tranquil and that, as I knew by fresh experience, hard fists go with the hard ways of the sea. However, on second thoughts, I realised tho "futility of saying anything against the sen, to a boy with such a light in his eyes. A Cottage Enchanted

Turning from him, I let. my glance, rest on a fairy-like cottage embowered by a fairy-like garden. Tn a few seconds, having slipped through another magic window, I was walking along the little crazy pavement path leading through the garden to the cottage. 'ln this garden the flowers had taken charge. In their masses they crowded right on to the edges of the path and threatened to overrun it altogether. Already, in fact, some few stragglers were growing with the grass which, sprouted up in the spaces between the worn stones. .All around me was the small, sweet song of insect life, and I thought as I looked at that great and unruly company of flowers enchantingly coloured that T. had surely stumbled into the paradise of the bees. From the path I could see the thatched roof of the cottage. Time had played so many pranks with this roof, giving it a twist here, denting it in. there, bulging it out yonder. I knew that long ago, in actual life, Time, with one last chuckle, would have thrown it ignominiously to the ground. Yet; on this amazing cottage, this roof that should not have been still maintained its right to give shelter. Coming round a bend in the path on to the cobbled yard, I glimpsed the little latticed windows, with their bright curtains and liower-fillod Then I stopped. Whereas on board ship I had walked unwittingly on to sacred ground, -in this place I made no such mistake. Stepping back behind a largo hollyhock, I watched the scene before me. A silver-haired old man stooped over a plant which ho was trying to tie a certain way. The plant was giving him some trouble, and he was calling it all the " pesky " things ho could lay his tongue to—but so gently. An old lady came softly from the cottage and laid a tray on a small table. I could see on the tray, beside a pot of tea and two blue cups, honey, the whitest of bread, and the most golden of butter. She called to the old man, and her voice had the same silver quality as her own gleaming hair. He turned toward her with grace, and with grace lie answered her. Even the plant which had seen fit to argue with so gracious a man was let fall tenderly from his hands. I stole quietly away, for I knew that those two had much to talk about, and that no stranger like me could ever intrude, because their speech would bo of things that had happened so long ago. A Place in the Mind

Back in my prosaic position on the footpath, with the sweet scent of that old-world garden still in my nostrils, I decided to turn from that entrancing picture-shop window. Even as I turned away a scene caught my eyes. I recognised it as that " unknown country " of which Hilaire Belloc says, " the vision of a place in the mind which ho had always intensely desired, but to which no human paths directly lead." I cannot describe it as it appeared to my eyes. To others, perhaps, it would have appeared an ordinary picture. To me, it was my " unknown country." Over the whole scene was a strange light. The trees, the water, the rocks, everything that made up tho whole, had the quality of ethereality. No man had ever been there but, tho artist who had painted the original, and he had traversed tracks known only to his subconscious mind. It flushed into my thoughts what an opportunity was mine on this day when, for me, magic windows were opening. With a fast-boating hoart I made to climb through this last window, but —it was barred. Once more 1 stood back on the pavement, aware that time and place had become all-important again. I looked at my watch. My luncheon hour was over. I was late. I hurried away, glad at heart that the last window had been barred, because still before mo was the unspoiled " vision splendid."