The Musical Box

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXXI, Issue 21990, 22 December 1934, Page 2 (Supplement)

The Musical Box

IT WAS not only the loneliness of the new life, the lack of all the comforts and refinements of the old homes in England that desolated the hearts of many 'of the pioneer women who came to New Zealand seventy years ago—it was the feeling that something that might have been never could be ; that some power of a creative soul must go for ever unexpressed. _lt was the loss of music that struck hardest at the heart, of Janet Matheson. When she was no taller than tie keyboard of the piano in the drawing room of the old Surrey home her tiny hands had made little tunes that were quite different from the strumming of her older brothers and sisters. And then suddenly life changed in the confusing, eart quake fashion that life sometimes does change, uprooting, rending, so that the old things pass and nothing is ever the same again. The old Surrey home was sold to strangers, and Janet came with her parents and brothers and sisters down to the bottom of the world, where the stars were upside down in the sky and the sun rose backwards. There were strange dark people too, of whom Janet was terribly frightened at first, but they were kind, and brought to the lonely little Matheson home on the Tamaki cliffs delicious peaches, pork, fish and a new- sweet vegetable, the kumara, that was very nice. One lovely summer evening,, as Janet was playing down on the beach, she heard the sound of singing coming across the water—a strange, haunting song that seemed to have no tune in it, and yet it had a tune, but it was like nothing had ever heard. A big canoe shot round the cliff, and she saw the men paddling and singing as they paddled. As she listened to the singing, a great longing awoke in Janet's heart, and she ran swi y up the rough track to the cottage. " Oh, mamma! she cried, and Mrs. Matheson turned sharply at the desolation of her voice. " I want my want to play! " But you know we couldn't bring your piano, my dear, said her mother. "There were so many, many other things we needed more." "There was not anything 1 needed more! Mamma, couldn't you get me another piano to play on? Just a tiny oine?" " There are no pianos in this country, and if there, were we haven't the money to buy one. You must remember, dear, that we shall have to do without many things for a long, long time to come. Now stop crying and set the table, and if you are good, we will have the musical box out after tea "

After tea when the pale, fat home-made candles were lit, the musical box was brought out of the old cedar ;hest that held the precious silken Paisley shawl scented ivith sandalwood and orris root, the bright embroidery ivools, the silver spoons and forks that had not been sold oecause they had the family monogram and crest, the tall silver candlesticks and other treasured heirlooms. The nusical box had belonged to Janets grandmothei. It lad a tiny, spiked cylinder that turned round and round in a horn case with a glass top on which stood the loveliest little lady that ever stepped out of Paris into a pioneer New Zealand home. She wore a sweet little, painted smile on her tiny face, and her dress was of stiff blue silk with pink rosebuds on it; underneath

CBy° Elsie K. eMorton

good-bye and went to the war, and seven months later lay dead in a ravine at Anzac

Hester married and went to live in the city. Komi itayed and helped Janet to knead bread and scrub floors, uid feed the calves and pigs. Sometimes Janet tried to ilay the piano, but her lingers were twisted with •heumatism now, and her hands would fall in her lap uid her heart would ache for the music she would nevei make again. Now that she was old, and not able to work as she always had done, she missed her music more than she could have believed possible. She read in the papers of the wonder of wireless, but it was all far too bewildering and incredible, utterly beyond her compre hension.

" I don't want wireless, and J don't want anything grand or groat," she said wistfully to llona. "I'd just like to hear the dear Christmas hymns again or a band pla.,y ing ' Home, Sweet Home,' as 1 heard it that day the soldiers went away when I was a little girl. But 1 wwip pose I'll havo to wait now till I hear the angels!" But she hadn't to wait that long. Just before Chrißt mas she took a long-promised trip to Auckland to visii

Out into the quiet evening air came the music, the heavenly miracle of the music, first the old English tunes, then the Christmas hymns, sung by a thousand voices in the city's great Christmas Community singing. Janet sat perfectly still and silent, after that first cry of incredible bewilderment and query.

" Just our Christmas present, dear," said Rona. " I've always felt I owed you an apology for these ridiculous hands of mine that promised so much more than they've ever been able to perform, and Dad and T have been sav ing up for ages to buy you a set." " And will It-'will I—always be able to have this? These lovely old tunes, these hymns?" stammered Janet in

shaking voice, scarce daring to believe it true

" Dearest, you shall have them every day and every night," promised her daughter, " and they shall play voti right into Heaven I"

Then Janet sat very quietly, and a little girl who had played tunes when she was no taller than the keyboard of a piano in an old Surrey home came to her there in the darkening night, and a young mother who had guided tiny fingers through exercises and scales, and a laughing, strong boy who had marched out of her life long years ago. And looking out at then* all from her corner of the shelf stood a tiny little lady pirouetting on one foot in a dress of frayed, faded blue silk, with a tiny fixed smile on her face—she who was oldei than any of them, who had Been them all .come, would see them all go, until only she herself was left, she and n little wheezy, broken tune.