PAGES FROM AN OLD CONFESSIONAL BOOK

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXXIII, Issue 22391, 11 April 1936, Page 1 (Supplement)

PAGES FROM AN OLD CONFESSIONAL BOOK

Youth's Answers 36 Years A&o and To-day

By GWYNNE I. PEACOCK

rpHERE was talk lately of a revival in valentines, which brings to mind other fancies of bygone days. Perhaps there are a few who remember the Confessional Book. Among forgotten possessions of our unmarried days we older people may find them yet, leather-bound "gift" copies, some chintz-covered, and labelled "Confessions of my Friends," some just plain, black notebooks.

The one under review is dated 1900. For almost four years it was kept, and then, when only half-full, it stopped abruptly. Did the fashion change, or the supply of friends run out? More likely it would seem that the fair owner changed her name and her station, the little book being put away with other girlish treasures. Old Edwardian Days Such' a quaint old book it seems to us now, and yet how clearly it brings back those old Edwardian days. At the front, written in a round, careful hand, is a series of questions to be answered, as, for example: What is your favourite virtue? What is your greatest happiness? What is your favourite motto, food, name, book, play, occupation, etc? Each question carried its opposite, "Which do you most dislike?" As a finishing touch there was the query, "If not yourself, who would you be?" Then follows" the confessions in the confessor's own handwriting.

We realise now how well those confessions revealed the various characters.

Good old Mr. S., who, in answer to the query,. "Which is your favourite motto?" wrote, "Do unto the other fellow as he would like to do unto you, only do it first!" Even to-day he is always hiding his incurable generosity in case someone should recognise it. Who. we wonder, wag the prig who, when asked what it was that he most disliked doing, replied, "It is too much trouble to dislike anything; hate, however, is most objectionable." One feels even now an unreasonable irritation with the man. Beginning of a Romance Did he preserve that air of above-the-petty-worries-of-this-common-world " even when paying his rates, or groping with his eyes full of soap after a missing towel? One could, perhaps, forgive him that one revelation, but when, in answer to " What is your favourite food ? ' he replied, " I eat to live, not live to eat," we feel thankful that with the passing of years he has vanished from our ken. Tt is here in this little book that the very beginning of a romance is revealed. It all started when Henry, against question number six, "What is your favourite name?" wrote boldly "Edith," and a little further on, Edith, against the same question, faintly inscribed "Henry." One feels sure that she added "dear" in her heart, Una is a romance which fulfilled its promise, withstood the tossing of the niatrimonial sea, and has now settled down quietly into a calm and peaceful nuddle"it is in the question, "What is your favourite book and play?" that notice the most marked difference from

these modern times. Old favourites come to light. Almost without exception we find the works of Marie Corelli and Sirs. Henry Wood. Rider Haggard appealed to the more immature handwriting. "God's Good Man," "Beulah," and "East Lynne"—all had their devotees. According to their various temperaments the confessors wept to thfl fullest capacity of enjoyment over "The Sign of the Cross," thrilled to "The Royal Divorce" and "Silver King." and shuddered for the fate of the innocent Trilby. But human nature after all was not ko very different then. Youth was daring —perhaps more so—because it had sterner and more established prejudices to be up against. We read our Eliuor Glynn and our Victoria Cross, even though we did hide them on the top of the wardrobe. The modern daughter, with her bosom friend perched on the end of the bed, throws her a book carelessly. "Read it? It'o a bit hot. Jimmy lent it to me." In 1900 we closed the door, talked in whispers, while we fetched a chair and groped among tiie dust on a high shelf that was only disturbed at spring cleaning. Our girl friend giggled with nervous tension. Descending carefully, we sat with our heads together.

More Fun in Life Those Days "It's 'Three Weeks' —Mary lent it to me. I'll lend it to you, but don't let your Ma or the boys see it. It's about a girl who " We could still get a thrill, which, after all. is the essence of youth, out of harmless things. There seemed to be more fun in life in those days. We feel sure there was many a pause before answering the query, "What do you consider the greatest happiness?" Miss 1900 poised her pencil. Dare she I After all it would be taken for a joke, so she writes, "Going for long walks with somebody nice," or "Sitting under a pair tree." Those were the days before puns became almost a crime. There was genuine humour, too, not so very different from what we' laugh fit to-day for all our sophistication. "What is your favourite occupation?" we find one man answering with "Skating and seeing others fall." On page after page in answer to "What do you most dislike doing?" we see "Rising m the morning." Modern science has added very little to the alleviation of this age-old curse. Modern Youth's New Standards Many and .varied were the answers to the last question, "If not yourself, who would you be?" Maidens in boned collars, and rigid corsets wrote fifml.y, " A boy." One young wife astoundingly admits "My mother-in-law," and that in an age when mother-in-law jokps flourished at their best. With the spirit of the modern generation already astir in his veins, one mere youth writes rebelliously, "Someone who does not have to take his coat off to work."

Just out of curiosity, we take the book to our young friends, the same age as we were when we wrote in it. They are normal, modern young folk, who laugh indulgently as they borrow the eversliarp and confess. Their favourite virtue is no longer morality or honesty; it is "sportsmanship." Their favourite play "Autumn Crocus" or "The Hairy Ape," according to which "set" they belong. We tremble to think of the effect of ' 'The Hairy Apo" on our lato respected father. If not themselves, who would they be? "Somebody with more money" Eeems to fit the bill, or "A Bobby Jones" from a beginner at golf, and "Ginger Rogers" from a mere eighteen. There is no half confession, half joke about their greatest happiness. "Golf," "Bridge," "Buying new clothes. . . . Where, oh, where is romance? And yet in answer to his favourite name Peter writes "Jocelyn" and Jocelyn, a little further on, writes "Peter," adding in brackets, as if sue has revealed a little too much, "just at present."