A Holiday in Town

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXXIV, Issue 22628, 16 January 1937, Page 8 (Supplement)

A Holiday in Town

"]\f OTHER, what can I do to-day, mother?" 'W hat can I play? Where will we go to-day?" I'm sure you all recognise these phrases as tli(i very ones you and your brothers and sisters used during the holidays. Poor mother! It is a wonder to me that she doesn't positively dread the verv thought of the school vacations. If you went nwav to the seaside or countrv, she had'all the packing to do. Her own, the children's and dad's too, of course, as he is hopeless when it comes to stowing a large number of things away in a small suitcase. She had to remember everything! the feeding of the animals arranged for? all the windows locked? the meters turned off? dad's old fishing coat packed? Nellie's feeding-bottle? Oh. and a thousand and one other items! Now, J know a family who didn't go awav at all this C hristmas. I'ather couldn't leave the office, and mother shrank from the idea of leaving him to bach on his own. Far too well she remembered the last time that had happened, and of the hard week of work she and the charwoman had had to put in on their return. Dishes piled hi"h in the sink; a great mountain of torn socks; every jar of jam broken into and a spoonful or two taken from each; and—oh. dear, her poor fernery! Denis and Rosemary were terribly disappointed at first, but soon agreed that there was plenty to do in Auckland. Denis sat down with pencil and paper and made a list of all the places they had wanted to visit, but somehow or other, never had. "The War Memorial Museum, he headed the sheet. "Oh yes, let's go there first, cried Rosemary. "Wait a minute, don't he so impatient. We had better finish the list, and then decide. Where else.'" "The Art Gallery."

Denis didn't faro much for pictures, but knowing his sister s passion for painting, he included it. "Oh! We must go to Milford and see those marvellous new baths. They are sup posed to be the biggest in New Zealand." "M-umm." Denis was lieking his pencil. "Then the Waitakeres, of course, but how can we get there when dad takes the car to town every day?" "The bus. Don't you remember? It leaves from the post office." <• It was one of those rather miserable days that, unfortunately, appear occasionally during the best of holidays, when Denis and Rosemary set off to explore the Museum. Although the sky was• overcast, the view from the pillared entrance was wonderful. The wide, free sweep of the Waitemata harbour with it's foreground of vivid green trees; the bird's-eye view of the clustered houses, and the imposing structure of the Cenotaph rising from the foot of the steps. "U>t's go to the Japanese rooms first." "Xo no. the Maori section, then on to the butterfly cases."

However, bv the end of the afternoon, two tired, happy children tumbled down the steps and caught the tram for home, having seen a little of everything. I, of course, could spend days and day's happily browsing among the pictures 311 the Art Gallery. But how often do 1 wish that I could see them all again as a child would, and not through the too critical eyes of an artist. Which is mv favourite? Well, that is rather difficult to say. There are so many beautiful pictures there, and ] suppose everyone differs as to their merits. Perhaps you like the colouring of this one, the composition of that, or the brush work of another. Anyway, I know that Rosemary and Denis didn't worrv themselves about the brusliwork. Thev darted from side to side like a pair of excited fantails. "Oh, look at the lovely lanterns. Denis. Why, they look as if they were actually lighted." "I like this .Maori warrior. See those muscles on his arms. 1 bet an enemy wouldn't stand much chance against him."

These were happy days for the children. It didn't matter that it was raining most of the time. If they did get wet. they had a nice dry home to come back to, and steaming baths. No huddling together in a soaking tent, with the soggy ground oozing and squelching underfoot. Their mother would button them into their mackintoshes, and tie on sou'-westers, and off they would go for the day, with every intention of thoroughly enjoying themselves. Not—even the rain doesn't spoil a child's holiday—when it is spent in roaminir rwund a citv's treasure houses. —G.I3.T.