KIWI'S CHRISTMAS

NZ Truth, Issue 1203, 20 December 1928, Page 5

KIWI'S CHRISTMAS

NZ. Does Honor To Its. Old Friend, Santa Claus

There is only one fete, nowadays, which still holds its pristine nonor and glory; only one patron saint of Childhood who hasn't lost caste m this sceptic age.

GUT FAWICES is no longer regarded as funny, or frightening. Little Saint Valentine is as out of date as the curls and Avhiskers of his devotees. But stout, bearded, joviai old Santa Claus has not yet tumbled ignominiously from his chimney pot. Even the oldest of us, being still young enough to love the shining eyes of childhood, have covenanted together that he never shall. Even m New Zealand, with no trappings of icicles and cock robins to help us, we manage to make Christmas Day look and feel Christmassy. We may have blue skies without, but indoors, a Christmas pudding bounces majestically m its pot, the blile flames of brandy sauce make believe that they are reflected m old English mahogany sideboards, and at the time of lowered lights, the very same headless gentlemen and white-robed ladies are admitted into the company as thrilled our English ancestors. In our climate, with a torrid December sun usually doing its best to make us forget that we are not MP— — ■ — — ' ~ *— - ' ' ""-* M * <

actually m the. tropics, all concerned- — particularly the harassed housewife — would probably prefer something much more light and 7 airy than the regulation Christmas dinner. Yet nine Colonial houses out of ten stick firmly by the old ways, the antique Christmas goose and the timehonored Christmas pudding. Why? Because the moment reforms are suggested, the unanswerable answer i? murmured: . "But that wouldn't be Christmas." ' i • The answer is right. The flavor of the oldr-fashioned Christmas is too fine a thing for Colonial children to miss. It is a* part of our English tradition — a far better, because less obvious part, than the flag-wagging bits taught m most of our public schools. And after all. even for the very old and wise, isn't there some magic about Christmas — some secret potency m the wand of the tinsel fairy who .stands on top of the. Christmas tree, and, long after we have ceased believing m fairies, manages to bring back the flush and . sparkle of youth? Consider the glory of modern Christmas shopping. The Christmas stocking, of course, is hopelessly gone by, for not one child m ten could manage 'to- fit even the smallest of Santa's souvenirs into his footgear. But there are still pillow-cases and armchairs which can be piled high whilst a small boy sleeps, and still, when he wakes up, that round-eyes gaze at the fireplace. Perhaps, after all, there really IS a Santa Claus. And the shops, at Christmas time, . are wonderful places. The balloons are little colored worlds, floating m magic ether, and disappearing at the touch of anything so real as one's neighbor's umbrella. The oldest -inhabitants of toyland, tin soldier and fairy doll, have been glorified. They are clever, now, sophisticated enough to please the palate of the grown-up who buys them, yet still dainty enough to be cuddled with much appreciation by their small owners. Best m all toyland is the jungle. Noah's Ark, with its purple' cows and pink giraffes, was one of the oldest toys. Prom time beyond memory, stiff- . legged wooden animals have been carved m Swiss and German villages. But the lion with the bona fide mane ,_ — the elephant who can curl and uncurl his trunk, and the tiger who can really growl — these are innovations of our day and make the nursery a very wonderful place for David Livingstone, junior, and his no less enterprising sister.