THE EXHIBITION

Otago Witness, Issue 3742, 1 December 1925, Page 9

THE EXHIBITION

AS I SEE IT. AMUSEMENTS. By Josephine O’Neiil. (For the Witness.) Being by nature of a timorous disposition I had stood aloof when the Amusement Park was mentioned: and chatted politely about the hand. What othus had watched in unholy glee the * e bc/ growth of the scenic railway, I had disdained. Nothing, I vowed on solid earth, nothing would induce me to go on Thnt Thing. Even when some of its lanky hei ht was clothed in picturesque wooded scenery, and its lofty brow hung in itifngs of lights, I did not falter. This fatal beauty would never lure nie away. Suppose it suddenly became a tunnel—if a lake can become an exhibition— why not? .And l heard the scream of its victims—and smiled.

There are two kinds of natural timidity. And when s-ome.robust peisons, who revel iu a rough crossing, take it for granted that I am ready to revel, I cannot refuse. So one hot evening found me standing coldly in an orderly and excited crowd. Ahead, the platform was glaringly visible, where ghosts strove to enter a ghostly vessel and Charon shouted to them to “Hurry on, please!” And the red streak, rattle, and shriek of lost souls marked another passing. Slowly and irresistibly we moved forward, until somehow or other I stumbled up to the platform; but «we were afl being frightfully jolly. There wore little sniieks of excitement and flutters as the appropriately green seats filled; the rest ot the colour-scheme was of a fitting firey red. “R-r-right away!” And the car was sliding gently on. A gradually acceleiating climb carried us above the blurred mass of the crowds moving in the dusty glare, above the heat and pandemonium to the dark night itself and a forgotten wind. The rest is a wild rush or shootings up and droppings down, of swinging round corneas, in a roar of wind and faint screams, and confused glimpses of glittering lights, and confused snatches of far-belqw music, and an ever-increasing speed. Until we came from darkness into light, from streaming air to comparative peace, from abandoned flight to a calm gliding—curiously reminiscent of a London Tube station.

After this, the caterpillar, though grievously afflicted with wind, was a gentle enough animal with an undulating nation. Its »reen back curved over in a peculiarly sudden way, which was protecting, * although it evoked muffled, giggling screams. Of course, I did not shriek; funnily enough my throat was a little hoarse.

Man is higher than the animals. So we went to Man—in the person of Old Bill with a sunburnt countenance, coy eyes, and a gaping mouth, where he had two bridges put in. Robust persons, who knew the trick, grasped the rails firmly, and swung themselves across. I walked properly, and discovered the exact sensations of a young fly treading on jam for the first time; the same semi-liquid feeling; There followed dark and comparatively firm adventures in narrow passages. One horrid pang was felt on touching something human, where nothing human should.be. But it was only a small, unobserved boy who was seeking gleefully every trap.’ The same small pilgrim reached paradise ‘when he was given a mat and indicated long slippery slides. But their undulation reminded us of the lower type of creation we had just left. We went and watched the amazing evolution of the human race mirrored on the walls. Robust persons were trying to hurry on the process by whirling on madly revolving stools—an unnerving sight. We left the hall.

The yellow. box or the Crazy Cottage is one of the doll’s houses of childhood come true, even to the painted lace curtains at the windows. We rapped gently at the closed door, Nobody at home. Wo were on the point of leaving our cards (when the door opened, and several visitors left. The glimpse of one departing face made me wonder if, after all, it were correct to march brazenly into a strange house. I turned politely away. But a motley crowd, including a young Assyrian, an old Jew, and a determined sailor, swept me in, past the family butler, into the familiar room with the familiar painted mantelpiece. We sat on two long benches swinging from a steel bas. They went on swinging. They swung faster. ‘ They got excited, and fowling a little higher. They lost their heads. They looped the loop. The universe was one sick blob. They stopped—to take breath. Then they went backwards. . . It is a mistake to resurrect one’s childhood. But we went further: and sat in little seats suspended from the*conventional revolving roof, and were strapped in as in our baby days. We swung round, faster and faster, higher and higher, living with a bird-like motion into the night. The peculiar freedom of each separate cable allowed us to dart in an individual flight as well. But, like Lot's wife, I sinned and looked back. The earth was one awful slope at an appalling angle. I steadfastly shut my eyes. The baby feeling continued when we sank regretfully to earth again, for our legs trembled weakly in an endeavour to walk. We were""still in the tottery stage, when we met robust persons flushed with effort. “We have just been on the Whip! Best thing of the lot I Absolutely wonderful sensation! Ford car on a bumpy road, then a catapult ” “No! It’s like being shot from a catapult, and yet stopping in it —” “You’re both wrong. It’s just 'whizz on the end of a string. Coming on?” “Me? No, thank you,” T said firmly. “I’m going to listen to the band.” And I went.