THE EXHIBITION AS I SAW IT

Otago Witness, Issue 3764, 4 May 1926, Page 34

THE EXHIBITION AS I SAW IT

FOR THE LAST TIME.

(By

Josephine O’Neill).

(Fob thb Witness.)

A steadily increasing excitement tinged the minds cf all during the last week. It was not the determined curiosity of the opening, but the thrill of a child towards a party, with no thought that this beautiful thing could not last. The people were as eager to make this day the day, in some peculiar fashion, as the directors were to assist them. Gay rumours of surprises, wild tales of aeroplanes dropping tons of confetti in the sunshine ran about the town. Wherever 1 went there was talk of nothing but the Exhibition, always with speculations as to the crowds. Citizens read accounts of excursion trains acd rushed down to see the courts once more, and the art gallery once more, that the last hours, like the icing of the cake, might be lingered over and savoured to the full. It rained. It began on Friday afternoon, and awoke the world on Saturday to the misty dankness of a hopeless drizzle. The thought of all the days, sunny days, windy days, even cold days, squandered on the thoughtless weeks was cruel. Disillusionment, the fact that it was raining —was raining on this day, soured all enjoyment. The contrast of the sodden twilight with the vague anticipation of sunlight and colour and laughter sent rather grim crowds to catch their trams, to snatch their lunches and children, and stand in queues to hear the closing ceremony in the Festival Hall. We were among those who stood around the band stand in the Grand Court and listened to speeches and applause through the wireless. The crowd was fairly small, a chilly cluster of damp humanity standin-; in puddles. A blackening stream of sightseers was drifting up and down. Loud conversations muffled our straining ears, spurts of giggleSj and under and through all, the whispering rain. There was a prayer, and one by one hats \ore shyly pulled off, heads bowed. I remember glancing at the still faces and at the buildings looming in the haze, and being seized by strong emotion that this could not be the end. All afternoon a dreary passage continued through the courts in depressed murmurs, through the amusement park, where the first stir of frivolity was heard with intermittent whistles. And still the rain fell. Gradually the puddles on the gravel walks washed away the stones, mingled with the clay, churned the whole into a sticky deposit. Thousands of feet had obliterated the grass. The fountain was still solashing, and brimming over to join the sheets of water lying before the Festival Hall The unprecedented number of people was not realised. A dull routine of an ordinary afternoon held them, the nature of the day forgotten. Then evening came in a darkening of mist. The rain was accepted as. making eyes glisten once more, rose the anticipation of laughter ahead. An empty Monday made bright by contrast the few remaining hours, separated them as something precious which be enjoyed—and nan" the weather. Towards eight o’clock we went for the last time down by the trees to catch a bus. But the crowds were too great. Every bus was mobbed as it came, packed with squeals and exclamations, sent lumbering off bursting. Trams came down the hill from the south crammed before they reached the Exchange. Somehow, in the confusing darkness, we were pushed on, and stood patient in a crush of wet humanity; a large proportion of the car had been to the trots, and their humour was of the genial, semi-intoxicated kind which sends friendly prins among the crowd. It was in a cheerful spirit that we clambered down and entered the gates at the Exhibition. Even here the unusual crowds were not apparent, but all the Grand Court and the paths and courts were thick with people; and the grim depression of the afternoon was gone. Almost every face was serene, and many smiling. There was a bright commotion inside: but we were impatient of the brilliant buildings to which we had said farewell so often, and hurried out of their stuffiness across squelching mud to the amusement park. From stall to stall brimmed a sluggish current of life in laughter, song, cheers. We were immediately engulfed, and shuffled slowly on, with no intention of doing anything, of getting anywhere; content to go with the crowd. It was possessed of a wavering, light happiness. When chains of giggling boys and girls, gaudy paper caps stuck atop their hats, came pushing through, we opened to let them by; and effervescent groups of students were greeted with delight. Otherwise the forward tramp went on, on ground which was layer upon layer of stiff mud. But all eyes were fixed above, where balloons were floating streamers curled. They were selling balloons, great wayward drifts of them, and overhead myriads of fragile bubbles danced in the drizzle. Confetti pattered in uplifting fountains, and drifted down in showers of colour among the streaming rain, to lie cu hats and shoulders unheeded. Sober city men with children upon their shoulders wore fantastic ribbons, and tinselled headgear of every kind splashed the crowds; worn without self-consciousneas and accepted without comment. Sharp above the incessant murmur were squeakers, calls, the occasional bang and accompanying shriek of burst balloons. And deeper and deeper the impression on my mind was made of careless gaiety, of an almost boundless happiness of these rainwet thousands. In the square, the noise swelled to the full roar of the amusements, whose light* glared, blurred and uncertain, through the thickening haze. The queues were extra-

ordinary, but hundreds were placidly standing and watching, as we watched, the activity of others. On this the last night the gamblers were making a last desperate attempt for more chocolates. We saw them, successful, staggering through the crowds, and, unsuccessful, bending above the green baize tables of their favourite stalls. We were moving on, when there was an interruption, exclamations, laughter. A balloon had been cut, and was drifting airily up into the black night that pressed as a cloud above us. The light* gilded its blue curves, then it leapt up so that it gleamed in its own faint lustre. “Look at the blue moon!” someone cried in the silence. It broke the spell, and the surge began again, eager to be diverted, still hoping to do something extraordinary that should mark tins their only night. In the cabaret, to the excited music, a feverish desire for pleasure was donning paper caps, pursuing balloons, spilling confetti in drifts. The noise of voices outclamoured each other, and bubbled with constant laughter. These diversions exhausted, they looked longingly upwards, and soon the necks of the girls were looped in pink and green paper chains, long sweeps of decoration tangled the feet as they danced, to be caught and flung again. The scarlet bells, the blue and gold fans, the very notices were taken as souvenirs. Dancing was too quiet. They commenced hakas, wound in and out in flushed chains, whirled round and round in every growing rings. The excisable hilarity suffered no slackening as they sang “Auld Lang Syne.” But on “God Save the King” they became sobered, and sang the last words with such a solemn fervour that they must have realised the Exhibition was ended For the last time we went down the Grand Court in the wind and the rain. Its expanses, slowlv emptying of humanity, lav in mud and glistening water—the Exhibition began on mud, and on mud it ended. Up in the grand stand a party from the cabaret was gathered, following the leader among the tumbled chairs, and one or two chains were linked, and singing. A door shot shafts of light into the darkness, where the worlj of dismantling had commenced inside. It came as a fresh reminder, and we plodded the rest of the way in silence. At the gates a crowd had collected, gazing up to the dome, lingering for one last look. It was impossiule even now to believe, that our six months’ life, of such tumult, 6uch wonder, such infinite variety was ended. To repeat to ourselves that it was the last time was an empty formula of words. Suddenly the lights flickered. We concentrated our gaze. The flanking lamps blinked once, twice, and went out. Only the great dome curved in brilliance. For a long minute we waited. Then its streaming splendour shuddered, hesitated, 8-nd was extinguished ... a young pian next to me burst into falsetto sobs. . .