A LETTER FROM HOME.

Otago Witness, Issue 3801, 18 January 1927, Page 67

A LETTER FROM HOME.

[• By

Sheila Scobie Macdonald.

X Specially Written for the Witness.)

November 22.

After nearly seven months’ duration the coal strike is drawing to its close, and this coming week should see the final settlement.

However, we are warned that it will he weeks yet before a full resumption of work takes place, for not only is there much official work to be done, but the miners, as the result of long months of idleness, will at first be unequal to the strain of arduous continued toil underground, all of which will tend to lessen the output and keep up prices. The price of coal has certainly been lowered by 5s per ton, but though 5s sounds quite a large sum, it makes very little difference in the price of that melancholy little lewt., which, once a week, is solemnly placed in every cellar. But even if prices remain very much the same, it is to be hoped the permit system will be scrapped as soon as possible, as'not only is it a nuisance, but on all sides one hears it is also quite unnecessary. Yesterday I had a long conversation with one of the unfortunate individuals who, in the wettest weather imaginable, has been wearily driving up and down this neighbourhood, delivering precious hundredweights. He was very scornful of the whole proceeding; told me that his company alone had more coal than they could dispose of, and that the work of delivering single bags of coal is infinitely harder than the dumping down of several tons in one cellar. He also complained that not only did he get no tips these days, but he often got black looks into the bargain, for even the mildest of mortals is somehow conscious of a feeling of animosity towards the wholly innocent person whose duty it is to introduce one solitary bag of coal into the gaping emptiness of what was once a well-stacked cellar.

The only man, in fact, to whom the coal strike has not been a calamity is the maker of oil stoves and heaters, the run on which has been enormous.

But another fact which may or may not be connected with the shortage of coal is that this November London has been utterly and entirely free from anything in the shape of even a mild fog. There has been mist and rain, but no yellow fog, and what makes one think that the countless thousands of smokeless chimneys may be responsible is that the atmosphere generally has been unusually light and clear.

We have had a singularly mild but remarkably wet November; so wet that the owners of the new cars so blithely purchased at Olympia a few weeks ago are much disgusted. We have even been treated to thunderstorms, but the frost and snow of last year is absolutely lacking. As a result of last week’s terrific gale, every tree and hedge is stripped bare, and the street sweepers have been more than usually Busy. But, in the absence of frost, the late chrysanthemums are gallantly clinging to life, and many a suburban garden, as seen from a Victoria-bound train, is still gay with them. The mild frostless weather is also responsible for the bulbs making a serious mistake, and even in my little garden the parsley-like anemone leaves are showing well above ground. The good florist shops, of course, are already gay with bulbs from the South of France, but these precious first flowers of spring are not for ordinary folk. However, one morning last week when I was in that neighbourhood, I went to Covent Garden, and got quite an armful of mimosa and carnations for a verv much smaller suni than I ever thought possible. Though it was quite late in the morning, the most exquisite flowers were still arriving, which, on being unpacked, w’ere sold at half the price at which they are retailed even on the barrows of street flower-sellers.

There are always several of the latter to be found even in the busiest parts of Knightsbridge and Kensington High street, but the flower girls of Piccadilly are now reduced to three, who, to all appearances, seem to be completely isolated in the centre of a bewildering and endless stream of traffic. Piccadilly Circus, like most other congested centres, is now given over to the one-way traffic system, which sounds simple, but for the unfortunate pedestrian means that the traffic seems to come towards him from 50 quarters, instead of two as formerly. As applied to traffic, the gyratory system is no doubt a success, but for the pedestrian it means added danger, and such a difficulty in crossing streets that, without the help of the policeman on duty, it cannot even be attempted. Also, as no vehicle is allowed to stop, and every . regular stopping place is altered/ the boarding of a bus seems about as hopeful as eoim municating with Mars. How the policemen on duty ever keep their reason is a mystery, and the sympathies of many went to the unfortunate bus driver who, before committing suicide, wrote a letter stating that, as he could never hope to understand the new traffiq regulations, fie had decided to take his life. * * , *« Apart from the strike settlement, the papers this week gave us several interesting small items of news, news which, for the most part, has given rise to much discussion.

- For some weeks past all has evidently not been going too smoothly with the Queen of Rumania in America, and now after many hints as to the probability of her visit being cut short we hear that she is returning unexpectedly to Europe. The King of Rumania is apparently somewhat old fashioned, and feels that his Queen is departing altogether too much from the rules set down by custom for the guidance of royalty. Practically everyone in this country is of his opinion, for, after all, there isn’t much use in providing thrones for queens to sit on if they persist in getting off them. Queen Marie is a charming looking woman, but she does not seem to realise that queens cannot play about like ordinary folk and not be criticised. *' * *

Broadstairs, that favourite seaside resort on the Kentish coast, remarkable chiefly for the size and number of its preparatory schools, has, as the result of a serious epidemic of infantile paralysis, come in for special notice lately. The outbreak w-as kept as quiet as possible, and .most of the schools became separate, self-contained, little communities, wdiere quarantine regulations of the strictest order reigned. But in spite of all precautions the epidemic spread, and parents whose children were shut off in one of the special little communities grew restless, and demanded that their offspring be returned to them forthwith. This attitude is, according to the medical profession, to be deplored, and when, on two cases occurring in Uppingham School, the head master promptly closed the school and sent all the boys home his action was severely criticised. The medical profession censured him, andso did the general public, and the only people who seem to think he did right were the relieved and thankful parents of the 450 boys in his charge.

Early in the New Year we shall probably liave a new Archbishop of Canterbury, as the present Primate announces his intention of, for health reasons, vacating his high office. The Archbishop has felt deeply the sharp division of public opinion as regards his ill-fated intervention in the coal strike, arid mourns over the fact that the British nation is so fundamentally antagonistic to any interference of the Church in matters outside her province. The Primate’s attitude over the strike will, in all probability, affect the choice of his successor, as it is unlikely that any of the bishops who appeared as advocates of mediation will be appointed. There are, doubtless, many advantages appertaining to the high office of Primate of England, but when champing with impatience in a hold up of traffic the other day I saw the Archbishop’s car being signalled forward I thought that one of the most pleasing to human frailty must be the fact that, like the King’s and Royal Princes’, the Archbishop of Canterbury’s car has precedence of all other traffic. The Royal Family is born to such distinction, therefore it can mean very little to them, but when for the first time it is experienced it must afford some considerable gratification even to such an august person as an Archbishop of Canterbury.

Another small matter which has given scope for much discussion is the action Of the Pope in annulling the marriage oi the present Duke of Marlborough and his first wife. The duchess some years ago renounced her title and married a Frenchman, who is a Roman Catholic, which fact but adds point to the discussion.

I remember three or four years ago seeing a painting (by Sergeant, 1 think) of this same duchess, with the duke and their two sons, in the dining room at Blenheim Palace. It was a Img affair, and opposite it, on the other side of the room, was an almost equally large portrait of the present duchess. Perhaps that particular dining room, shown to visitors, is not used by the family, or else perhaps the duke is more concerned with posterity than with his own comfort, but to the mere outsider it seemed as if those two portraits might cause him some embarrassment during meals.

I was dining out the other night, and we had mushrooms served so deliciously that afterwards I asked my hostess for the recipe, which she gave me, and which I herewith j -ss on:— Croutes au Champignons.—Take some small mushrooms and toss them lightly in a little butter until they are cooked. Put them aside, and stir a teaspoon of flour into the butter remaining in the

pan; add a little stock and some finely chopped parsley, and cook it over a slow fire. When cooked it should be of the thickness of rich cream. To this add one well-beaten egg, very quickly, toss in the mushrooms, heat again, but do not on any account allow it to boil. Put some delicately fried rounds of bread on a dish, and on these rounds pour your ragout of mushrooms. It’s delicious!

How football training may be useful in the more peaceful walks of life was .illustrated in forceful manner on a provincial main highways (says the Napier Telegraph), when the value of a good tackle was useful in averting trouble by stopping a runaway - horse. A horse bolted near Clive, just as a bus from Hastings was coming into Napier. The driver of the bus, seeing the unruly steed careering madly down the road puffed up, and Mr A. E. Cooke, the well-known AU Black, dismounted, and at great risk of personal injury, flung himself in the approved Rugby fashion at the bridle and succeeded in stopping the .frightened equine, to the great-joy of the worried owner.