THE SKETCHER

Otago Witness, Issue 3888, 18 September 1928, Page 71

THE SKETCHER

LOVE AT FORTY. So we have met! Gray in our hair . . . Lines on our faces . . . After the dawn light has died Out of our eyes, After regret, After despair, Youth’s ardour past, We have met, we have met At last! How did I know You were my lover? (Gray in your hair, Spring’s beauty fled.) How did you know? . . . All the world over You had been seeking me, Hopeless of finding me. I was a vision Lifeless and dead— Dead long ago . . . ) How did you know? By the gaunt ghost of the dreams that still haunt you! (Gray in your hair.) By the ghost dreams that still look from my eyes, Or leave deep trace Of lines on my face! So we have''met I After the tears, Love’s resurrection, Mating’s perfection Smile at the years. After regret, After despair, Gray in our hair, Lines on our faces, We two have met — At last. —Bettie Sale Stewart, in Muse and Mirror. AN HOUR APART. The Lady in Grey—until the other day I had not seen her for quite a Jong time, for she has been often ill—will, she tells me, soon be a Lady in Grey no longer. Her hair, so she explained to me, is becoming grey, and along with her pale face it makes her look too dull altogether. So she is thinking of changing her colour scheme to a blue one—for that, I think, is the colour that she loves most of all. The walls of the room where she passes most of her time have recently been changed into soft azure attire; her bed has a blue cover; and her blue dream is now complete save that she would have the variegated cretonne covers on the chairs and couch also changed into that colour, freely sprayed over with primroses. For blue, she holds, the heaven’s own colour, is entirely restful and satisfactory.

The title of the Lady in Grey proved a misnomer even upon this recent occasion, for her robe de chambre—l - hope that she will excuse my mentioning it •—was of pale blue, and a fleecy shawl, like a little handful of sky, lying apart, echoed its blueness. The teacups, too, were blue. Only the lamp shade was different, being apricot coloured, lined with rich pink to make a brightening glow for eyes that need the refreshment of colour.

Just for a little over an hour was I allowed to talk to her—l am afraid that I sadly transgressed the rule—it was little enough time when all the affairs, not only of the last three months, but of the whole of life, with even perhaps a little forward glimpse into eternity, came crowding into it! It passed all too soon. As usual, the flowers came to bear her company in enforced retirement—one of her young friends, you know, has christened her the Flower Lady. On the table beside her the carnations were of that shade of satisfying pink which is the most lovable of all; with them and with the blue irises was mixed the summery, snow-like spray of gypsophila, a tiny vase holding some precious wood-violets. Another floral .contribution had a country-garden-like look about it, which it is possible may bring its appeal of the wild to contrast with the sophisticated florists’ bouquets. It held pansies and pinks, Ijipins v and London Pride and stocks, all tight packed together, also a single crimson peony. It was long since a peony had come to visit the Lady in Grey, as she had been remarking just a short time before its unexpected arrival.

The whole “art” of a day for her is, as she explained to me, to try not to get tired. One of the secrets of her cheerfulness in her invalidism is that, just as_she makes the most of the flowers that come to her, knowing their so does she extract the secrets of her visitors as individuals. When you leave her you cannot help feeling that she knows a great deal about you, and a good deal more than you have ever told her. Confidences that you have never confided to her are hers, and the knowledge of that comes with a little feeling of surprise to those, who, walk-

ing in more crowded ways, are accustomed to give each other but a casual glance and pass on.

When her visitors have gone I feci that she lies and dreams about them, comparing them, contrasting them, fitting them into some scheme or philosophy of which they themselves have not the remotest inkling. It is not always just quite easy to follow her into the labyrinths of her generalities, the fault being ours entirely, for we who are continually rushing about and busying ourselves too much with concrete things and concrete instances do not generalise over-much. So that it is good to know that there are those ready and willing to do our philosophising for us. * * * The care of our possessions—that was one topic that cropped up for discussion. The handling of the’things that we love, careful that no little blemish shall mar their perfection. It is doubtless a care that can be exaggerated, and that must ever be remembered by those who have been warned to lay up for themselves no treasure upon earth. Yet how it hurts to see our cherished belongings roughly touched by unloving fingers! Even to see these same fingers treat their own possessions thus grates upon all those who love the beautiful. The Lady in Grey quoted for me two extreme instances, from her own experience, of an exquisite old china bowl having been taken by a nurse to make a poultice, of a valuable Indian shawl having had a hole burned in it through being called upon by some ununderstanding person to do _duty as a ■lampshade! Happy are those of us who have escaped being the victims of such atrocities.

It takes all kinds of people to make a world—the sooner that we realise the truth of that which is so often upon our lips as a mere catchword the better. Yet those lacking reverence can be as much out of place in a drawing room as the proverbial bull in the china shop. When one has to lie apart, and take the passive part all the time, it is no wonder - if one’s feelings become somewhat acute under such circumstances. » * • With regard to these hoped-for blue covers of hers, she let fall, smilingly, the momentous words, “ I am saving up for them.” 'They served to remind me of an attitude that is pretty general in these days towards money affairs. _At one time we did not share so readily these interesting secrets. It is not altogether easy to recall, perhaps, how we regarded them in far-off pre-war days, but our outlook was a little different to that generally prevalent to-day. Then we hesitated a little more before we said, “ I can’t afford it ” —not, perhaps, because it wasn’t true, but because of a false pride. Then came the war, bringing with it changed money values, the increased price of many commodities, the inability to obtain more, than a small quantity of sugar foi - either money or love. Straightway we all began to talk about prices as we had never talked’before, and the custom has become a permanent one.

Nowadays it is more common than it used to be to make a parade of our poverty, not hesitating to recommend to each other cheap materials, cheap dressmakers, cheap hotels. I don’t insinuate, however, that my Lady in Grey has ever changed materially in this respect, sincerity and frankness ever having lain near her heart.

Among her most frequent visitors is Memory. I am not sure indeed that Memory ever takes her leave. Memory leads her back over the ways she walked in once, and, even lying in bed, one can take the most delightful excursions, more wonderful, indeed, that most of us take nightly to dreamland.

To the Lady in Grey her women-friends mean much. She would never be numbered among those of smaller natures and petty jealousies who argue against the reliability of women friends. They come to her in her solitude, each bringing something of her own personality, to linger on behind when, in visible form, she has departed. Among them are numbered, if I mistake not, an artist, a novelist, a poet, and when they do not come, for the demands that" life makes upon us all are exacting, their letters do duty instead—and I hope these may be letters that take the recipient out into primrosescented ways, the plover fields, and the happy autumn woods. We have to lie aside from Life—“ to feel,” as she says, “ life a great reality, yet just out of reach ” —to realise what the cominsr of these visitors, these letters, means. Having escaped the weighted bonds of sickness and weariness, it is so easy to forget! . . .

But it was time to go, to leave the Lady in Grey to her flowers and her thoughts. Nothing of tremendous import had been said, you may interpolate. But impressions last longer than mere words; memories matter more. And the picture that I carried with me had a wonderfully brightening effect on the

rainy street outside and the sea of umbrellas that made it duller still.— “ Cynthia,” in the Weekly Scotsman. RIDDLE. If you were gone afar, And lost the pattern Of all your delightful ways, And the web undone, How would one make you anew, From what dew. and flowers, What burningly mingled atoms Under the sun? Not from too-satin roses, Or those rare blossoms, Orchids, scentless and precious As precious stone. But out of lemon-verbena, Rose geranium, These alone. Not with running horses Or Spanish cannon, Organs, voiced like a lion, Clamour and speed. But perhaps with old music-boxes, Young, tawny kittens, Wild-strawberry-seed. Even so, it were more Than a god could compass To fashion the body merely, The lovely shroud. But then—ah, how to recaptute That evanescence. That fire that cried in pure crystal Out of the cloud! —Stephen Vincent Benet, in the New Republic. KEEPING FIT. The girl who is in good physical condition is good-natured (writes Helen Wills, in Home Chat). Confirmed grouches are usually those who don’t know what it is to‘feel fit. Exercise should be done in moderation and done regularly. Emphasis should be put on the word “ regular.” Irregular or infrequent exercise has no really beneficial or lasting effects. Girls who take regular exercise and who keep it up are young-looking for a much longer time than those who don’t. .Their complexions, the sparkle in their eyes, and their lithe and graceful figures ■are their rewards.

Of course, being a great lover of tennis, I would say that tennis is the game which furnishes ideal exercise. It can be played by practically anyone, and it gives a great deal of exercise in a short time. Even a half hour of tennis is worth while, so concentrated is the action of the game. No matter where you go in the world, among civilised people, you find tennis courts. There are hundreds in South Africa. Tennis is tremendously popular there, as it is in India, Japan,* and New Zealand.

To play tennis well and to derive the fullest benefits a person must be feeding about a 100 per cent. fit. To help me keep fit I have a schedule of .iving that I always follow whether I’m playing in a tournament or not. Here it is: Nine hours of sleep from about 11 at night to 8 in the morning. No two late nights in succession. No late hours during a tournament. Regular meals and a well-balanced diet with many fruits, vegetables, and meats that build firm tissue. There really isn’t much in it. I think the sleep is the most important item in my- schedule. Each of us requires a certain number of hours of sleep, and should see that we get it regularly. Some of us feel refreshed after seven or eight hours. Others require more! For no one who is not getting the amount of sleep her own system requires can hope to feel fit.

-Moderation is tremendously important for those who are in the habit of exercising, but even more so to those who are not used to exercise and are just taking it up. Violent exercise is so dangerous to anyone not accustomed to it. The body cannot stand the strain. The muscles are not prepared, and serious injury may result unless caution is used.

I have played tennis since I was 13 regularly, but always in moderation. If you become too tired then you lose all the benefits of the exercise. Two sets in an afternoon is the ideal number for a woman player. I always limit play to two sets unless, of course, I am playing in a tournament and have to take part in several matches.

Two sets leave you keen for more, with the desire to play longer. You are not fatigued. After your shower and rub down you feel wonderfully stimulated. You realise the full benefits of your exercise.

For three months, while I was recuperating from an appendix operation, I did not touch a racket. Then I began to play again very gradually. My

muscles in that short time had got entirely out of playing condition. As a person becomes older it is more and more difficult to get baek into fit condition if exercise has been given up —in some cases it is quite impossible. Keeping fit in summer is easy for everyone, as there are so many out-of-door activities. But in the winter it is harder unless one happens to live in California or some place where the climate is mild enough for out-of-door play. Winter time in the cities is most difficult for the girl who wants to keep fit, especially if she is engaged in business. By the time she is finished in the afternoon darkness has set in, and the weekends are too far apart. Indoor swimming or gymnasium exercise are about the only two activities for her. But nothing can quite equal the benefits of exercise in the open air. There is always, of course, walking. Measure off a mile and have kt a regular part of the day’s routine in any sort of weather. A mile at 50r6 in the evening, done very, briskly, followed by a stimulating rub down, will chase away the fatigue of a day’s work and the tired feeling which comes from being in a heated office all dav.

Food plays an important role in the business of keeping fit. Whoa you stop to think about the food you provide for your body to do its work on you must realise that many foods are absolutely meaningless—fussy creamed dishes, pastries with fancy outsides and frothy insides—puddings that are decorative rather than nourishing. These should never be indulged in at the expense of solid, nourishing food that the body really needs for restoring tissue. And certainly they should be limited in the instance of the woman who wants to keep her figure slender.

Feeling fit means greater success and makes happiness easier to find. There is, of course, the frequent charge that it is possible to be “ over-fit ” —developed to such a high state of physical perfection that the body really suffers, but, as far as women are concerned, I see no need for this.

It is the gruelling strain which comes in professional competition and some of the championship tournament play which is hardest on most women athletes, and this strain is as much mental as it is physical. The great popularity of swimming, increasing each year, is one of the finest things to come to the rescue of under-exercised, unhealthy girlhood and womanhood. It is a splendid sport, a perfect form of exercise, provided only that the beginner does not attempt too great distances. Always remember that sports are a social attribute. Every week-end party includes in its programme a full quota of athletics in which men and women, boys and girls may indulge. Society has come to its senses. Society is keeping fit.

THRENODY FOR A BROWN GIRL. Weep not, you who love her— What rebellious flow Grief undams shall recover Whom the gods bid go? Sorrow rising like a wall, Bitter, blasphemous— What avails it to recall Beauty back to us? Think not this grave shall keep her, This marriage-bed confine; Death may dig it deep and deeper— She shall climb it like a vine. Body that was quick and sentient, •Dear as thought or speech, Death could not, with one trenchant Blow, snatch out of reach! She is nearer than the word Wasted on her now, Near than the staying bird On its rhythmic Trough. Only were our faith as much As a mustard seed, Aching hungry hands might touch Her as they touch a reed.

Life, who was not loth to trade Her unto death, has done Better than he planned, has made Her wise as Solomon. Now- she knows the Why and Wherefore, Troublous Whence and Whither; Why men strive and sweat, and care for Bays that droop and wither. All the stars she knows by name, End and origin thereof, Knows if love be kin to shame, If shame be less than love. What was crooked r»w is straight, What was rough is plain; Grief and sorrow have no weight Now to cause her pain. One to her are flame and frost; Silence is her singing lark. We alone are children—lost, Crying in the dark. Varied features now, and form Change has bred upon her; Crush no bug or nauseous worm Lest you tread upon her. Pluck no flower lest she scream; Bruise no slender zrecd Lest it prove more than it seem, Lest site groan and bleed. More than ever trust your brother, Read him golden, pure— It may be she finds no other House so safe and sure. Set no poet carving Rhymes to make her laugh; Only live hearts starving Need an epitaph. Lay upon her no white stone From a foreign quarry; Earth and sky, be these alone Her obituary.

Swift as startled fawn or swallow, Silence all her sound, She has fled; we cannot follow Further than this mound. We who take the beaten track, Trying to appease Hearts near breaking with their lack, We need elegies. —Countee P. Cullen, in Poetry. PHYSICAL EDUCATION. Every civilised country gives its child: ren opportunities for education both mental and physical, but not every child, or adult, realises what. is lost wheq those opportunities are neglected. Many of us still think the sole aim and object of the drill or gymnastic lesson is to develop muscle, and this is one reason why the term “ physical education ” has been adopted. The object of physical education is to develop in the growing child a balanced co-ordination of action between brain, nerves, and muscles; and the qualified drill teacher builds up lessons that will help the pupil to acquire physical balance and control. Every lesson contains, in its table of exercises, movements for the muscles of the limbs, back, shoulders, abdomen, and lateral muscles—in fact, every muse!" group of the body. Exercises are given to encourage speed of thought and action, agilitv, balance, and control; to develop ‘character, courage, and a spirit of good fellowship and consideration for others; and teams are formed and controlled by the pupils themselves to develop the spirit of responsibility and leadership. It is often found that the so-called “ brainy ” child does not care for the drill lesson, and this is quite natural, but should not be encouraged. The child whose mental development is in advance ol its physical will find drill a real effort and .will, in all probability, consider the time given to this lesson absolutely wasted. Parents often aid and abet attempts to shirk the lesson; and it-is a gicat mistake, for the clever child will make the biggest demands on the physical health. If the drill lesson is attended regularly a foundation of nervous and muscular strength will be laid capable of supporting the delicate mental structure that is being built up. Most of us have seen brilliant "beginnings that have failed before a brilliant finish has been reached, merely from lack of balance and health, and in many cases this failure is the result of a refusal to accept the opportunities tor co-ordinated development offered us in childhood. lie hare little use for the person who neglects mental development in favour of purely physical, and yet there is morexcuse for them than for the “brainy” enthusiast, for the latter should have a mental outlook and reasoning power capable of realising the disadvantages of an undeveloped and faulty physical machine. There is an exception to every rule, and the lack of balance of the genius is proverbial. ° Education, however, has to deal with the requirements of the average child, not the exception, and the average physical requirement is to possess, upon leaching adult age, a condition of balanced development that makes good health second nature, with the result that the process of keeping fit requires a minimum amount of time and thought given to it. 6 The object of physical education is to lay a foundation of good health and to train the muscular system to give tiro required amount of power with the least possible expenditure of nervous ener«v — Tit Bits.

MOTHERS AND DAUGHTERS. One result of the independence of the girls of the present day is that the match-making mother, so beloved by novelists and playwrights of 20 years ago, must have almost ceased to ‘exist (says a writer in a Scottish exchange). What would a girl of 1928 say to the idea that her mother’s duty was to find a husband for her? And, the said husband being found and decided on, would Miss 1928 dutifully fall in with her mother’s plans, and accept him? Imagination fails me when I try to picture such a thing. But what a change for the better is the present regime! The mother of daughters to-day really has an excellent time. They are grown beyond her care and control; she has seen to it that they have entered the world with a full understanding of it; they ■are ivell able to take care of themselves. And she can rest on her laurels and enjoy a comparatively carefree existence. No more need she adorn the wall of dances and try to conceal her yawns and her longing for bed, no more need she stay at home when she wants to go elsewhere because a young man is coming to tea. Her presence at the tea party now would be decidedly superfluous. Mothers can do little now to influence their daughters’ marriages. Only with great tact can they gently hint that Mr So-and-So does not seem very desirable, and hope for the best. But the wise mothers have fostered between their daughters and themselves a very real friendship and cameraderie, which is infinitely better than any amount of parental control, and is very much more lasting.