A LETTER FROM HOME.

Otago Witness, Issue 3994, 30 September 1930, Page 60

A LETTER FROM HOME.

By

A Wanderer.

(Special for the Otago Witness.) Vanity Street. LONDON, August 7. Madeleine has given us here a charming little frock for the late warm-weather season embodying all the newest notes. The material is a smart light tweed in grey and blue, and you will note the demure white linen collar and cuffs. The pockets, too, are rather novel, there being a quartet of them. My private advice would be to sacrifice the top two —unless you are very slender; but I must warn you that you’ should take no notice of me when it comes to models, because I am one of those dreadful people who are inclined to adapt them, whereas all women who know anything about dress know that when you pay for a model —and pay you do!—you should

A charming example of a mid-seasori frock in a light weight tweed of grey flecked with blue. The four pockets form an original kind of trimming.

leave it alone. If you want your own improvements or alterations, the little dressmaker will serve. This, however, is a digression. I must tell you that the hat is a soft grey felt to match the grey of the tweed, trimmed with a cute blue bow to tone with the fleck in the frock material. Straws this season have had a very short-lived vogue, probably' because the felts have been made so light and dainty that we have no reason for

forsaking them even on the hottest day. Their adoption by sportswomen, too, has given them added popularity; also there is the fact that they have been made so remarkably cheap. For considerably under a pound it is possible to take your choice from a bewildering array of felts which will fold up like a, panamas one moment, and look like Paris models the next—when they are on the head. If you are sure enough of yourself and your way of wearing things to risk mass-production, you can get a lovely little hat for half-a-guinea; and the rest is. with you. Stephanie gives us what she describes as “a blouse cape: a cool style.” It certainly does look rather attractive in its way, but obviously it is the type of thing one would easily get tired of, so 1 phould suggest just a specimen for your

One of the new blouse-capes, which afford a useful variant on the blouse and jumper theme. Shantung wougi be an ideal material for this garment.

wardrobe. The lady’s black gloves—to match the black lining of her hat—are a mode of the moment, and if the hatlining had been green, the gloves might have been expected to tone. It is all very trying and expensive; but if you like the idea, there it is.

Reflections. Personally, as I have told you not once but many times before, I have always felt that there was something wrong about weddings; something either lacking or too much. It may be that the bridegroom looks as if he is going to a board meeting in the city, whereas the bride looks as if she is just about to enter fairyland . . . or "it may be anything. The fact remains that here and there a bride attempts something in the nature of an innovation —just a kind of kick against tradition—and I salute her. Last week a fashionable bride dispensed with the picturesque but useless retinue and decided that her one attendant should precede her up the aisle. This was regarded as very effective. Speaking of incongruity—l wasn’t actually speaking of it, perhaps, but I always think of it when I think of weddings—while I do most willingly concede that certain charming little

women look their loveliest on the day which they regard as the most wonderful in their lives, I do most earnestly protest against a combination of horn-rimmed spectacles and orange blossom. I was going to say, “It simply cannot be! ” . . . but, alas, we encounter it in person and in picture papers about once a week at least. Brides in monocles are just as much a contravention of all that is artistic; but fortunately they are fewer and farther between. I mean, of course, the conventional white-satin

bride: those in costumes can wear anything—even smoked spectacles if they like —and .get away with it. Just for the fun of it 1 sat back and thought for a moment—looking at a bride who wore horn-rimmed spectacles and a coronet of orange blossom, and I wondered, if I ■were going in for a five-hundred pound competition on the -subject, what I could suggest as a counterpart for her husband. I decided that the best I could think of was an elegant combination of a morning coat, lace frills instead of a tie and collar, completed, let us say, by a sword and field-glasses. ~ Will brides please note? And, while brides are making notes, they might go a bit farther and think over the fact that one of the most recent kitchens I have seen outlined by those good people who, I should imagine, have never had one of their own, with baskets of onions, potatoes, and so forth, and piles of washing up,—one of the most recent kitchens, as I was saying, is equipped with a loud-speaker, a desk for menu planning, and a telephone. This all sounds very ideal—quite like a socialist’s book about our lives a thousand years hence—but I think the majority of us prefer to have our wireless and ’phones and whatnot in another little room. It may be time-wasting prejudice, but there it is; and even cook housekeepers do not want to live in the kitchen.

1* That So? When I went to a recent film firstnight I saw, sitting next to his mother, the Countess of Oxford and Asquith, the Hon. Anthony, who at the moment is very busy at the British Instructional Studios with the talking film entitled

“ Tell England,” the story which includes the Gallipoli campaign. Mr Asquith is a great believer in the future of British films, and—as might possibly have been expected from a member of so distinguished and literary a family—he does not regard them from any highbrow

standpoint and take an interest in them merely because one has got to live, you know f—after the manner of so many exalted people who take up commercial propositions. He really regards films as a rapidly developing form of art. 1 noticed that Lady Oxford, dad in silver grey, with a broad, square decolletage, her darker silver hair brushed sharply back and slightly waved, was chatting animatedly to a great man who has risen from the ranks. As I looked at her and saw her gaining the great man’s interest minute by minute, I thought to myself: “ No wonder this remarkable and vital woman will —in spite of her being a countess —always remain in the public memory as Margot! ” There could be no greater tribute to her personality. The Street of Advents-

This week I have three good things for you, and you can take your choice — or take all of them, if you are wise. If you love Wodehouse, “ Jeeves ” needs no introduction from me; and you can take it as definite that “ Very Good Jeeves ” is very good. From the same publishing house we get an intriguing story, “ The Well-meaning young Man,” by Luise and Magdalen King-Hall. The King-Halls are, as you know, a literary family, as well as a naval one on the masculine side, and some years ago Magdalen King-Hall dropped a bomb in the book world by perpetrating a “ diary ” which was not really a diary of the period, covering herself with glory thereby. An extraordinarily good book this, about the well-meaning young man, written with remarkable penetration. If you like theatrical memoirs, then you must not miss “My Memoirs,” by Sir Frank Benson, the famous Shakespearian actor, under whose banner so many other great actors have served their apprenticeship.

Try This. These cheese fritters are excellent, and my acknowledgments are due to Mr W. Teignmouth Shore, the only humorous cookery writer (except myself, and I am unintentionally so) I know. Cut your stale cheese into slices about a quarter of an inch thick and dip them into fritter batter. Fry them in very hot butter, getting each side golden brown. Serve on paper sprinkled with cayenne.