THE SKETCHER

Otago Witness, Issue 4039, 11 August 1931, Page 66

THE SKETCHER

NELL GWYNN SPEAKS. A better jest in Charles’s Court Than any wit could utter Was that Nell Gwynn should queen it there, The young girl from the gutter. That I who knew not Hampton Court, From the Bishopric of Ely, An orange girl should take her place With the Magdalens of Lely.' I never yet did plague myself With matters far above me, Enough he was my lord the King And that the King should love me. There was a King in Holy Writ, That my King Charles was much like. King Solomon with all his wives And concubines and such-like. A common man should heed the law If so his conscience teases, The King may rule by right divine And govern as he pleases. From lands across the sea they came, The women chosen for him — They came to do their master’s will, Pretending to adore him. ’Twas hard to tell the sheep from goats When Lady Mauds and Charlottes With mincing step made haste to join Our sisterhood of harlots. I knew them all from rank and file, From battleship to galley. It did not take Mr long to learn The court was like the alley. One thing I never could abide. That Portsmouth minx should school him, It only meant that France’s guile And France’s pride should rule him. She put on black with France’s court, I was no wench for scorning, But it was plain to any eye Her sins might call for mourning. I would that I had known him first, I was to brawls no stranger. I would have climbed the Royal Oak And loved to share his danger. Though I had been a penitent The saints would ne’er enthrone me. But I was an English actress And the stage will not disown me. ’Tis God’s own truth, and ne’er gainsaid. To ill I never moved him, My name was last upon his lips, The English girl who loved him. —Adele Marie Batre, in Poetry of To-day.

A HELPFUL HUSBAND. Staying with married friends is awfully good for one sometimes. Makes you feel that p’r’aps, after all, you haven't done too badly in the husband line yourself. Anyhow, that's how I felt after my week-end with Audrey and her Bertram. My one-time passionate yearning for a “ helpful husband ” was dead and buried before we'd arrived at Sunday night supper! After that illuminating interlude. I could hardly wait to get hack to Gerald’s idiotic, stark, staring helplessness in everything domestic. Oh, the heady joyousness of knowing I can do thousands of things a thousand times better than he can, poor lamb! The sublime upliftingness of knowing he can’t possibly manage ” without me. the old cuckoo! And, all the time, I might have married a “ helpful ” who’d always be queering my pitch as Bertram does! Telling me the gas is too high under the greens when, of course, it is. And that the batter pudding would have been less leady if I’d banged at it a bit longer, which it would!

Showing me a better, quicker way to wash up, peel potatoes, and clean the silver!

I’ve yet to meet the woman who’ll love a man passionately for being able to show her how to do her own job better than she knows herself!

Helpless husbands are a trial all right —don’t I know it!—but you can take it from me the other sort are grounds for a separation.

For some reason I can’t fathom there’s no comfortable half-wayness about this “helpful” business. A man’s either utterly, incurably, hopelessly helpless, or else he goes all out on the domestic stunt, and—horrible to relate—beats you at your own game! Because, when he sets himself to it, he really has a rather marvellous way of getting results at a minimum cost of time, labour, and fuss.

And just think of having a man who can “ manage ” perfectly well without you! Utterly revolting! It’s pretty maddening to have one who can’t be left for a solitary evening without messing things up all round—and being utterly and entirely miserable and objectionable into the bargain. But just imagine having somebody who seems quite glad for you to go out, and blithely tells you not to hurry back; he can manage all right! And knowing he can an’ all! ¥ ¥ ¥ Now don’t get peeved and tell me cxasperatedly that it ought to be possible for a man to be decently, humanly helpful in the house without being an insufferable bore and grabbing everything from us. Life’s full of “oughts” which don't come off! “ Ought ” hasn't got anything to do with it. It just doesn't happen; that’s all about it! Yon can’t tell me a word about the irritatingness of a man who never can remember the geographical position of everyday things like tea, butter, bread, and milk! Who, on the extremely rare occasions when he does fill the kettle over-fills it and mins the complexion of the gas stove you sweltered over for hours in the morning! Who, trying to help you, and gets up to lay the fire in the morning, leaves a trail of ashes from fireplace to door! And you do feel at times it must be simply heavenly to have a man about who can safely be left to feed himself for one meal unaided by you. ’Stead of your having to leave every mortal thing at the exact point whore his eye, or his hand, can’t help hitting it! These are the occasions when you yearn most passionately for a helpful husband! Take my tip—stop the passionate yearning! Get on with the job of spreading out the eggs and jam and ham and everything where your helpless variety will notice them —or ought to, anyhow. And while you're busy getting worked up about his utter helplessness, remember there really are worse things in the world than helpless husbands. There are helpful ones!

REFLECTION. Remembering words We had together Concerning chance And woe and weather, Concerning pathways Lately lost And seas uncharted Or uncrossed, Concerning moods And motor cars, Anemones And shooting stars, I have discovered Two can chat An hour or more Of this and that And part assured And comforted For having left love Well unsaid. —Sydney King Russell, in the New Yorker.

WHAT I EXPECT OF MY HUSBAND. By An Engaged Girl. I expect that my husband shall never take me for granted. Presumably he has asked me to marry him because he thinks me an exceptional girl—the girl, in fact, of his dreams. May he never lose this thought, for once it is lost the brightest spot of both our lives jnust of necessity be dimmed. I expect of my husband that he ■will have consideration for our home as such. I expect him to respect it as he respects me, remembering that it is my personal pride, and that I resent having this pride smothered by cigarette ash and untidily left socks.

I expect him to lie the truest friend that I have. The one person, in fact, on whom I can rely to stand by me through thick and thin, and who likes me just the same whether 1.. am wearing satin or calico. This, I think, is the greatest of my expectations, and if it is realised alone I shall be happy. I expect my husband to be observant. I expect him to realise that I will take pride and trouble in making myself and my home look nice for him. If, after the manner of most men, he passes such things as a new hat or a vase of flowers unnoticed, I shall be disappointed. If, however, he shares my pride with our home and can tell when I am wearing a new frock. I shall look upon this trait as a strong asset on the balance sheet of marriage.

I expect him to continue to be attentive even when my hair is grey and we both know the early bright flame of young love to have passed from us. This is perhaps a vain hope, but I trust not. I know elderly couples to-day who are still courting, and they are truly happy people. Lastly, I expect that my husband will continue in nis present "love of simple things. If he loves animals now, it is certain that he will love children in years to come, and I expect my husband to be the best father in the world. —A. W., in the Glasgow Weekly Herald. WHAT I EXPECT OF MY WIFE. By Ax Exgaged Man. I expect many things of my wife-to-be. Some of these expectations I shall doubtless realise, and others will fail me, for I cannot count upon her being the paragon of a man’s dreams. In the first place I expect her to maintain her present sense of humour so that she can share with me the lighter side of life. A continual frown when things are going wrong magnifies those things to fantastic proportions, while, if the broken soup-tureen is seen to be rather funny after all, tiie tragedy is gone, to be replaced by the spice of comedy. The gift of humour is worth pure gold to married happiness. ¥ ¥ ¥ I expect her r.o be first my friend and secondly my wife. Should she stress overmuch the indeterminate thing we call love she will discover two things. Firstly, that a man does not continue being romantic for the fame time as a woman; and, secondly, that she is missing tire finest sentiment between human beings —friendship. I expect her to be my friend, then, and also the friend of other little beings—her children. I expect her to avoid the overpowering possessive attitude of most mothers, and to treat her little ones as companions. She will, I hope, remember that these children are as much a part of my life as of hers, and not forget in her love of them the man who gave them to her. So many times have I seen the children come first, and their father a poor second. ¥ ¥ ¥ I do not expect my wife to be an asker of unnecessary questions. Many women plague their husbands with irrelevant questioning upon matters which concern those husbands alone.' I expect my wife to bear in mind that there are many little things which a man, for his own personal reasons, desires to keep to himself. Things which have no bearing on the home, and which it is improbable a woman would understand. i expect my wife to be as truthful to me as I hope to do to her. A wife without trust is a thorn in a man’s side, as each action of his is translated into something directly against her. Such a state of affairs festers until it becomes unbearable. Lastly. I expect one more thing of mv wife. I expect her to allow me a modicum of companionship with my old-time friends. Such a companionship, if given ungrudgingly, will never be abused, and all too often a woman keeps her friends while her husband loses his.—C. G. G., in the Glasgow Weekly Herald. REWRITTEN—I93I. “ He kissed her once, he kissed her twice, And then he rode . away ” And so she played some contract, and Went out to see a play. She wandered to a night club where She had a little dance; She. found a little roulette wheel, And took a little chance. Oh. in the gallant yesteryeay She would have pined and cried— She would have wondered where he was, She would, perhaps, have died! She would have made an altar for Her single, fragile flame . . . To-day he kissed and rode away—■ And she forgot his name! —Margaret E. Sangster, in the New York American. WOULD-BE FILM STARS. It is hopeless to be screen-struck, however beautiful you are! This is a trite truth which has often been expressed, but until the causes and effects of the prevailing infatuation for a film career have been mercilessly analysed and exposed, its fascinated victims "will continue to offer themselves in futile sacrifices.

To-day, I am convinced, a very large proportion of the urban population of this country, beautiful and otherwise, is film-struck. Baronets, bargees, colonels, and cat’s-meat men. and their wives and progeny, are alike in their eagerness to strut their little hour in front of the

cine-camera, dazzled by the stories that they have heard about the stupendous salaries supposed to be paid to various stars, and by the meteoric rise to fame of individuals who, the day before yesterday, were of no account. Not long ago, in a muddy field at Eistree I witnessed amazing scenes which were repeated on three subsequent nights. On an immense ship-set, about 250 ft long by 50ft wide, three hundred mep and women, in return for a fee of 30s per night, experienced many of the horrors of shipwreck. They were drenched to the skin, again and again, by icy torrents which smashed down on them from 12 four and a-half-ton tanks. And, as if the chill November air was not enough, these sufferers in the cause of screen realism were exposed to the bitter blasts of powerful wind machines. ¥ ¥ ¥ To add to their discomforts, they and the white officers and crew of the “wrecked” ship had to engage in desperate struggles for the boats, against the panic-stricken black and Oriental members of the crew, and in the excitement a good many hard blows were exchanged. Despite the care of the studio officials in providing warm blankets and electric fires by the side of the set, it is more than probable, in the prolonged hangingabout inseparable from film production, that scores of these people caught severe colds, if not something worse. And yet. for these sensational scenes in “ Atlantic,” the applications from London people alone greatly exceeded the number required, and they were not principally from the roughest types of humanity, but from hard-up ex-officers, society people out for sensation, including two bearing English titles, unemployed actors and actresses, smart young men and flappers, and married women from the suburbs. Most of whom were convinced, I feel sure, that if they were only given a chance by the producer, the way to a successful screen career would be open to them.

The gates of the various studios and the agents’ offices are besieged by applicants, and a number of provincial mothers, including one from Aberdeen and another from Hartlepool, have rented houses at Elstree for long periods, in order to provide care and .shelter for their screen-struck daughters while the latter are struggling to secure some sort of foothold on the films.

None of these girls, with several of whom I am personally acquainted, has so far obtained more than casual crowd work at the usual guinea a day, though most of them arc attractive and intelligent. It cannot be too clearly stated that the chances for most girls to make any kind of success on the screen are so remote as to be unworthy of consideration. The days of the silent screen, when accent did not matter and almost any pretty girl who possessed some acting ability had a reasonable prospect of achieving fair success on the films, have gone for ever. Youth, good looks, intelligence, and endurance arc not enough. To-day a youth or girl who would achieve stardom must also possess culture, charm, sophistication, modesty, common sense, the ability to wear clothes well, and an accent which need not necessarily be “ posh,"' but must definitely he “ educated.” Without all those assets an aspirant has about practically no chance of winning any lasting success on the screen.

In crowd work there does exist, a small minority of people, principally those known to possess good wardrobes, who obtain a fair amount of work every year, but I doubt if any one of them has ever made over £ISO at it in 12 months. It is no exaggeration to say that fifty days’ “ supering ” per year would be considered excellent by the vast majority of “ extras.”

In the very rare instances where the requisite qualities are possessed by a single individual success is practically assured, and then the hopes of all the failures are raised when they hear how the dreams of one screen-struck girl or youth who appears to them to be very little different from themselves, have come true.

The success of these youngsters was inevitable, and luck had nothing to do with it. For that reason, instead of acting as an example and an inspiration to the film-struck, it should act as a warning. Of the screen, more than of any other profession, it may be said. “ Many are called, but few —deplorably few —are chosen.”—Weekly Scotsman. HOW TO LIVE. Plan your living, so and thus: Be a bit meticulous: Never, never falsify: Have a purpose: always try To determine the precise Definition of the nice: Have a mission: be intense: Calculate the difference To a final decimal Of all good and evil . . . well . . . Yellow cab ... a pretty hit . . . Whoop! ... And there’s the end of it! —Wilfred J. Funk, in the New York Evening Post.

GIVING THE CADDIES A CHANCE TO LET OFF STEAM. Let’s be fair to the caddies! Most golf clubs furnish golfers with report cards on which they are asked to report on the work of the caddies, H. I. Phillips reminds us in the New York Su n. Why not, as a matter of fair play, he suggests with his usual playfulness, issue cards to caddies so that they may report on the golfers? Something along this line: CADDIE’S REPORT ON GOLFER. (To be filled out and handed in at the completion of the round.) Golfer’s name Golfer’s score Mark with a cross the characterisation which best describes the golfer herein named: Excellent . . . Good . . . Fair . . . No good . . . Beneath contempt . . . . Dangerous to he allowed at large . . . NOTES. Was the above named golfer fair, reasonable, and a good sport at all times? Was he fair, reasonable, and a good sport at any time? Did he have one of those heavy cowhide bags designed to be carried by paekmule? Was he profane, and if so, was his type of profanity stereotyped or educational? Was he one of those golfers who cry “Watch it! ” every time he gets a ba.ll off the ground? If so, was his tone solicitous or merely insulting? Did he ask your advice on what club to use and then bark, “I knew 1 should have used my No. 4 instead of that thing! ” after dubbing the shot? “ Did he regard a lost golf ball as a lost golf ball, or as the Hope Diamond ? ” is the next proposed question with which Mr Phillips runs on: In the search for a lost ball did he seem to regard you as a caddie getting Idol a round or as a Scotland Yard detective after a eOOOdol reward? Was he at any time guilty of the proverbial, “It ain’t the hall I mind, but I hate those extra strokes ” ? Was he one of those golfers who let a foursome through rather than lose a wooden tee after his drive? On the water holes how many halls did he put into the lake, and did he seem to think it a caddie’s duty to swim under water to retrieve a ball? After missing any putts did he accuse you of rattling the clubs, casting a shadow, or coughing just as he stroked the hall? How many times did he accuse you of handing him a club other than the one he asked for? Did this ever happen after a good shot ? Did he have a bad round, and if so did lie show his teeth much? Did he snap at anybody? Did he bite von ? Was he a gentleman ami a sportsman or a palooker and a cabbage-worm? Would you caddy for him again some time or find your misery through other channels? Signed, Caddie. THE LONGER LIFE. Oh! man, who wouldst prolong thy little day And keep grim death, the tyrant, still at bay, Think not to cheat the wieldcr of the scythe By any strange, rejuvenating ray. What though our ingenuity may give Some new extension of the iife we live? It needs not Einstein’s genius to perceive That length of days is purely relative. The gay ephemeron amidst the flowers May, by our reckoning, count its life by hours; Yet it may live a hundred crowded yea rs Ere eventide writes “ finis ” to its powers. And we, could we increase our present span By some strange process yet unknown to man, Would surely find the common lot too brief And end no better off than we began, ■Though to existence we might haply cling While yet it should remain a pleasant thing, When Nature’s debt no more could be denied Would death, howe’er postponed, have lost its sting? Nay, as it is to-day it still must be. ’Tis only in our childish years that we, Whatever marvels science may disclose, Knowing not death, know immortality. —Touchstone, in the Morning Post.