A WIFE'S LETTER.

Pahiatua Herald, Volume XLIV, Issue 13540, 19 April 1937, Page 2

A WIFE'S LETTER.

SORRY FOR ENGLISHMEN. The following letter, written by a Sydney lady who went to Melbourne to see the final cricket Test, has been handed by the husband to the “Sydney Daily Telegraph.” She says : Perhaps it s because my paternal grandmother was English, but, real- , ly, 1 did feel sorry for the English- | men before Melbourne’s sun had set. Such nice boys they seemed, and not a sign of huffiness or bad temper, though they must have yearned to tear Bradman and McCabe to pieces. 1 wore an American sheer (Heaven knows what that is, but I assume it was the cause of her urgent wire for a fiver the other day. —M.R.), white hat, white gloves and bag. Something of a summery vision, which 1 wish you might have seen, but I’ll put it all on for you when X get back. Poor Lettiee believed all she had read ol the Melbourne climate and sweltered in a black woollen frock. She’d even brought her silver fox fur to impress the natives but she parked that at the boardinghouse. It must have been a wrench, poor girl. I suppose you want to know about the cricket. We picked up a box of sandwiches and two stone ginger beers, cadged some straws, and felt we were pretty smart, and the taxi tooted its way through the throngs outside the ground at 10.30 a.m. But half an hour of our young lives had been spent before we got inside and found a few inches of wooden bench under a blistering sun. The morning session was pretty tense, and when poor Rigg went mournfully back to the pavilion, we felt that our lunch was going to turn to ashes in our mouths. But it didn’t, . and after a picnic meal we toured the ground to observe the dress and deportment of our female Melbourne contempora r ies. Those girls know how to wear their clothes. Blit the glamour of the feminine scene is only clothes-

deep,. if you get me. On complexions and contours the Sydney girls win every time. Must have a look at. St. Kilda on Sunday and see Miss Melbourne as she really is. But about the cricket—well, you must know more about it by now than I can tell you. Didn’t I tell you Bradman was a hero? I felt a bit nervous about him at first. Would he go and do something silly? Well, he did, but the umpire evidently thought the bowler was doing something not quite right, and Bradman and McCabe settled down to hit, and we settled down to eat chocolates, and cheer. It was worth coming 530 miles for, and Lettiee says if Don wanted to walk on her silver fox she’d let him. Really must stop now. We’re doing a party to-night. How are you off for darned socks?