Never Mind the Rain

Southland Times, Issue 20201, 11 June 1927, Page 22 (Supplement)

Never Mind the Rain

Pitter, patter, pit-a-pat, came the raindrops on the window-pane. It continued thus for about ten minutes then down it came ever so hard. The children gazed through the nursery window with sullen faces. They seemed very unhappy! But then, no wonder, tor were they not going to have a picnic that very day? And they were disappointed because Joan was going home to-morrow and they were going back to their lessons. They looked out into the dreary world, saw the people, umbrellas up, hurrying along the wet pavement, anxious to be home again out of the rain. It was not

very cold, but the rain, beating down, was not pleasant to be out in. Y’es, it was a miserable sort of a day! The children in the nursery could think of nothing to play. The boys would not play house with the girls and the latter would not play school with the boys. They said going to a real school five days out of seven was enough for them. Suddenly the door opened and who should walk in but Uncle Ted. “What’s the matter, kidlets?” he asked. “Oh, Uncle Ted!” cried Avril. “We don’t know what to play. It’s too wet to go out.” “Yes, and isn’t it a shame,” broke in Jim, “and we were going for a picnic today over in the woods.” “It is indeed a shame,” said Uncle Ted, “I wonder if I can suggest anything?” By this time Uncle Ted was sitting in the big armchair with Ernie and Avril on each knee and the others round the chair. Uncle Ted was very fond of the children and they of him. So whenever they were at a loss for something to do he came to their aid, but to-day they had forgotten him, until he made his appearance. So they all began to think, especially Uncle Ted. After a few seconds he cried, “Ah! I have it!” “What! Oh, tell us quickly, Uncle Ted,” said all the children at once. “Let’s play ‘Round the world in a train.’ ” “But how! What will we have for the carriages?” queried Ernie, greatly excited. “Turn up the chairs like this,” directed Uncle Ted, “and the table. Then put the window seat mattress across so. There’s your carriages; now for the engine. Let me see! What will we have for an engine, children ?”

“Pile cushions up in front of that chair,” suggested Joan, “and have a chair turned round in front of them.” “Yes, that’s not bad, but what are you going to drive with?” So again they began to think. Presently Jim burst out, “Say, Uncle Ted, let’s put the gramophone on a couple of cushions and the driver can turn the handle, then we can have music, eh?” “Stunner!” chorused the children. “Not a bad idea at all!” said Uncle Ted. “How did you think of such a thing?” asked Avril. “Brains! Inherited from Uncle Ted,” and that clever young person pushed out his chest and, strutting to the now complete train sat down on the cushions and turned the handle. “Hop in you others, and we’ll be off.” Tljus the children went from town to town enjoying themselves to the fullest. Still the rain beat down on the window-pane and still the people hurried past with their umbrellas up, but the children in the nursery took no notice. They were happy again. In all the lands they visited in make-believe there was no rain, and the sun shone brightly on them all the time. When Uncle Ted peeped in to announce tea they had been nearly all round the world in their wonderful train. They were quite surprised ; the time had passed so quickly, but nevertheless they were “as hungry as bears” as Ernie expressed it. —2/6 and 3 marks to Cousin Doris W’inder (14), 268 Tweed street, Invercargill. —Highly Commended.— The rain was pouring down steadily, and the leaden sky above showed not a sign of letting blue shine through. Colleen Grey turned from the window where she had been gazing at the depressing spectacle with a sigh. “We can’t go out and play to-day, that’s certain,” she said to her two sisters, Marie and Nancy, and her brother, John. “It’s far too wet.” h It s a shame,” said Nancy, with a frown. “With mother and dad away, we shall be roaming round the house like caged lions, getting in each other’s way.” “Caged elephants,” suggested John, ironically. Oh! do be quiet,” said Colleen, worriedly. She, being the eldest, felt responsible for the behaviour of the family, and the continual downpour was jarring on everyone’s nerves. “Can’t we do something?” “Play inside?” interjected Nancy scornfully. They wandered away, leaving Colleen standing at the window, gazing at the street below, where now and then a stray person would pass. One little girl, with a still smaller child by the hand, was battling against the wind, her thin clothes clinging to the shivering form. She sank down on the Grey’s gate-step and the baby began to cry. “Poor wee mites,” said Colleen, “I’ll make Nancy more interested in a rainy day” She slipped on her coat and hastened to the gate. “Children, here,” she cried. The children looked up and began to back hastily away. “Come on,” she coaxed, taking each one by the hand. “Don’t you want something to eat?” “Yes,” eagerly said the bigger girl, and the baby echoed. “Yeth.” Colleen led them to the kitchen where a big fire was roaring merrily. Nancy was idly playing dominoes and did not turn at the children’s entry. The baby pointed to the girl and, running to her side, said, “Who, who.” Nancy looked down in surprise and cried, “Oh! you darling. Where did you come from?” She took the little hand and led the baby to the fire. “You’re soaking child. Colleen, can I go and find some dry clothes for this wee thing?” “As many as you wish, but hurry.” Nancy flew, and Colleen gave each child a hot bath and seated them in a blanket in front of the fire. Nancy returned, followed by Marie, and the three girls dressed the children. “What shall we give them to eat ?” asked Nancy, and under the counsel of Colleen they were given a meal. “What shall we do with them now? The poor little things can’t go out in this rain.” Colleen was beginning to feel worried about them getting home. “Wait till mother comes, she’ll know what to do with them,” said Nancy easily.

“But their parents might be worried.” “They deserve to be,” answered Nancy sternly. “To let little children out in such weather. Anyhow they are in good hands.” John, coming in at that moment, chuckled. “You have a good opinion of yourself. Who are the sources of your puzzlement?” The children greeted him joyously. He played every game imaginable with them, and at five o’clock the five went to greet Mr and Mrs Grey at the door. “Look what we have,” gaily greeted I Nancy. “Good gracious,” said Mrs Grey, “where are those children from?” j They told her the story, all speaking at [ once in their excitement. “I’ll ring the police station,” she gasped. • “The poor mother.” “Yes,” answered a deep voice at the other end of the wire. “Two children, one six and the other three, have been missing since dinner-time. Send them to 112 Wantal Terrace. They slipped out of the house and away when no one was looking. Yes! yes, their parents are very anxious. Thank you.” Mrs Grey turned from the telephone. “I’ll take them straight home.” Nancy mournfully bid the baby goodbye for she had vainly hoped no one would claim it. A few hours later Mrs Grey returned. “Their mother is pleased to see them be- | yond words, children, and I am glad you looked after them so well. Was it a pleasant rainy day?” “Lovely,” they all answered, “We enjoyed it much better than if it had been fine.” ' —2 marks to Cousin Cathrine Thomson (14), 37 Reuben Avenue, Brooklyn, Wellington. —Highly Commended.— “Oh, Mary, it is raining something awful and to-day’s our picnic!” These words were uttered by Nancy Lee at 7 o’clock on a cold wet morning. Mary j sat up in bed rubbing her eyes. “Oh, it j can’t be,” she cried, and she jumped out of bed and joined her small sister by the window only to view a wet and dreary landscape. “Now isn’t that, beastly! There will be no picnic to-day. Won’t the boys be disappointed, too?” “No more than I will be,” said Nancy, with a shiver. “Let’s go back to bed.” Breakfast, that morning was a dismal affair. The boys, Bob, Frank and Stanley, were all very cross and ill-humoured, while | Baby May cried most bitterly and refused to eat her breakfast. “Dear me,” said Mrs Lee, “the children will drive me silly. There’s nothing I dread more than a rainy day. It’s too wet for anyone to go out to-day. Can’t you boys start a game?” “I’m sick of games,” said Bob, ramming his hands in his pockets and gazing gloomily out of the window. ■“Let’s make some toffee,” suggested Stan, who was a noted sweet tooth. Mother sighed as she retnembered the > last toffee making, but gave her consent j and the children hastened upstairs to the ( playroom, Mary following with the kindling 1 and Nancy with the pot and ingredients for 1 the toffee. The fire was soon burning mer- ; rily and toffee making was soon in pro- ; gress. Each took a turn at stirring with a I big spoon. “I think it’s done now,” said Stanley, i “Go on, greedy,” said Bob, “it’s not j boiling yet.” This raised a laugh and Frank, who w T as stirring at the time, tilted the pot and spilt some toffee which made Stan’s laugh end in a wail. After many arguments the toffee was poured into greased plates and Mary suggested a game of “hide the thimble” till the toffee cooled. Stan begged to ' be “hider” and the others went out of the room. After waiting for the signal “come” . for quite a long time, Bob grew impatient and peeped in the door.

“You greedy imp!” he cried indignantly, for there was Stan dipping spoonfuls of toffee into a bowl of water to cool and then eating it up with gusto. They all rushed into the room and Stanley, in his haste to escape, spilt the bowl of water over the rest of the toffee. At that moment there sounded a loud ring at the front door. Who could it be on a wet day like this the children wondered. As they hastened to the top of the stairs a man’s voice was heard and a glad exclamation from mother. Then Bob startled the rest by shouting at the top of his voice: “Uncle Bob! It’s Uncle Bob! Hurrah!” A mad rush down the stairs by the three boys and the three girls, and Uncle Bob had no doubts about the heartiness of his welcome. Soon they were all settled round the fire in the dining-room. Uncle Bob was just back from a trip round the world, and the tales he could tell! Bob wanted to know if he had seen any tigers in India, and Mary wanted to know if he had seen any of the Royal Family in London. Stan finished up by inquiring if Uncle Bob had tasted any of the new tartan toffee in Scotland. This reminded the others of the toffee upstairs and Mary ran up for it and it was quickly disposed of. After supper baby Mary demanded a song from Uncle Bob and he took her on his knee and sang “Home, Sweet Home.” All too soon bedtime arrived and the happy tired children wended their way upstairs, each thinking that the rainy day was not so bad after all for it had brought dear Uncle Bob home again. —2 marks to Cousin Mabel Wright (14), Makarewa. —Highly Commended.— “Oh dear! I think rain’s the piggiest, horridest thing in the whole world,” sighed Pamela Andrews as she looked out into the wet, muddy street. “Pamela,” remonstrated her sister. “I wish you wouldn’t use such terrible, unladylike words. It doesn’t sound at all nice.” “Bother their sound,” answered Pam angrily, “they express my feelings and that’s all that I trouble about. Anyway, Helen, I don’t see how you can sit there with that staid, satisfied expression on your face when you know that our glorious picnic can’t be held now. Oh that piggy old rain!” she growled, almost on the verge of tears as she banged the sitting-room doors and rushed upstairs to the haven of her bedroom. Really there was some excuse for the girl’s outburst, for she did not go out much and she had been looking forward to the picnic for nearly a month. Joan and Angela Adair, who were great friends of Pamelas’ and Helen’s, had some cousins staying with them and they were all going for a picnic in Adair’s beautiful launch if it hadn’t been for the rain. To make the disappointment worse, the weather had been beautiful for over a week and the girls had gaily made all preparations the night before. But alas—to quote Pam—“that piggy rain” had spoilt it all. "Pamela dear,” called a gentle voice from the room across from Pam's. “Are you .there?”

“Yes, Mummie,” answered the girl, wiping her eyes carefully, as she ran into her mother’s room. “Don’t be too disappointed about the picnic, darling,” she said in her tired, gentle voice as Pam dropped into the chair by her bed, “perhaps next week you will be able to go.” “Yes, mostly likely we will Mum,” said ' Pam with a smile, although she knew that next week the Adair’s cousins were going I back home; but the girls never let their I patient invalid mother see when they were I disappointed or worried, “for,” said Helen, ' “poor Mum has enough to worry about.” Mrs Andrews had been an invalid for two i years and the doctor had told the girls ' that her only chance of recovery was a ! sea voyage, but the Andrews were poor and, although the girls economised in every pos--1 sible way, the sea voyage was still far distant. Mrs Andrews’ sister had always promised to see that she got every attention; but while she had been staying with her for a holiday she had died suddenly and no one knew what became of her money, although she was supposed to be a very . wealthy woman. i While Pam was talking to her mother | the Adair’s beautiful car drew up at the ! door and with a bound Pam was out of her chair and off to welcome Angela and I her cousin Mona. 1 “Oh Angela, you love,” she squealed as I her chum jumped out of the car. “I was : just dying for someone to come and blow away my blues. Isn’t it awful about the : picnic.” I ‘" Yes, it is,” answered Angela, “We were , feeling a bit sorry for ourselves too, so we .' came over to sympathise with you.” “Kindred spirits, eh!” said Pam. They spent an enjoyable half-hour in doing nothing in particular, and as it was still raining Angela said, “Pam, what say we go up into the Fancy Dress room? We haven’t been there for a long time and Mona would love it.” “All right,” replied Pamela, gaily, as she led the way upstair. The Fancy Dress room was a small room where many of the dresses, both plain and fancy, which Mrs Andrews and her sister had worn many years ago were kept and the girls delighted in dressing up in them. “How is your mother, Pam,” asked Angela, as she called a merry greeting to Mrs Andrews. “Not very well, I’m sorry to say,” replied Pam gravely. “You know Angela I sometimes feel quite angry with Auntie Beth. She told Helen one day that she had ! £20,000, and yet when she died she left £5OOO to her cousin Lola, and none to us, and she had always promised to see that Mum got every attention. Don’t think I’m greedy, Angela, it’s only for Mum I want it.” “Yes, dear, I know,” said Angela, sympathetically, “but dont despair. You never know when your fairy godmother will appear.” “Well, she’s been a long time coming,” said Pam rather sadly, but she soon brightened up as they dressed in the picturesque i old dresses and paraded up and down. For the next hour rain, picnics, money I matters and all except dresses were forgot--1 ten, but at last Angela declared she and 1 Mona would really have to go home; so ' with regret they put their clothes away, i Angela wasn’t quite so particular about | the folding of the dresses as Pam was, so j she was finished first and amused herself i by wandering round the room. j Just above the mantlepiece was an old I picture and Angela pulled it away from the wall, saying, as she did so, “Watch the dust fly, Pam.” It wasn’t only the dust that flew though. A little bundle dropped from behind the picture on to the floor, and together the three girls pounced on it. The : next minute, to the surprise of the other two, Pam ran out of the room with it, shouting, “Mother, Mother, look what I’ve found.” “What on earth’s the matter with her,” said Mona. “Bothered if I know,” answered Angela. “Let’s go down and tell Helen.” Five minutes later an elated Pam rushed into the room. “Girls,” she gasped, ’Mother’s leaving for that sea voyage on Saturday. That little bundle was £15,000, Aunt Beth’s birthday gift to Mum. You know,” she explained to Angela and Mona, i “Aunt Beth died two days before Mum’s i birthday and she must have hidden the ■ money behind that picture and round it I (the money I mean) was a note, saying—i To dear Elsie (“that's mum you j know”), with best wishes for a happy birthday and a quick recovery. From ! Beth.” j “How wonderful,” breathed Mona and I Angela, and Helen said, “Now, Pam, aren’t I you sorry for what you said about the rain this morning, for you know if it had been fine you would have been out in Adair’s launch, and Aunt Beth’s gift would still be behind that old picture.” “Mr Rain, I apologise,” was Pam’s humble reply. —2 marks to Cousin Alice Hewitt (15), 3 Eye street, Invercargill. —Highly Commended—“Oh I wish Saturday would hurry up and come,” said Bobby Brown impatiently to his sister Elsie, for Bobby and Elsie had been promised that they could go to the circus which was visiting that town, weather permitting. At last Saturday came—yes it came—but it was not the kind of day they had wanted. It was a miserable, rainy day. “Bother!” said Bobby, “I don’t suppose we will be able to go now. I wish the rain would not butt in and spoil all our fun.” Then Bobby got out his blocks and began to build a tower which as he added the last block, fell down. “There you go Elsie. I thought you would knock it down sometime or other.” “I didn’t knock it down,” said Elsie hotly. “I wasn’t even near it.” “You did,” retorted Bobby. ‘There! there” put in Jane the maid, “don’t quarrel. What say you have a circus of your own?” This suggestion was hailed with delight by the three younger children, May, Gwen and Donald, and it also brightened up Elsie and Bobby. “Who will be circus manager,” asked May. “Oh let me be circus manager,” said Donald. “No,” said Elsie, “Bobby is the oldest.” “All right,” cried Bobby, “Tabby can be a tiger, Towser a lion and Donald a monkey.” Tabby was brought in and placed in a bird-cage to. represent a tiger, but did not look at all fierce enough. The tent was a rug stretched -over four chairs. Towser was a very small dog and so was squeezed under a large glass bowl, which I’m afraid was not whole for long. They could not 1 find anything large enough to put Donald, the monkey in, so he sat still on a cushion to be looked at. May and Gwen were onlookers and laughed at the funny antics of Donald and Towser. Elsie was a clown who performed some tricks which Jane had taught her. Then to add to the fun along came Mrs Brown with five bits of paper and pencils, saying, “I have got something nice for tea and whoever guesses what it is wins sixpence.” No one guessed correctly, but i Mrs Brown gave them a penny each. The tea consisted of trifle and cream and a raspberry drink. “After all we had a happy day,” said Elsie as they were going to bed, and they certainly did go to bed in better spirits than those in which they awakened. —2 marks to Cousin Clare Hunter (10) Riverton. —Highly Commended—“(Mi, bother school!” Philip Reynolds slung his bag down with a crash on the table. “Philip!” warned his father, sternly. Philip swallowed his breakfast in moody silence and then after saying good-bye to his parents started off down the road, but his countenance did not betray the plan that was working in his mind. When he reached the cross roads, instead of turning towards school, he went in the opposite direction towards the river. Arriving there he hung his schoolbag on the branch of a small tree nearby and then started to walk along .the .river jade.

He had not gone far before he came to the bridge with a cart just going across it. He crouched low for in it he recognised some of his schoolmates who would tell where he was if they saw him. Fortunately for him it rattled past without a person looking in his direction. He ran back, feeling joyful that he was playing truant. But his triumph was changed to dismay when he looked upwards to see that dark clouds had blotted out the sun and the sky looked black and threatening. Hoping that the shower would not be heavy he searched for some shelter, but could find nothing but the tree upon which he had hung his bag. At last the rain came, nearly drenching him with its force. It was so heavy that the little tree hardly offered him any shelter and soon he was soaked through. Now, he bitterly repented his behaviour of the morning and his mischievous prank. But he could not go home now for he know that he would get a terrible thrashing from his father. The foolish boy didn’t think how serious a result this soaking might cause, so he stuck doggedly behind the tree. The rain showed no signs of abating, but still came down steadily and even seemed to be growing worse. The time wore on, and at last the rumble of cart wheels going across the bridge told him it was four o’clock. Besides being drenched and nearly perished with the cold, he was very hungry. When a fresh hailstorm came on he groped for his school bag and started walking home. By this time he was so ill that his steps were lagging. Meanwhile at home, his mother was wondering why Philip was not home earlier and when at last the door did open she was very much relieved. But instead of a bright merry-faced boy rushing in the door without wiping his feet, a miserable, drenched object, which she could hardly recognise as her son Philip dragged itself across the doorstep. After he had confessed how foolish he had been his father thought he had been punished enough so he did not thrash him. His mother put him straight to bed with a hot drink, but next morning he found himself in bed with a bad feverish cold. His mother impressed upon him how much worse it might have been and when he recovered he made up his mind never to play truant again, for he never forgot that memorable rainy day. —2 marks to Cousin Bert Lilico (12), “Lammermoor,” Drummond.