THE YOUNG IDEA

Southland Times, Issue 20538, 14 July 1928, Page 1 (Supplement)

THE YOUNG IDEA

UMBBELLAS

(By

“Susan Lee.”)

It is the easiest thing in the world to write about umbrellas. It is also the hardest, and which of the two predominates 1 really couldn’t say. Of course there are umbrellas and umbrellas. I don’t mean just the long slim ones and the . squat I stumpies. Heavens! If by that definition you had said all there was to be said abort them, what a relief that would be. No, size and shape are merely physical attributes, which again, are a matter purely of the individual taste. What is of far more importance is that subtle quality ; which makes them either umbrellas that ! will not be lost, or umbrellas that will be lost. I know about the former only from hearsay. It is easy to write about umbrellas because there is so much to say about them. There must be a great deal to be said about anything that fills the mind as much and as often as they do. It is hard to write about them because so much already has been said. You have to be content to be not an original if you set out to do what 1 am doing. I am doing it because it is a very wet day, and because I have just been outside in the rain with my umbrella, and because 1 haven’t very much time to write about anything else. And it’s always such a saving of time if you haven’t to bother about saying anything new. If we were all content to abide by Soloman’s decision that there’s nothing new under the sun, what a saving of time that would be. The trouble is that we’d never all abide by it, there’d always be one or two people who’d try to find new ways of proving it. People are like that. I haven’t finished explaining why I have decided to write about umbrellas. My own umbrella was my inspiration, rather a sorry one because it kept dripping cold drips on to my left ear, until I remembered it. The umbrella, I mean. I could only comfortably have removed my ear by shifting my head, which wouldn’t have been at all convenient, because it is such a dark, dismal day that I have to have the light on, and what’s the use of having the light on if you don’t sit underneath it. I didn’t put a question mark after that beause it wasn’t really a question. I mean, it didn’t require an answer. That is what is called style. You will notice that in this same paragraph I have shown style before by using the word sorry when the only one that was sorry was I, because it was my left ear. Well, when I removed my umbrella on to another peg—no; not above my right ear. That would have been stupid—l let my gaze rest on it for a few moments, and really they were quite proud moments, because although it is not one of those which never gets lost for the simple reason that I am not one of those people who never loses things, it has the gratifying habit of Always Turning Up. You can see I used capital letters for those three words, they are so important. But even that isn’t original of me —Mr Carlyle used this device much more effectively than that, really. It Always Turns Up, and I know why. It’s really because I’m a very ingenious person, though I wouldn’t say it for anything in case it might be considered boasting; I only say it now to explain about the umbrella. There was a time when I was very young, disgustingly young, in fact, when I said that I would never use an umbrella. Neither I would have, then. The difference between that time and this is not only that now I would, but that now I do. To prove it, look at my umbrella hanging there still dripping off the rain I hat would otherwise have dripped on me. No, I know you can’t really look at it, but I want you to picture it in your mind. It’s a stumpy, rather a thin one, with a wooden poker-work handle painted in bright colours. Well, perhaps it is wrong of me to describe it to you like that now, when all the paint has been worn off for years. I only told you because I know what it used to be like. The centres of some of the flowers painted on it were green, which is why I bought it, to match a green hat I once wore. Yes, it does sound expensive, doesn’t it. (That wasn’t a question, either). It’s black, and the spikes end in pale* wooden knobs. That reminds me that I saw a woman to-day carrying a light cinnamon one, and I didn’t think it looked a bit nice, I didn’t really. No matter how well it keeps the rain off I’d always think I was carrying a sunshade, and it wouldn’t look nearly as snug and comfy when you looked up. I really looked at Cecil quite affectionately as I passed on. Cecil is the name of my umbrella, because it is such a helpless sort of name that I thought it would do it quite good to be attached to something useful and dependable. Now, where was I. Of course I know quite well where I was. That’s just to bring me back to it. I was, arranging for you to picture Cecil in your mind’s eye. You thought he looked expensive. Well, he wasn’t. If I were to tell you how few shillings I paid for him I think you’d suspect me of not telling the truth. So I won’t tell you. But it’s the truth nevertheless. There was a window full of him all at one price. And that, let me tell you, was one ’of the wisest purchases I ever made. If Cecil had been expensive, do you think for a moment he’d have Always Turned Up. Not he. He’d have been made to join the ranks of his less dependable brothers and sisters whether he’d have wanted to or not. His poor, respectable shabbiness has always been his protection, just like Cinderella’s fairy godmother. It must have been in one of my wise moments I bought him. There are many quite personal things that can be said about umbrellas. That rhe Duchess of York always carries a tall slim one, which doesn’t seem to effect the popularity of the little stumpies at all, surprisingly enough. That when I was looking through a book of fancy dress costumes the other day I saw such a good representation of an umbrella that it really looked quite realistic. But wouldn’t it be simply courting indifference to wear it. I should think so. Fancy trying to look like something as used to being overlooked as an umbrella! Some people must even like being wallflowers! I’m not going to say any more, because my time is up. I know I had something really important to say, and if I can remember it in time I’ll add a postscript. If not, it doesn’t matter. Umbrellas mustn’t be allowed to obtrude too much, anyway.