VIGNETTES.

Sun (Christchurch), Volume II, Issue 562, 27 November 1915, Page 6

VIGNETTES.

THE WAY OF THE COUNTRY SHOW.

[Written for THE SUN.J

It was a morning of holiday mood when the Merc Man and I (nrncd our faces northward in the direction of a country show. The excursion train Jby which we travelled seemed to have caught the prevailing infection, as excursion trains always do—they have absolutely nothing in comman with staid, dependable, everyday trains that run sedately to schedule. The excursion train is an excitable, temperamental kind of creature—it never gets away to time, although it makes a tremendous fuss in its endeavours to do so, —and it almost invariably leaves someone behind, and then laughs in its sleeve over it for the rest of the journey. This time it didn't manage to elude anyone at the Christchurch station, but 'farther up the line, where we juncj tioned with another train, its design was nearly accomplished. Two ladies walked about the platform in a blythe and unconcerned manner, one, I remember, being clad in a fur coat that roused my deepest admiration and envy. The carriages hadn't drawn up quite at the platform, and the ladies waited serenely for it to do so, until, with a chuckle, that impish railway train was off, leaving them lamenting. Loudly did they lament, indeed. "We want to go on that train!" they wailed, and the harassed guard, sending a wireless to the engine-driver to stop, growlecf" to the landscape. "Well, why in the name of the hot place didn't you do it?" However, the train pulled up i with a snort of disgusted disappointment, and the couple scrambled aboard, to be eyed with wrath by the whole carriageful, who had not the moral sustainment of fur coats,] but who, instead, were consumed! with anxiety to get to the show in the quickest possible time. Once more we got safely under way. Railway Window Pictures. The morning sunlight lay in a golden glory upon high hill and fertile valley as the temperamental holiday train plunged along, and from | the windows we got lovely little bits of landscape in quick, ever-changing succession. A quaint, low, widevcranda'd cottage, with the associations of many a year clustering thick around it, and an old lady, whitehaired and sweet-faced, at the gate. . . . A stretch of wheatfield, with a couple of last year's stacks in one corner, backed by a steep, wooded hill. ... A smooth sheet of water, with innumerable black swans sailing majestically on its clear surface. . . . The red roof i of a dwelling, cheerfully peeping at us from the sombre walls of a pine plantation. Every now and again we pulled up to pick up more showgoers, and motor cars, racing along the horizon, gravitated unerringly towards the same centre. The Crowd Collects. Our passengers came to us in assorted groups, the favourite being that composed of Mr and Mrs Farmer and a bunch of junior Farmers. Oh, those little Farmers, how then shone with excitement and holiday raiment and the effect of recent and vigorous tubbings! Mr and Mrs Farmer, brown and hearty and good to look upon, redolent of the great Earthmother to whom they live so close, kept a watchful, though indulgent, eye upon their brood. The small boys were prone to harmless "skylarking," but the little girls, true to sex, lived up to their clothes and assumed decorous company manners to match. One little girl, of not more than four or five, sat contemplating the lace on her dress with heavenly rapture. When the lace palled, she thrust out small feet and worshipped a pair of smart buckled shoes with whole-hearted bliss. Then she alternated back to the lace, and this was the way in which she occupied herself until we reached our destination.

Leaving the train at a little station that cuddled down in a circle of hills, we made our way to the grounds. We did not enter the charmed gate without a struggle, however. The Mere Man, after the manner of well-seasoned press persons, has rather a contempt for tickets, and prefers to borrow a colloquialism, going in "on his face." He gave the gatekeeper the usual Press hail, but that gentleman barred the entrance with much determination and a strong arm.

"You pay here or you can't go in," he said, regarding us with the cold and steely eye of suspicion. "If you are Press people," tremendous emphasis on the "are," "you'll get your money refunded. If not—" but by this time the tickets had been found, and we were graciously allowed to enter. The Mere Man instantly produced a huge wad of copy paper and said he must wade into work right away, and a moment later I saw him disappear into the otlice marked "Secretary." 1 was left with a luncheon ticket and an unlimited supply of time on my hands. The crowd began to arrive in battalions, and tag-ends of conversation reached me as I strolled about the grounds. One woman simply fell upon another in hearty salutation, "Well, here you are!" she said. "1 heard you were at last show, but I missed you then. I made mind I wouldn't miss you this time!" She beamed upon her with a wide and delighted beam, and I marvelled at the spaciousness of life which dates events from one year's showtime to another. It came oddly indeed to city ears. In the produce tent were rows and rows of the most tempting homemade cakes and pies, and scones, and puddings, which a conscientious couple of judges were tasting with industry and vigour. I saw one look

with huge disdain upon a luncheon ticket that a committee-man handed her en route. She looked down at the trail of tasted food at tlie back of her, and then she looked at what still lay ahead. Finally she looked scornfully at the ticket. Presenting a cookery judge with a luncheon card certainly seemed an ironical touch. The Inevitable Grievance.

By and bye, when the prizes had been awarded, a dozen little indignation meetings were held at once in I different places in the pavilion. A I militant female dragged a meek 'friend along to a certain section of 'cakes and delivered a fierce comment. ! "That cake, indeed!" she said, darting a vengeful look at the confection which bore the prize ticket, "that, to have the prize! Why, it isn't even the required weight! Four/pminds it ought to be, and I'm sure it's no more than two, arn't you?" "Oh, indeed, I'm sure it is," stammered the meek lady. She was plainly quite "rattled" by her angry to placate, without any clear idea in her mind as to how she was going to do it. "Not a penny more than two pounds!" she insisted wildly, feeling that she was not quite coming up to expectations in her denunciation of the winning effort. The militant one regarded her with mingled wrath and pity. "What's a penny got to do with weight?" she asked in deep tones of concentrated scorn and bitterness, which had the effect of "flooring" her friend hopelessly. I left them at that, but I trembled for the safety of the judge. ' The "Peeryscope" that Wasn't. Out in the grounds a cluster of hobbledehoys crowded closely round a Yankee showman, w r ho was selling odds and ends with great celerity and dispatch. A tray of studs reposed near his elbow and now and again, when the crowd became too congested, he ceased the business of selling for a brief moment to admonish the crowd. "Naow, boys, don't lie on the waarhouse — just lean against it," he said, the "waarhouse" being the aforementioned tray. By and bye he produced, with much mystery and circumstance, some small black cylindrical objects. "These are peeryscopes, boys," he announced. "I'm not allowed to sell them to anyone under 14 years," at which there was an enormous rush for the "peeryscopes." After "peering" through one assiduously for some moments, trying it in all lights and angles, a youth threw his away disgustedly. "Ain't nothin' to see at all," he growled to his companion. Alas, poor human nature, always dying to be fearfully shocked, and so disappointed when the shock doesn't arrive!

A great act was the bulloclc-driv-ing contest. Bullocky Bill, endeavouring to guide his team through all kinds of intricate figures and twists, was sorely embarrassed by the crowd that would get in its way. Debarred by reasons of politeness from speaking to the bullocks in his usual persuasive terms, he dammed the rising tide of his eloquence, and the offenders impartially. Little notice was taken of the lapse, however. It was felt that some slight latitude must be allowed under the circumstances. The Lions Feeding. At lunch, to which we repaired at the earliest moment, an agitated waitress endeavoured to stay the appetites of a dozen or more hungry people, all demanding to be served on the instant, and threatening instant dissolution if their wishes were not obeyed. A man sat opposite us, consuming large quantities of bread and butter, while he angrily awaited the arrival of the tongue and salad he had ordered. It was slow in showing up, and finally he hammered on the table with a brawny fist, and bawled "I want my tongue!" ending in a sort ot crescendo on the last word, by way of attracting the waitress's attention. He got it none the sooner for that, and when we left the table he was still making violent onslaughts on the bread and butter, and the only tongue lie possessed was in his head.

Kapai tc Maori. Back in the grounds we discovered a brawny Maori endeavouring, on behalf.of a country man, to make terms with a Japanese wrestler for a bout. Mr Henare desired to extract a promise from the Jap to deal gently with his dusky brother, who, however, was to wrestle all he knew. The Japanese gentleman endeavour-

Ed to show the palpable unfairness - of this, but Mr Henare refused to see it. He collected his principal and strode off in high dignity and dudgeon, and perhaps it is just as well for him that he did. Most of the people lunched in al fresco fashion beneath the trees, and many an impromptu party was arranged and enjoyed in hearty country fashion. Then once more they applied themselves to a conscientious inspection of the exhibits, and vote of censure on the judges were frequent and free. But who cared? It's all part and parcel of the show—indeed, one may go further than that, and say it's all part and parcel of human nature. By the morrow it is all forgotten, and the judges quite forgiven—until the next time. j The Homeward Trail. By and bye the Mere Man appeared and announced that he had finished his work and we had better be making for the train. Accordingly we "made" for it, in company with many of those who had travelled up with us, and whom we parted from in sections all along the route back to town. Weary, but supremely satisfied, were Mr and Mrs Farmer, and the brood showed symptoms of taming down after their exuberant spirits of the morning. By a strange coincidence we had the same little girl in our carriage Who had been so absorbed in her holiday attire going up. It had by this time lost its charm for her, and she contemplated neither the lace nor the smart-shoes on the homeward route. Eye-lids began to get very d/oopy as the journey progressed, and presently she snuggled up against the ample form of her mother, and was deep in the land of Happy Dreams when the train pulled up at the little siding that spelt home. S.I.R.