THE LETTERS OF LUCIA TO A LONELY SOLDIER.

Sun (Christchurch), Volume III, Issue 896, 23 December 1916, Page 6

THE LETTERS OF LUCIA TO A LONELY SOLDIER.

[Written for THE SUN for the benefit of any soldier feeling lonely while on active service.]

By the Avon, December 22

Dear Lonely Soldier, —

The other day Marcia and I went forth, metaphorically speaking, to offer ourselves up as sacrifices on the altar of Christmas shopping. Every year, when the latter days of December suddenly spring upon us and find us unprepared, we make resolutions that next time things will be different. We will get all our shopping done, and all our preparations made, in plenty of time, and then we shall be able to sit back and watch, with a sense of calm superiority, the frantic struggles of other people to compress into a day or two the work of weeks. So far we have never been able to accomplish it, and I own to a secret fear that we never shall. But Marcia is unconquerably optimistic. Only, she says, for being so busy with war work this year, etc. Marcia always has a good and sufficient excuse for all her omissions and commissions.

I have met in my time with wonderful people for whom Christmas has no terrors. They remember everyone who should be remembered, and, like the miraculous housewives who can conjure delicious French dishes out of the remains of yesterday's hash, they can evolve charming gifts for their friends out of the contents, metophorically speaking, of the dust-bin. Genius, they say, is the capacity for taking pains, and I suppose this is the way their genius manifests itself. Marcia and I set out with determination, and all the money we could rake up, and a shopping list a-pieee. Marcia lost hers in the first shop we went to, and this was the beginning of our undoing. But she heroically elected to go on rather than return home aud compile another. "Irish linen handkerchiefs, cigars, eau de cologne, boudoir cap, lace, folding mirror, gloves, ties, cigarette case, match-box," she ticked off on her fingers, and couldn't go further, having no more at her disposal. The Irish linen handkerchiefs were eas3 r . We got them almost at once, and no one attempted to sell us an easy-chair or a crepe de chine tea-gown instead, as often happens at these times. In fact, we were rather pleased over the purchase, as it evidently supplied inspiration to a lady who stood near, gazing distractedly at pincushions gotten up in the semblance of corpulent pug-dogs, and a collection of other extraordinary looking objects, which the assistant described as '' these quaint Japanese animals —so sweet." She was gradually but surely getting the lady into that hypnotic state in which one would buy an old boot or a Chippendale cabinet with equal docility, but the sight of the handkerchiefs roused her. She turned with rapture to the martyrod-looking man with her. "I know what I'll get Betty," she said with the voice of triumph in which one might anuounce the unravelling of a knotty and trying problem. "I'll get tier a handkerchief! It will be so nice for her to put away, and —and keep, you know," she finished beamingly.

"A handkerchief?" said the man in pained surprise. "One handkerchief? Don't you think "

"Oh, but it will lie a very swell one —lace anil embroidery, and all that," she said brightly, and as we left we saw her sweep aside the corpulent pug and his "quaint." satellites, and demand imperiously of the weary-looking assistant "A handkerchief —with lace and embroidery, and all that sort of thing." A case of intensive culture for the handkerchief, [ pointed out to Marcia

as we left the shop. She hung the parcel on her little finger, ami we went to the tobacconists, where the man smiled in rather a cynical fashion at our request for cigars, until Marcia "floored " him by telling him exactly the kind she wanted, and made no demur about paying the price. It is not for nothing that she has a father and three brothers all addicted to good smokes, but her familiarity with the subject evident]}' roused the darkest suspicions of the assistant, who, I could see, was at once convinced that it could only mean one thing. As soon as our backs were turned, I could imagine him pointing out my pretty Marcia to the pallid young man who had just strolled in from an adjoining room, and informing him, with bated breath that "She smokes, that one—cigars, mind you, and good ones, too. . . .! " I don't know how it was, but just about this time things began to go wrong. Marcia says it was my fault, because I started to do my shopping, and it complicated matters. The shops wherein reposed the things contained in my list approximated not to those which she wanted to visit. We began to accumulate parcels without rhyme or reason, until Marcia had her ten fingers full, and then she had neither the e.au de cologne nor the folding mirror. Checking off her list again, she discovered that she had left out a lot of important people, all of whom would be dead certain to send her gifts. She couldn't think how it was she hadn't remembered them in the first place. Similarly I was smitten with a similar recollection. We retired to a convenient tea-room and sat down and once more counted up our parcels and apportioned them to the destined recipients. We were both rather hot and excited by this time.

"There," said Marcia, putting down her box of cigars on the table with a bang, "there's Jim." "And there," I said, reinforcing it with a limp-looking parcel in soft paper, " is Aunt Jane."

"I can't think,' 'said Marcia anxiously consulting her fingers, "I can't think what has become of father. 1 know I had him here "

I observed that the people at the next table were regarding us with lively curiosity, and, it seemed, some alarm. I put down my next parcel. "Kate," I announced, adding "and here is the small boy next door" with the succeeding one, "while Marcia still feverishly told her parcels over and over, in the hope of finding father, who was represented by a silver match-box. The waitress, who had been hovering uncertainly in the background, now firmly approached and asked what we would have.

"A match-box," said Marcia wildlv, "and where has the lace gone, I wonder?" Catching sight of the girl's outraged countenance, she recollected herself, and ordered tea, and almost, immediately found father, although where the lace lurked still remained a mystery. It remains one still.

When we had finished tea we made another attempt, but the first fine careless rapture was gone. What with the diversity of our interests, heat, dust, and the ever-increasing army of people who sprang into our minds as worthy of being "remembered," our tempers grew frayed, and relations were slightly strained when we got. home, parcels appearing to sprout all over us. We got, them all sent off in time to arrive for Christmas, and then had a breathing space, in which we delightedly eongrj? tulated ourselves on getting it over without forgetting anyone, a. feat we felt sure we had accomplished this time, if never before. But. this morning r had to seek out Marcia in anguish and contrition, bearing in my hands a heap of letters, cards, and mementoes from people that, 1 had utterly overlooked. But Marcia had no sympathy to give me. She was in exactly the same boat.

Now that is one side of Christmas Lonely Soldier dear.

As you can imagine, there is some Stir goirjg on, and the boats and trains

are crowded with holiday-trippers. The other day a couple, haiiing from Pelorus Sound, meandered into one of the big hotels here. "M\"" said the girl who presides at the registration desk, "I should think it was the first time they had ever trusted themselves away from it. He wore a curious set of garments that look as if they had come out of an old, a very old, family album. She had evidently managed to grab a few clothes I en route, and she didn't look quite so funny." Women are more adaptable than men, you know. They remained overnight at the hotel, giving explicit information to the effect that they were going on by the first express next morning, and they kept a close and wary watch upon luggage, porters, clocks, and meal-times, as if they suspected each one of being engaged in a conspiracy to prevent them doing so. Xext morning. the proprietor- chanced to rise very early, and on arrival downstairs before li, found the man from Pelorus Sound prowling restlessly about, his watch in his hand, and the lady sitting bolt upright in the straighest-backed chair to be found. She had all the luggage (carried downstair by their joint efforts) spread about her, and she kept such a strict watch upon it as to lead you to suspect that it might at any moment develop legs and bolt. They hailed the proprietor with great relief, and demanded their bill. He assured them that there was no hurry—they had two hours in which to get to the station—but they were plainly uneasy until the matter was settled. Then the man said: "I s'pose you can get us some kind of a trap to take us to the station V "I'll get you a taxi—that's the best I can do," the amused proprietor answered, and the man from Pelorus assented doubtfully, muttering, "A taxi?—yes, I believe that's what they call them things." Tie refused to get in until he had seen the last piece of luggage safely bestowed, and then he entered th strange vehicle with caution, sitting down gingerly beside his spouse, prepared to spring if it should suddenly develop hostile tendencies. The last seen of the couple from Pelorus was a rigidly-upright pair, heading swiftly for the train, one hour and forty minutes before it was due to go. LUCIA.