CHRISTMAS IN SYDNEY

Taranaki Daily News, 18 December 1929, Page 9 (Supplement)

CHRISTMAS IN SYDNEY

“SUCH A KIND LADY.”

(By

“Moturoa.”)

“Wish I was in Sydney again this Christmas,” said Pungarehu Jack, “you can’t beat Sydney for a holiday.” “You were over there last year, weren’t you?” I remarked,‘^scenting a story. “Yes; and I had the time of my life,” continued Jack, “the Sydney people are the greatest sports in the- world, and they seem to have nothing to do but to show visitors round, and give them a good time.” “Did you meet any nice girls when you were there?” I inquired, smiling, though all the time I knew that my friend was never noted for being a lover of the fair sex. His reply surprised me.

“Well, yes,” he admitted sheepishly. “I met one, and she was a pearl. She was the best sport I have met in my natural.”

“Tell me about her,” I urged. Jack rubbed his cranium reflectively, and then put over the following tale:

“It was strange,” he said, “but I met her just as soon as I hopped off the Ulimaroa. I was lugging my. portkick up the street—George Street I think they called it—and the flashest looking sheila I ever set eyes on bowls up to me and holds out her hand, and says, ‘Hullo, Bill.’ I drops me bag, and takes her hand, staring at her in surprise. ‘You’ve made a mistook,’ I says, 'my name’s Jack, not Bill.’ She laughs, a musical sort o’ laugh, and says, ‘Of course. I forgot for the moment. How are you Jack? Just arrived? How the diggings she know I’d just blew in, I don't know, but she seemed quite chummy-like, and I liked lier style from the hop-off. The upshot of it was that she gives me an invite up to her house. “She hails a taxi, and in a few minutes we were at the finest little crib — a flat I think she called it—and she up and pays the taxi chap before I can reach for my wallet. She wouldn’t hear of ifie paying. Then we went inside, and she showed me where to have a wash and a brush-up, and says that dinner will soon be ready. Funny thing, but over there they have dinner at night. I was feeling pretty crook after the rough trip over, and she bathes my head with some sort o’ scent, eau de colonial, she called it, and after a while we goes into the dining roorii. She put on a bonser sipread, and a dinky little waitress buzzes round all the time, pill--ting one thing after another in front of us, and keeping my glass filled with port wine. “We yarned for a time, had some smokes, and some more wine, and she tells me that she is a widow, and that her husband had been killed collecting off the favourite in the last race at Rosehill. She sits down alongside me on the sofa, and I consoles her the best I could. She said I was the nicest chap she had met since her old man went west, and she squeezed my hand, making me turn hot and cold all over.

* “Then she bucks up a bit, and says, ‘What about . going to the Tivoli? There’s a good show on there to-night.’ I-said I wasn’t particular, and she rings up and books two orchestry seats, and tells a taxi to be at the door in ten minutes. She then flutters off to doll herself up, and comes back all powder and scent, with an opery coat on. The show wasn’t a had one, but I was too busy holding her hand to take much notice of the stage. Afterwards we taxied back to Isa’s place —Isabella was her i right name, but she asked me as a special favour to call her ‘lsa’ —and we have supper, and plenty of ‘spots’ and smokes. At last she looks at the clock, ‘and says, ‘lt’s too late to think of getting into a pub, so you can take the front room.’ I was easy, but I didn’t feel like imposing on her good nature too much. I said I supposed that some of the pubs kept a night porter, and I would get set somewhere, but she would not hear of pushing a stranger out in a strange city so late at night. So I stopped. The room she showed me to was great. There was a great big bed; a wooden one, not the old iron one I was used to at home. And there were pink curtains, and carpets on the floor, and gold shades on the electric lights, and all that. She asked me how my headache was, and rubbed more scent on it, which was very soothing. And then—l’ll tell you this if you promise not to put it in the paper—she kissed nie twice. 1 was knocked bandy, ant after a while she laughs and runs away. "Well, in the morning she wakes me up with a cup of tea, and toast, and asked me how I slept. I said, ‘Bonser.’ She sits on the side of the bed in some Japanese silk sort of thing which she says is a kimony, and we smokes cigarettes until a bell sounded somewhere, and she jumps up and says that we will have to hurry because breakfast will be ready in a quarter of an hour. And after breakfast she takes my arm and leads me out into the garden. There was pansies, and poppies and hundreds of other flowers which I did not know the names of. We come to a big bed of roses—l know roses—and she picks the best one and pins it «in my button-hole. Then she gives me a hug, and I looked round quickly in case somebody might be looking, but she laughs and says that it is all right; there was nobody about. “Then I tells her that I must be taking me hook because I had to meet a couple of blokes at Bandwick, and she puts her head on my shoulder and begins to weep. Cripes, it fair breaks me up— l wouldn’t hurt her feelings for anything—and why should I? Hadn’t she acted like a toff to me, shouting me scran, and spots, and taxis, and the theatre, and all that, and not letting me pay for anything. She puts her arm around my neck, and says that I am cruel, and. that she will never see me again, so I promises to come back some other time. “‘Haven’t I treated you well?’ she sobs. ‘Too right, you have,’ I answers. ‘And haven’t wo had a lovely time?’ she asks. ‘Too right,’ I says. ‘Then,’ she says, ‘what about a tenner before you go?’ “1 was nearly knocked a sevener. ‘No, kid,’ I says, .‘I couldn’t think of it!

You’ve been too kind to me already/ and I took mo departure. "Tell you straight, Jack concluded, I really didn’t have the heart to take the tenner from her after she had been so good to me.”