COUNTRY HOSPITALITY.

Star (Christchurch), Volume XLIV, Issue 563, 17 September 1932, Page 20 (Supplement)

COUNTRY HOSPITALITY.

When the Old Order Changeth. THE NEW ARRIVALS. (By BARBARA A. KERR.) For years it had been the custom in ;the little wayback district, where the .homes were far apart, to give a surprise party to new settlers soon attir their arrival. Once, however, the newcomers were obviously displeased by the invasion of a dozen surprise visitors into their already well-filled cottage, and instead of welcoming the plenishing of their cupboard seemed quite affronted at the idea. It takes all kinds to make a world, and although those people were decidedly lacking in the spirit of hospitality, one might never again meet with such strange newcomers in the history of a district. But when the next family of new settlers came to take up land the old residents were afraid of giving offence again. They reluctantly decided to give up the olcT custom, once and for all, realising that time was bringing changes even to their remote settlement. “Give the new people time to hang their curtains up,” said one who claimed to be an authority on etiquette, having been a city girl before her marriage, 20 years ago. Two weeks passed, and the windows remained curtainless. The new family had now five children attending the little school, and from these the other children learnt, and repeated at home, various items of interest about the newcomers. They were “townies,” and had been attending a suburban school where there were .300 pupils; it was the first time they had ever lived on a farm, and they were just learning how to milk cows; there were seven children in the family, from two to 14 years old. They all thought it was wonderful to live on a farm, where they had a real creek and the real bush in which to play. They were good at school work, but did not know anything worth while—how to harness and drive horses, or catch eels, or do farm work. In their various homes the older residents visited each other with unusual frequency. Mrs. A spent a day at Mrs. B’s house, which she had not entered for nearly two years, the result of a certain coolness between the ladies. Mrs. C, who was renowned for her ability to ferret out news before anyone else, had visitors three days in succession. And naturally the chief topic of conversation in each case was the “newcomers.” A Cool Reception. Meanwhile, Mrs. Newcomer was wondering why nobody came to call. She had heard of country sociability and hospitality, and was quite prepared to clasp a friendly hand with equal friendliness. The silence of the backblocks was already beginning to press upon her. When the bigger children were at school and only the two little ones at home, she missed the neighbours. Although she had never been one to gossip over the back fence, yet there was a feeling of comfort in the thought that women were in the houses all around her own home, in town. Here, the nearest neighbours lived two miles away. Three weeks went by, and she decided they had come to a queer district. Mr. Newcomer had been to a sale to buy cows and a horse, and reported that the local men seemed friendly. Of course, they did not realise that the neighbours were waiting for the curtains to appear on the windows. There was a reason for the curtainless windows. The little home had four small rooms, in which the windows were tiny, and no two alike in size. The house in town had large windows with curtains to correspond with the colour scheme of each room. In the weary task of trying to sort out the household goods and chattels, of trying to find a place for everything, besides the continual round of cooking and housework, and learning the difference between town and country housekeeping, Mrs. Newcomer had not the time to cut up her pretty curtains to fit the wee windows. Visitors Arrive. One day, when the work seemed to go especially well 1 , she thought the rooms would look more homelike if she made curtains and hung them. After lunch she tidied herself and brought out the curtains. Each would make a pair for the little windows, so she took up the scissors. Just then a queer feeling came over her. She collapsed into a chair and burst into tears. Regrets for the friendly streets she had left, the comforts of a suburban life, the advantages for the children’s education, and the pleasures of seeing shops surged over her. The wretchedness of life in the miserable district where the neighbours might as well be a hundred miles away, their coldness and unfriendliness, all the mud and misery of farm life in the middle of winter —why, oh, why had she agreed to Mr. Newcomer buying a farm ?

“Mummie, Munimie, here’s somebody coming!” Miss Four-years-old was filled with excitement, not having seen an outsider for three weeks. Mrs. Newcomer sprang to her feet, and from the window saw three women coming across the nearest paddock. She had time to bathe her eyes before they reached the fence where a gate would some day stand. The outburst of tears had relieved the strain, and she felt happier now. She met the visitors with a smile of true welcome, an old woman with a brown, wrinkled face and brown hair sprinkled with grey drawn tightly into a bun on top of her head, and her two daughters, one very plump and stolid, the other slim and smiling. Conversation was difficult at first. The visitors knew nothing of city life, the newcomer nothing about farms. But when children were mentioned, a common interest was found. The old woman had reared twelve children, of whom the girls Were the two youngest. They were both engaged to be married, and surreptitiously took note of Mrs. Newcomer's furniture and pictures. “Town people know how to arrange things,” whispered the thin girl. “Isn’t the curtain material pretty?” returned the plump one, looking across the room to where the curtains were draped over a chair-back. “I lienrd von haven’t made bread before you came here, so I brought von a loaf of my baking, and a bottle of

my own spoeitl jmat,** said the old woman, whose bread proved to be her great pride. “And I brought a fruit cake for the children’s school lunches. I don’t suppose you have any poultry yet, so eggs will be scarce,” said the thin daughter. The plump one added: “And here is a jar of blackberry jelly that Mum made in the summer time.” The kindness melted the heart of Mrs. Newcomer. For a few seconds she could not speak, then she faltered out: “It has been terribly lonely here, especially as we’ve never before lived in a place where there wasn’t a single neighbour’s house to be seen, but when we grow accustomed to the quietness, I am sure we’ll enjoy living in such a peaceful district.” From then on Mrs. Newcomer was to welcome callers, each with an offering, every day until the seven families in the district had each sent a delegation. And she discovered country life was quite bearable.