Vanity Fair

Wanganui Chronicle, Volume 72, Issue 259, 31 October 1929, Page 2

Vanity Fair

“Chronicle * Office, W anganui, October 30, 1929. Margot is of the opinion that, in sonic households at all events, it pays to be a pup: being the breadwinner is, of course, under any circumstances whatsoever, an arduous position. Being mother or maiden aunt isn't much better, and even the younger generation has its little woes at times. But for sheer luxury, privilege and pleasure, a dog's life is very hard to beat. Take the case of Sir Philip Sidney, a bulldog of uncomely personal appearance and repulsive character, who is the pride and joy of one household wftich Margot sometimes visits. His mistress is by nature one of those lawful and orderly people. She would as soon appear in public without a nose al all as with a smut on it. If Margot happens to sit on her counterpane, or drop cigarette ash on the carpel, she feels at once that the bonds of brotherly love have been not merely strained, but tugged. Well, it so happens that the lady in the case possesses a particularly handsome carved chest; not liking the idea that common or garden dust should repose on its cover, she spent ever so much worldly wealth on an Indian muslin cover for it, and stood the finished article by the window of her boudoir. If a fly had looked like settling upon it, it would have meant Paradise, without the option of a fine, for said fly. Yet when, in Margot's company, this orderly lady returned home to see her fierce and repellent hound coiled up atop of the chest, its toenails having made havoc of the new cover, she exclaimed, "Doesn't he look too perfectly sweet for anything?" It mayn't sound true, but it really is—nearly. Then there was the matter of the dustman. A horrible clamour disturbed the morning serenity of earth and Heaven not long ago, and Margot and her friend rushed downstairs to see Sir Philip doing his very best—and not such a bad best, either—to tear the clothes from the person of this gentleman. "If you'd only say a few words to him, when you come in," pleaded Margot's friend., having soothed her savage beast, "He'd k n °®’ once, then, that you were a friend, and be only too pleased to meeting you." » "I cant waste me time," growled the dustman, holding the remnants of his shirt firmly about him, "talking to dorgs. I'm a working man, I am, and I've got my living to earn, I have. If I was to talk io every dorg. ...” However, Margot's friend is really rather beguiling, in a Victorian way; and she persuaded the dustman that Sir Philip was an e&eptional animal. (As, indeed, he is). The dustman promised that next time he came, he'd have a short address of welcome all ready memorised.

A week later, a really horrid howl rent the air, and, on looking forth, we saw the dustman, with Sir Philip adhering limpet-wise to his coat . Margot's friend dashed to the rescue. Then Margot saw her go a bright salmon pink and put her fingers in her cars. The dustman was saying a few words to the dorg. . . . Sympathetically, MARGOT.

PERSONAL AND SOCIAL Misses Rita Bascet, Grace Williams, Dulcie and Joan McMillan, and Lillias Reid (Christchurch) returned on Tuesday from Dawson Falls ’ Hostel, Mount Eginont. Mrg C. Gibbons, of Frankton, is the guest of her sister, Mrs Harper, Wanganui.

Miss E. Willis has returned to Hawke’s Bay after a visit to Wanganui. The Misses Ross, of Wellington, are visiting Wanganui, Stratford, and Napier.

Mrs Lewis and Miss Lewis, who have been the guests of Mrs David Dickie, St. John’s Hill, have returned to Wellington. Mr and Mrs Robert McKnight, who have been the guests of Mrs Ballance, have returned to Palmerston North. Miss Hutchinson, of Palmerston North, is staying with Mrs McGrath, Liverpool Street. Mrs Fitzherbert, of England, is the guest of her daughter, Mrs Latham, Grey Street. The Misses R. aQ d A. Jones, of Bell Street, are on holiday in Auckland. Mrs Frank Parry has returned to her home in Masterton, after a visit to Wanganui as the guest of Mm T. R. Allen. In Palmerston North just now, as the guest of the Rev. C. Matthews and Mrs Matthews, is Miss Bradfield, the Baptist Church’s mission representative in Eastern Bengal, India, which the Baptist Church is solely responsible for evangelising. Mr and Airs T. Chalmers, of Auckland, passed through Waverley and Wanganui en route for Wellington, this week. Air and Airs W. Glenn, of Kakatahi, • visiting Wellington. Mr and Alrg Dobbin are back in nganui after a wedding trip spent Waikanae and Paekakariki. Mr and Airs Reg. Lawrence are in '•llington for the races. Miss Kingston has returned to Wanganui after a week-end spent at the Chateau Tongariro. Airs Symes, of Waverley, is a guest at FoS*» ’s Hotel. Afrs Austin has left on a visit to Hastings. Airs Frank Searle, and Airs Richardson, of Kakaramea, have left for Auckland, where they will meet Airs N. Barkman, who has been on a trip to Groat Britain. Airs Burke, of Sydney, is staying at Foster’s Hotel. Airs W. Scannell, who has been visiting Napier, has returned home, accompanied by Airs Fitzgerald. Aliss G. Alitchinson, of Wellington, is the guest of Airs Wanganui. Wanganui visitors to the Waverley Labour Day races included Dr. and Airs Hastings, Airs Imlay Saunders, Airs G. Hoarc, Airs Hatrick, Airs A. Hatrick (J'nr.), Airs Beauchamp, Airs O’Neill, Airs Walker, Mrs Nancarrow, Airs Dd. (■ampion, Airs R. Campion, Airs Adams, Mrs Grumitt, Airs T. Alitchell, and Mrs R. Brown. Air and Airs Claude Tucker have returned home after a short visit to New Plymouth. Airs W. N. Tucker, of Wellington, arrives this week-end to be the guests of her son, Air C. Tucker. Air and Airs Glenn uawrance have returned to their home at Rahotu, after spending a few days with Mr F. Beard. Aliss G. Alitchinson, of Wellington, is the guest of Airs Southcombe. BRIDGE AND FIVE HUNDRED On Friday evening last, Mrs P. H. Smith’s pretty home at Upper Aramoho was the scene of a most successful bridge and fiv e hundred evening, given for the benefit of the Vicarage funds. Delicate mauve cinerarias decorated one room, another was filled with pink rhododendrons and azaleas, and still another had lilac, ranunculi and lilies of the valley for its decorations. The big sun-pordh, a bower of fern fronds with tiny coloured lights glistening among them, was a charming lounge for the dancers, who had the billiard room cleared for their part of the festivities, Airs Smith, who wore a graceful frock of black cht.rmeuse and satin, received about eighty guests, and all spent the evening most happily. The proceeds, £35, were generously acknowledged by the Rev. Weller. Mrs Seddon was the competition prize winner.

NOVEMBER EVE Being Colonials, some us may not realise, or may calmly ignore the fact that to-morrow night is one of the most important occasions in the calendar. It is what we might call a green-letter night—for isn't that the colouring of the bush and the fern-fronds, to which fairies rightly belong? Hallowe’en, or November Eve, as some folk call it, is one of the two days in the year on which anything whatever which may lay claim to supernatural descent or connections is lawfully entitled to what mere mortals would call a spree. Alay Eve is the other great event, and on Alay morning, the maid who gets up and bathes her face in the dew of the grasses, catches some of the enchantment which the little dancers have left behind them. But even Alay Eve is less important than Hallowe ’en. which is a more ancient and shadowy sort of a festival, associated with forgotten charms and sorceries, and popular, not only among the light artillery of fairyland, but with such dark folk as the banshee.

All this, you may say, has little enough to dp with New Zealand, which is far removed from the oak, ash and thorn, and has np magic werds for opening the doors of enchantment. But I don’t know. Before pakohas and politicians and pomposity ever occurred to New Zealand, the fairy world could draw up its chairs in a circle, and not one of the family would be missing. To begin with, there were the little white gentry who went singing in troops by night, and stole the shadows of greenstone ornaments, and builded strange, unfinished bridges, and knew the art of net making, and were gentle, and wise, and uncanny. Have you ever considered how very odd it is that in islands removed by thousands of blue miles from the older world, islands which had never seen a white face till the pakeha came, the fairies of all Afaori legends should be white of face?

Then there’s the meororo (I hope I’ve spelt him right) as sturdy a giant as ever chased a Alaori Jack-of-the-Beanstalk up a tree. The ngarara, or giant land reptile, will serve for’ a dragon, and the taniwha’s mythical rototype, the krrflken or cold northern seas would have no reason to look down on his distant cousin, as regards either size or ferocity.

All this is merely by way of proving that there’s no reason why New Zealand shouldn’t bo an active participant in the rites of Halloween. If the “ little people” hold celebrations anywhere at all, they’ll do so under the kauri trees, and there’s no reason why we of the solid earth shouldn’t keep the night as a festival. Very entertaining Halloween parties can be, if done in style. Of course, everybody knows about bobbing for (‘apples and lighting one’s house by means of candles inserted in pumpkins carved to a striking likeness to the human face. But there are finer details. For instance, the lass w r ho chooses to sit in front of her lookingglass at midnight, with nothing but a candle for company, can expect to see ! the shade of her future husband—if any. The costume prescribed by the “white witches” for this operation is not a very substantial one; but times have changed, and the modern maid’s everyday wear is pretty enough to bring any apparition into the glass. You should eat 11 Irish plum pudding” on Halloween It sounds very complicated, like most things Hibernian, but really it’s just good old-fash-ioned “praties,” served with plenty of butter, pepper and salt. Another little Halloween habit is to set lighted candles iA a row, make the company kneel at a reasonable distance from them, and set everybody to blowing them out. The sooner your candle goes out, the fewer are your years of life—though one would think that the strength of lungs displayed by the really energetic blowers would betoken a ripe old age It’s all very childish of course, and very charming, and we of the Colonies are, for the most part, a practical lot, who don’t understand the divine art of graceful fooling. One by one the little candles of festival have taken their light out of our days, and soon we’ll no longer notice that on November Eve “the gentle people cast a spell to make a fairy light.” Or perhaps, if in fifty years we discover that we have grown old, we’ll turn round, revive the turnip lanterns, and be young again.

DOWN PETTICOAT LANE. Woodlore. Bits of woodlore which really belong to the Alaori world occasionally drift into our city. Did you know, for instance, that while the kernel of the karaka berry is poisonous, the flesh is approved by both men and woodpigeons; and once on a day, tho Alaoris had a sort of steaming process, which was supposed to make the berries both tasty and innocuous. Another thing subjected to this process was wild honey; for the bees aren’t always considerate in tho flow r ers from which they gather treasure trove, and even the good old-fashioned Alaori digestion couldn’t stand up to every variety of bush honey. The flower-stalks of nikau palms, cut off and flung into water, made a sweet and semi-intoxicating drink. The Esplanade. Have you noticed what an exceedingly attractive place tho little riverside reserve adjoining Anzac Parade, is,, just now? I wandered throi|;h it this morning, and saw more trees and shrubs in blossom than I had known any Wanganui park could produce at one and the same time. There are azaleas, flame-coloured, salmon-pink and deep orange, there are cherrytrees with the blossoms like pink shawls around them, there are the first roses, and great purple clematis-flowers as big as saucers. The little reserve is really charming, and every credit is due to whoever keeps it in order. Even tho galvanised iron bridge which spans the stream at one place is beginning to disappear under amethystladen trails of wistaria. A bettor place for a camera-licnd would bo hard to find.

Rosemary Rees in America. Two New Zealand girls have so far made their bow in tho talkies; the first is Aliss Bathie Stuart, who gave an excellent little prologue and speech in “Under the Southern Cross,” even if the American gentleman who introduced her did call her “Aliss Stooart” and talk about “Noo Zealand.” The second is Aliss Rosemary Rees, who has been successful as a novelist, and whose latest work, “Dear Acquaintances,” is to have an American edition very soon. While she is in the land of candy, Congress and criminals, Aliss Rees improved the shining hour, and has a small part in a forthcoming talking production, “with prospects,” as they say in the “Wanted” column. Thank that somebody in the talkie world w'on’t talk through her nose—though, of course, if her production is anything like the rest of ’em, she ’ll have to talk through her hat. Still, it will be quite refreshing to hoar “new’> called “new”, unless Aliss Rees has succumbed to the alleged lure of the American accent. Lonesome Creek. We may be a boating city—but not sufficiently so, in the opinion of one visitor who hails from Afelbourno. and who is enchanted with the shining reaches and pretty surroundings of “the broad Wanganui.’’ “Over in Melbourne, people love their Yarra River, though, apart from a few plantations, its banks can’t compare with the settings of tho Wanganui,” she told ATargot. “If the Wanganui, with its willow trees and the ferns of the upper reaches, were in Alelbourne, or anywhere in Australia, for that matter, there would be so many boats on it that the trout, wouldn’t have room to come up after the flies. Yet even on holidays, if one secs a dozen boats on the river, one can consider that something very special is happening. It’s too beautiful to be neglected, and I’m going to toll some Australian river-enthusiasts about it.”