XMAS EVE AT BETHLEHEM

Wanganui Chronicle, Volume 76, Issue 303, 23 December 1933, Page 7 (Supplement)

XMAS EVE AT BETHLEHEM

Wc were staying at Jerusalem for Christmas and were invited to sing zarols in the courtyard of the Church of the Holy Nativity at Bethlehem on Christmas Eve. The idea of being there on that evening appealed to us, so we set off for the six miles’ drive. It seemed like a dream following along the path of the Magi and past the well in which, the legend says, they saw their guiding star reflected. Above us the stars were shining with the near brilliance of a very cold night. The church belongs to the Greeks, but the Archimandrite is very friendly with the Anglican community and cooperate with them in a short Christmas Eve service. We first visited him in his monastery, where he offered us some of the honey-tasting local wine. He is a very fine man, speaking fairly good English. He put on his tall black hat and cope and set out with us for the courtyard. There we found a mixed crowd gathered; pious pilgrims and native Christians, sight-seeing tourists and onlooking Jews. The Bethlehem women looked medieval and very picturesque in their high coifs of white linen. This which the Crusaders copied and took back with them to Europe, became the fashionable and well-known head-dress of Plantagenet times. These women, grouped shyly at the back of the courtyard, formed unwittingly a pageant scene in the dim flickering light. The Jews in their black cassocks and cloth hats seemed to belong to a different date in the pageant. Afterwards we filed into the vault where the stable and manger are said to be the original ones. This most sacred shrine of Christendom is quite spoilt by the tawdry ornaments and guttering candles surrounding it. It was a relief to get out of this oppressive atmosphere into the clear night. There we regained the feeling of holy mystery. We paid another visit to Bethlehem. It lost some of its mystery by daylight. As we threaded our way through the picturesque, narrow streets it seemed a busy place. From the top of the hill on which it stands we saw Jerusalem rising in the distance, and below us the shepherds’ field, which is now being encroached upon by modern buildings.— P.R. I KNOW A GIRL She thinks holly means sacred, that mistletoe is part of a foot, and that Santa Claus is part of a sentence, but she says that Christmas time is the loveliest in the whole year and that you can't really appreciate it unless you know all the legends about it. From Christmas we got to talking about winter sports, and I asked her if she’d ever done any sleighing. She got angry and wanted to know if I thought she looked like a murderess. After I explained to her that sleighing was something like coasting she said she didn’t like it. She said just sailing up and down the coast wasn’t any fun to her. If she couldn’t go across the ocean she didn’t care about going anywhere. She thinks toboggan means to try and buy things cheaply, that snowshoes are goloshes, and that blizzards are those tough chicken giblets she always gets at family dinners. She wishes you a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. STATEMENT OF FACT It's getting on to Christmas, And I know it by the signs. Not because the wind blows colder And the leaves are off the vines; Not because the year is ageing, Or the ground is flecked with snow, But because a little lady Up to bed seems glad to go. And because that little lady Seems excessively polite And unusually loving When her dad gets home at night, And remarkably attentive To her duties through the day, I have come to the conclusion Christmas can’t be far away. Oh, there is no doubt about it! Though I have been known to err In my boastful prophesying, I will stake my life on her. Without fear of contradiction To this statement I adhere, We are rapidly approaching The best day of all the year. —Edgar A. Guest. CHRISTMAS EXPECTATIONS (Ballade.) Something ‘‘improving” from Aunt Annette— Browning’s poems, perhaps, pr Poe’s; Old Uncle George’ll send smokes, I bet, Cousin Ada, selected prose . . . Silk pyjamas from Sister Rose, Cuff-links and mufflers and ties, no end Belts and braces with silken bows. . . Wonder what Heart of My Heart will send? Brother will give me a shaving set (Tubes of lather and fragrant eaus); Handkerchiefs sprinkled with violet Girl friend Gladys each year bestows; Things with ribbons and furbelows— Gadgets a man can’t comprehend— Meant to banish a bachelor’s woes. . . Wonder what Heart of My Heart will send? Cigars, tobacco and something “wet”— “Season’s Greetings’’ from friend and foes— Trays for the ash of my cigarette— Gloves and garters and black silk hose— Bedroom slippers that pinch the toes— One more record of “Two Black Crows. ...” Wonder what Heart of My Heart will send? L’Envoi. Prince, this custom of Christmas grows More banal as the years extend; Still, I’m thrilled—and don’t care who knows. . . . Wonder what Heart of My Heart will send? The Wrong Place. Friend (at a French play): “Why did you applaud so vigorously when that comedian made his speech before the curtain?” Spriggins (confidentially): So that folks would think I understood French. What did he say? Friend: He said that the remainder of his part would be taken by an understudy.

The corners of Sheila’s mouth twitched, but her brown eyes held sympathy. The young man seated at the small table next her own in the tea shop was growing frantic in nis search for a coin. Top pocket, coat pockets, trousers pocket. A hopeless quest. For a moment of poignant suffering th e searcher leaned back in his chair staring distressfully at an empty coffee cup and plate. “Four pence the coffee, two pence the buns,” Sheila heard him murmur beneath his breath ere he dived again into those wretched pockets. Sheila leaned forward, having measured the distance betwixt the next table and a pert waitress. “Can 1 help?” she asked, with the friendliest smile, “1 believe you have lost your purse.” The anguish was swept as by magic from the youthful face of the sufferer. His blue eyes smiled gratitude. “How awfully good of you,” he murmured, “I can’t think how it happened—l know I had the money there —sixpence. I can’t tell you how grateful 1 am.” She slid the coin on to the table unostentatiously, and saw howserencly now the young man watchoPahe approaching waitress. They rose together and moved towards the door. “It’s quite a jolly tea place,” said Sheila cheerily, as they strolled down the High Street. “As a rule it is crowded. We were early —and it looks like snow. 1 hope wo have an oldfashioned Christinas.” She was wishing the youth would give himself a name, since she was interested. Moreover, sh e had an idea he was new to the neighbourhood, which was rural enough to allow of curiosity anent one’s neighbours. “A bit rough on people considering the coal shortage,” hinted her companion, and bheila, studying the handsome face in profile, decided he was not a boy at all. She could even believe him to be a man—who had suffered. “It must be awful to be cold,” she said irrelevantly. He did not reply at once, and then, halting, made a brief request. “Might 1 know the address for—the money to be returned?” As if sixpence mattered! But Sheila knew better than to say so. Besides, here was an opportunity. “The Gables —Hawsdeen,” she replied. “I am Sheila Mixfall. Come in any old time. I shall be in to-day for tea. I am staying at Hawsdeen with my aunt and uncle. ” It was Saturday, so, if he was in business, acceptance would be possible. He looked at her with a wistfulness of which he was unconscious; then, raising his hat, disappeared down one of the side streets. “Al. 1’ Incognito,” murmured Sheila, “but he was a dear —and a perfect gentleman, though his coat was shabby —and I am afraid he looks on sixpence seriously.” At luncheon Sheila presented herself with commendable punctuality. Aunt Elinor knew how to order meals; having no children she had learned the art of living luxuriously without possessing the income of a millionaire. iSheila’s appetite was healthy—she was young enough to be interested in puddings, whilst cocktails were unknown to her! Unclg Philip still teased her on not having cultivated a taste for cigarettes. Absolutely, an Egyptian goldtipped affair was no more to her than Players Navy Cut. “It is perfectly true,” said Aunt Elinor, speaking to Uncle Philip, “that Rosemary Lodge has been let to Impossibles. I consider it unpardonable of Sir Eustace.” Philip Mixfall was amused—but hid it discreetly. He had studied his wife as carefully as she considered his diet. Friends called them the ideal pair. “Really,” he asked, “how impossible? Russian Labour leaders, or a guid Scots piper?” “The son,” said his better half, “has bought Thatcher’s shop in Rixwell. The shop which keeps books, the lending library, china, work-baskets, and dozens of other things. It has not even the standard of a book shop, and this young man—Waindell—serves behind the counter.” “Shocking,” murmured Uncl e Philip, with the faintest suspicion of irony, “behind the counter—beyond the pale. That’s understood. What does he do it for, eh?” “His mother is a widow. I suppose he earns his living that way,” explained Mrs. Mixfall. “I say nothing to that. Honest trade is perfectly honourable. But we do not want trades folk in Hawsdeen, and The Gables is lost to the neighbourhood! One regrets it. In dear Miss Byle’s time wc had such pleasant gatherings in the old garden.” “It certainly seems a pity,” agreed her husband. “And the newcomers will be out of place. If they are respectable citizens I’m a trifle sorry for them. Excus c such heresy, dear, but sometimes I wonder . . . how the upper classes will be able to enjoy the social equalities of the next world. Now, I must be off. ’ ’ Perhaps it was as well he did not remain for the arguments which might have annihilated him. What if the obnoxious intruder into this backwater of country society were her sixpenny hero? “I nope he comes early,” thought Sheila, as she curled herself round a palo green and rose-coloured pouffe after the manner of an elf on a toad stpol. “Alary will bring in tea, and ho can be off the premises before aunty returns from her calls. I wonder if he is—the villain of the play? Poor lad! ” Th c door opened to admit her visitor Alary, gaunt and disapproving, named him as Afr. Donald Waindell, and then faded away. So the sixpenny hero was he who served behind a despised counter. He came in smiling and not at all dismay o<l. “Here is th c sixpence,” he said. “I apologise for my stupidity.” Sheila smiled too. She was not sure which stupidity he apologised for! The most glaring was his temerity in coming here. He sat down, too, without being asked. “What a jolly view you get from here,” he said. “And the village is tremendously interesting. You have lived here all your life?” “I don’t live here at all,” replied Sheila. “Dad is a vicar near Taunton. It is an event with us to go from home, but I am glad I came. I like Hawsdeen immensely. Uncle Phil is a dear. I’m sure you’ll like—”

She paused, reddening. Of course, Uncle Phil would remain unknown to the man outside th c pale! He was as much at ease as a belted Earl, and asked Sheila for information I as to thc neighbourhood. “We have only just got into Rosemary Lodge!” he smiled, “and no one has been to sec us yet. Not likely! I know something of country society. A decade ago wc should have been anathema, because 1 am handling old Thatcher’s very neglected book shop. Ono sees the funny side at such a game. I suppose Christmas frivolities here are dealt with in small quantities. Do they indulge in dances?” Sheila frowned. She was sympathising before its object knew the need for sympathy. Christmas for him must needs bo a time of penance for the crime of serving behind a counter! “There are dances,” she said. “I am going to four before 1 return home on the tenth. Also, if there is snow, wc have sports.” “Good,” he purred coifiplacently “Wo must try and fix a gmykhana if there is any sort of weather for it.” Sheila re-filled the tea-pot and wondered when Nemesis would overtake this innocent intruder. Then —the worst happened. Aunt Elinor came in with Mrs. PoyndenFisk. Airs. Poynden-Fisk was one of the ruling powers at Hawsdeen and the dearest friend of Lady Avertrec of the Manor. The Avcrtrces had been away—and only returned yesterday. They were thc people of the place, of course, and patriarchal in all but years! Lady Avertree was celebrated as the village peace-maker. In her absence ther e was always trouble—with the Poynden-Fisk clement to lead it. The lady was acid—purely acid—and looked thc part. She recognised Donald Waindcll in a moment and glared. Airs. Mixfall had grown as red as a lobster. Thc two cronies had been declaring their fixed resolve to hound mere trades folk from the neighbourhood. And, lo! Here in her own drawingroom Airs. Mixfall beheld the enemy. Airs. Poynden-Fisk with the conelusivencss which did not include good manners, had ignored Air. Waindell’s hand, and gone over to the window. Waindell stood, feeling awkward and angry. Even Sheila, in thc crisis, seemed to have deserted him. Airs Mixfall bore down like a ship in full sail. Her small eyes were like gimlets. “I feel, Air. —Waindcll, ” she said, in her penetrating tones, “that you are in a little difficulty. Was there any message from the shop? A book bought Sheila felt all frozen up in terror, and Waindcll, glancing swiftly in her direction, read the tale of distress and swallowed an apt retort. “You are very kind, madam,” ho replied, “and perfectly right. I merely came to pay a trifling debt. If I may be allowed to say good afternoon I shall be glad not to further embarrass any one by my presence.” So he was young after all! It was a young man’s reply—but Sheila forgave him, seeing he had meant to be magnanimous. Yet she could not see him slip away without a word of championing. “X asked Air. Waindcll to tea, Aunt Elinor,” she said, “and, if you don’t mind, I’ll show him the short cut across the garden.” She did not wait for Donald’s protest or her aunt’s rejoinder—but risked pneumonia by pattering across a frozen lawn in thin shoes. At thc gate she held out her hand. “It’s thc first time I’m glad I don’t belong to Hawsdeen,” she said breathlessly. Donald Waindell smiled. “It is quite natural,” he replied, “thc only thing is that Hawsdeen is a decade behind the times. You must not worry.” There were tears in her eyes. “I hate to know it hurt,” she whispered. “And, please, may I come and see your mother one day before I go? I mean, sh e won’t think I want to patronise, will she?” He hesitated —knowing that those friends of hers in the stiff, oldfashioned drawing-room would disapprove. Yet—he wanted to find her there beside his mother’s sofa, and yielded to the temptation to accept a rash offer. “It would be very kind,” he replied, “the hours are so long—and she is a cripple.” ISheila nodded. “1 shall come to-morrow,” she replied, and he strode away, feeling that the experience with all its bitterness had been worth while. And Sheila returned to judgment “He is a gentleman,” she whispered to herself, • ‘ and they ought to recognise the fact. It is their own narrow vulgarity which places him outside their silly pale, just because he is brave enough, to take a tradesman’s job.” The door opened and Uncle Philip came out. He looked worried as ho always did when by ill luck he was inveigled into drawing-room tea! He smiled vaguely at Sheila. “Hullo, lassie,” said he, “your aunt was asking for you. Kun along in.” And, though Sheila did not exactly run, she had to go! There was a little lull as she entered, and the girl felt the colour rising to her cheeks as, with all thc nonchalance she could muster, she helped herself to coffee which the maid was handing round. “One can’t have too many teas,” she declared, speaking to Bunny Treesleigh, who had come in with her mother, whilst, out of thc corner of he r eye she saw her aunt crossing the room towards her. So —it was to be a public arraignment! Sheila was no coward —and her fighting blood was roused now. “My dear,” said Aunt Elinor, quite clearly, if not loudly, “1 hope you will never be guilty of so foolish an act again. That young man is merely a Rixwcll tradesman—whose mother has had thc impertinence to take a house in this neighbourhood where I suppose she expects people to call. She will soon find her mistake. It was both pushing and impudent of that youth to come hero to-day—and I am very vexed at your behaviour. However, 1 am sure you will never Jet it occur again. It placed us all in a very awkward position.” “From which, iny dear, your tact promptly saved us,” added Mrs. Poyn dcn-Fisk, in her cryptic manner she loved to adopt. Sheila stood quivering. It was tip to her to reply—and she would not return

the squashy answer expected of her. “I am very sorry, Aunt Elinor” she said—quite ns emphatically. “Of course, any one can se G Air. Waindcll is a gentleman, and L should have thought in an age when Countessea aren t ashamed of keeping hat shops and . . . and crippled war heroes sell lamp shades, that a bra\ G son would be welcomed amongst his equals for doing his best to keep his mother!” I lieu she walked towards the fireplace, where she espied th G one friendly face of Miss Martin. Airs. Alixfall was rendered .speechless. Perha|>s»it was as well she did not reply. She ignored Sheila till her guests wore gone, and received murmured condolences with the expression of a martyr. Airs, Poynden-Fisk sadly feared that the Socialist spirit rampant in the youth of the day -youth, too, which ought to know better — would be thc undoing of England. When her sympathisers had all gone Aunt Elinor attacked the culprit. This time Sheila did not retort. Aunt Elinor merely gave her ultimatum. “You came, Sheila,” she said, “to have a pleasant holiday. You have some delightful invitations and should have a very happy Christmas. But you must understand that you will have to return honu. without delay if you do not conform to my wishes and decisions. ’ ’ So that was that! Aleaning, of course, that Sheila was to have nothing more to do with thc undesirables at Rosemary Lodge. For three days Sheila passed the .Lodge with averted gaze. On the'fourth she happened to catch a glimpse of a suffering white face resting back amongst pillows on a sittingroom sofa. And she cast discretion to the winds. Airs. Waindcll welcomed the brightfaced young visitor, who brought, gorgeous chrysanthemums and the happiest smile. “You nice child,” she said, softly. “Donald has told me about you and — I am grateful to you for coming.” Sheila, always impetuous, bent down . and kissed the sweet, tired face.

“Do you always have to lie down?” sh c asked softly. “Yes,” replied the invalid, “at present, but one day, thanks to a very dear friend, I hope to get about again. Ajre you going to stay and talk to me, child? Sit down here and toll me about yourself. It is good to find the sunshine peeping it on a drab day.” And how easy Sheila found it to obey—though first shc fetched water from the wee kitchen where a very self-important little, “general” was bustling about —and then filled a big blue vase with the flowers. Airs. Waindcll loved flowers —and shc. loved youth, too! If her little girl had lived, she told Sheila, she would have been just grown up. Then, as the shadows began to fall, she told her visitor about her son —thc brave, loyal Sbn, who had given up his dream of ambition to take the business in Rixwell on purpose that shc might live in the country and grow strong, maybe, in th© pure country air. “Aly husband was vicar in a very difficult slum parish in Liverpool,” added Airs. Waindcll, “and died of over-work. But it is wonderful how thc way has opened for us. And Donald is going to make a success of his shop. He is the sort of boy to make a success of anything.” She smiled tenderly as she spoke. Oh! what a world she-thought of her boy. Sheila was quite sorry to go, excepting for one thing. She was so dreadfully afraid Airs. Waindell would talk of Christmas . . . and her hope that Donald might share the gaieties of the season. It was rather n relief to got outside, though—oh, dear! why did Fate send Aunt Elinor by in the car at that moment? Sheila felt like running away rather than returning home, but . . . she know it was better to face the situation. After all, she was glad she had been to Rosemary Lodge. Aunt Elinor was awaiting her. Oh, yes, shc had seen her, too, and was pale with temper. Aunt Elinor was quite awe-inspiring when she lost her temper. She did not beat about the bush. “I see, Sheila,” she said, “it will ho better for you to go home, since you do not appreciate our wish to give you a good time. You are young but not too young to understand about social distinctions. It is impossible for us to know the people at Rosemary Lodge • —common tradespeople—and you put

’ m e in a wholly wrong position by calling. I shall arrange for you to return - on the twenty third.” Sheila crimsoned to thc eyes. She was very nearly disgracing herself i , tears. Oh, it was too bad; too bad 3 .... of her aunt. To be sent home like 3 a baby in disgrace. And how inconvenient it would be! Roger’s chum > hail her room—everything would bo in r chaos. And Lady Avertrec —who had - just returned to the Manor—was givs ing a glorious New Year ball. > “I —I quite understand,” she faltered, “I ... I am sorry.” Then she I fled as the bell rang . . . and she heard Parsons going to thc door. I The Alanor motor, too. Oh, dear! : There was no time to escape—and pcr- • force Sheila had to retreat back into I the drawing-room. How awkward it would be though. If Lady Avertrec was calling she would be sure to speak of her dance, invitations to which had , been posted from abroad. What excuse should she make? Would it be better to leave it to Aunt Elinor? She found thc latter dashing around—as folk do when thc great ones- of the earth visit them—putting cushions and chairs tidy, looking in the glass to see if her hair was tidy. Slio frowned upon Sheila, who retired to a corner as the door opened. Lady Avertree was one of those per-fectly-gowned saints to whom the adjective “sweet” really applies! She was as sweet as pretty—and pretty as sweet! She shook hands with her hostess, declaring sh c was delighted to find her looking so well, then turned — radiant—upon Sheila. “And this is thc dear little niece who has been so kindly a friend to my dearest friend and old school chum, Barbara Waindcll,” sh c said. “It was so good of you, dear. I have been admiring your flowers in her room.” Sheila was crimson . . . but there wore dimples in her check as she watched the visitor turn back to her hostess. “I don’t expect yo-u have had time to call yet,” Lady Avertrec was saying, “but you will be charmed with my friend. She is th c dearest woman—and so brave. General Grecsdyke's daughter you know, and her husband was a wealthy man till thc war. Donald is just such another hero as his father. The boy bought a book-seder’s business in Rixwell ... so that he could be at homo to look after his mother. He is going to be one of our successful authors, too . . . and in consequence, a wealthy uncle is recognising them. Barbara’s troubles will, I fancy, soon be lightened or banished . . . and Donald will have his chance. He is coming to our donee—so your niece must take pity on him again—as his first friend here.” It was only a flying visit. Her ladyship could not stay to tea. She kissed Sheila at parting, and the latter being magnanimous said nothing about speedy departure- When the visitor had gone, however, she came across her aunt who looked —crushed. “I had better wire to mum, hadn’t I?” shc asked. Aunt Elinor shook her head, hesitated, and finally, acknowledged defeat. “You little puss!” she said, “and I knew 1 was behaving disgracefully, too! you cun bring your young man up to dinner to-night, and we can make peace. After all—it is the Christmas spirit. Run along—and be tactful. You can if you wish.” And Sheila wished. And, if it were for her sake only that Donald came, h 0 had his reward in the cheeriest evening. “So all is well tluat ends wel,” whispered Sheila, as she lingered in a corner of the drawing-room, discussing Hawsdeen society in whispers with a very much amused comrade. “1 suppose we ought to say ‘thanks to Christmas’?” But Donald looked boldly into a pair of laughing, yet friendly blue eyes. “No,” he replied, “I shall say . . . price—sixpence . . . for the Christmas gift I shall prize above all others—your—friendship.' ’ And he took her hands in his. RECIPE FOR A PARTY Ingredients: Guests —you must shuffle them round Till each has thc right sort of fellowguest found. Alix the “Life of the Party” with those who delight In listening to somebody else being bright. Alix those who “talk ailments” with other folk who Enjoy th© discussion of illnesses, too. Stir well with a game, or a dance, when you sec The talk's not as interesting as it might be. Keep thc party just simmering—not very long, For paitics that last till they’re boring arc wrong! PEOPLE WE WANT TO MEET The woman who receives a “Do Not Open Until Christinas” package and doc-sn’t shake it. The father who gives his son an electric engine and doesn’t have to spend thc whole afternoon showing the youngster how it is operated. 'The woman who doesn’t send a card to her husband’s boss. Old people, who remark that Christmas is better than it was in the old The ten-year-old who got everything he •tvanted. Thc college boy who spends any night of his vacation at home. A Sweethearts’ Quarrel. ‘‘Hello, Perkins, where did you got that Mack eye?” “Oh, it was only a sweethearts’ qua rrel. ’ ’ “Sweethearts’ quarrel! Why, your girl didn’t give you that, did she?” “No, it was her other sweetheart!’’ No Fear. The. seedy-looking man hesitated on the edge of the building job, and then approached. “Any chance of a job, mate?" he asked in a Weary Willie voice. “No; you needn’t be frightened/’ said the foreman. Their Reward. Mrs. Skinflint (in thc spirit of Christinas, to the coalmen, after they had carefully put the two loads of fuel into its proper place): Here’s the threepence for you to get a glass of beer. “ A glass of beer, missus?’’ was the response. “Lor. love us, a glass o’ beer ain’t no more to us than a snow flake on a red hot shovel.”