Christmas Crush

Wanganui Chronicle, Volume 82, Issue 305, 24 December 1938, Page 16 (Supplement)

Christmas Crush

By

GREGORY CLARKY

Illustrated bn James Frise

I‘CO help me.” said Jimmie Frise devoutly, “I’ll never get caught in this last-minute Christmas rush again. So help me.” “Millions and millions of people all over the world,” I informed him, “are saying the same thing, this same minute, in a hundred different languages.” So help me,” declared Jimmie firmly. “You said it last year,” 1 stated. “You will say it next year. And so will all the other millions and millions.” “Never again, so help ae.” -e. ter.-ii?J Jim, fiercely.

“There wouldn't be any Christmas,” I said, “if there were no Christmas rush, i hat is what Christmas has come to mean. A time of crowding and gathering and jostling. A time of joy and weariness, of feasting and visiting. Of buying and selling. "Yeah, commercialised,” accused Jim. “No, not commercialised,” I corrected. “That's an easy sneer at Christmas. But suppose Christmas were nothing more than a holy day on the calendar, can you imagine how it would go by? Just as unremembered as any other holy day. Do you recall what you did on Good Friday three years ago? Certainly not. But you can remember what you did three, five, ten Christmases ago; who was at your house; how the children acted, especially the youngest one. You can count back, y You can count back ten Christmases, when your youngest girl was three. And close your eyes, and there you can see it, as clear as if it were yesterday. Why? Because that was the year she crashed the Christmas tree in her new scooter, or something. And then, bit by bit, the whole dear, tender picture returns to you, and you’ve got something. A memory.'' “ i hat’s all very well,” protested Jim, "anybody can get sentimental over Christmas and try to gloss over the evils ot it. But I say, this Christmas crush is getting tougher all the time. And believe me, I’m through with it.” "Fougher?” I cried. “My dear boy, nowadays it’s nothing compared to what it was a couple of thousand years ago, the day all this is supposed to commemorate. - Don’t you remember that it was so crowded there wasn’t any room at the inn, and Joseph and Mary had to find a manger, in a stable?” "Aw,” said Jim. "Crowded ” I continued. “ I he streets jammed with people from miles around, and donkeys and camels, their bells tinkling and their drivers shouting and complaining; and the inns roaring with trade and all the little shops filled with fighting people, trying to get waited on. Crowded? And detachments of Roman soldiers down from Jerusalem to help the tax enumerators do their work, and them in all the best billets in the little town. And the government men turning the front rooms of the inn into offices to work on their tax rolls; and outside, all the lineage of David lined up in queues and wanting to be away home again about their business. ’ Crowded? Jimmie, Christmas has to be a kind of panjandrum, in memory of that day.” “WHAT HAVE YOU TO GET?” we’ve succeeded,” agreed Jim. And Christmas has become the worst-tempered season of the whole year. Everybody tired end worried over money, and shop girls so gaunt and white looking, and delivery men sloshing through the night, and factory girls working overtime, and store-keepers dizzy for want of rest, and everybody’s nerves on edge and ready to crack any minute.” "Fine.” I exulted. “Glorious. Instead of camel drivers shouting we have car horns yelling impatiently, arid instead of Roman soldiers lounging around keeping the crowds moving, we have extra police on duty. It s a perfect representation.” Have you finished your shopping yet?” demanded Jim, grimly. No, siree, I assured him. “I’ve still got a few things to get. And I’m proceeding with it in the spirit of the season. I m going to be shoved and pushed and tramped on, and camel drivers are going to shout me out, of the path, and Roman soldiers are going to thumb me on my way imperiously. I will rub shoulders with all my brethren, poor and rich. I will see, thrust close to mine, faces I have never seen before, thousands of them, my brothers in life. I will be full of pride and contempt and anger, all of them warm, healthy feelings. I will be conscious of my own importance, as I am pushed around by people far beneath me n money and clothes. That too is a nice tnsation. There will be a great hum and

ioar of low sound, the sound of a multitude, and to men, so afraid of being alone, that great sound is always curiously comforting. 1 here will be buying, selling, choosing, selecting, deciding. f here will be possessing.” "What have you to get?” inquired Jim. I haven’t the faintest idea,’ I assured him. "which is another grand part of the whole business. 1 hat glorious aimlessness with which the mult.tude wander through the stores and along the streets, undecided, indecisive, at a loss, bewildered. Dial’s the true spirit of Christmas, too.” “ 1 hat’s what makes me so mad,” disagreed Jim. “Me trying to go direct to the ladies’ glove counter and having to fight my way through a solid scrimmage of people who don’t want to go anywhere, or else don’t know where they want to go. 1 hat vacant stare, mixed with weariness and crankiness, that’s the expression of Christmas.” “Wouldn't it be dreadful.” I argued, “if, at Christmas, everybody went trimly and smugly and smartly direct to what they wanted? How cold, practical, chilly, the whole business would be. No, Jim, it’s that complete breakdown of everything sensible and reasonable that makes Christmas what it is, the p macle of the year.” “Well, if you don’t know what you want,” said Jnn. "Oh. I know roughly," I explained, “that I want something for a boy of thirteen, something for an elderly lady and something for a man, a tie or a cigarette tray or something casual.” EVERYTHING SEEMS 10 BULGE. may as well go together," said Jim, wanly. “I’ve got to get something for two of my girls and some other oda s and ends. When you have somebody with you, it doesn t seem so bad.” "Come along,” I said. And we entered the downtown streets which, even at nine a.m. are already congested and which, by four p.m. are just a hopeless slow tangle. Where do they Are all the offices and desks and work benches abandoned, these last few days before Christmas? Is everybody shopping? 1 he pedestrian traffic is trebled and the wheel traffic at least doubled. Everything seems to bulge. The street* are congested, the windows are congested. Doorways are not wide enough and from the wagons and trucks parcels project perilously. People cannot pass one another, even in straight walking, but have to pause and bunt and wriggle around. At every doorway, there is confusion. Nobody seems to have his mind on what he is doing, a general uncertainty prevails. People are all looking up, looking left, right or down. Their mouths are slightly open, as if listening to something inside them. They halt suddenly, turn around and return the way they had come. They burst into little trots. At the intersections, they impatiently attempt to cross against a red light, change their mind, stand dreaming, and then, when the

green light comes on, the people behind Have to push them to get them started. Jim and I got into the tide and drifted with it, storewards. “How about an air rille for that boy of 1 3?” said Jim, helpfully. “No,” 1 said, “he got one two years ago. How about one ot those nice needlepoint vanity cases for your gins ?'' “No, they’ve got all that stuff,” said Jim. "Could you get your boy one or those metal hammering outfits?" "He’s got one,” 1 replied. “Say, I saw some of the swellest ski outfits the other day for girls. Little helmet things ” “No, no,” cried Jim. “ 1 hey’ve got so much ski sluff, I think that’s what keeps the snow away. I wish 1 had boys to buy for. I hey re so much easier to choose for than girls.” “Don’t kid yourself,” I assured him. “I can go right through a department store without seeing a single thing fit for a boy, and every place I look, I see something a girl would just love.” “You wouldn’t think so,” said Jim, “if you had girls to look after. It’s just the other way round, as a matter of fact. The stores are simply bursting with stuff for boys, but there hasn’t been a new idea in the line of Christmas presents for girls in the last ten years.” GOING WITH THE CURRENT. certainly are cockeyed, Jim,” I assured him, as we joined a great herd and charged across an intersection, bunting and shoving. We arrived at the big stores. What had been the Niagara rapids of traffic here became Niagara Falls. Clinging together like mariners wrecked, we went with the raging currents, timidly daring to steer a course, whenever an eddy permitted, towards the elevators but ending up at the escalators instead. 1 rying to catch the up one, we were inexorably forced on to the down one, which took us to the basement, and there, by skilfully pretending not to want to reach the elevators, we succeeded in arriving there and caught one almost empty which took us to the seventh floor before we could battle our way free. By putting on an expression of joy as if the seventh floor were really seventh heaven, where we had been trying to get for years, we had hardly any trouble getting to the stairs, and we walked down three flights to the sporting goods department. Jimmie and I find one thing about the sporting goods department. In case we get marooned there, we have something to look at. “Roller skates,” cried Jimmie. "The very thing for your boy.” “The very thing for your girl, you mean,” I corrected. “Anyway, they can’t roller skate in winter.” One of the young temporary salesmen they have at Christmas, one of those boys with the expression of a mischievous wirehaired fox terrier in his eyes, overheard my remark. “Let me show you, sir,” he said, “the latest thing. Here’s a /floating power skate, a ball-bearing, knee-action roller skate that is so pleasant to use, a boy will

ride on it winter, summer, in the rain, at night, all the time.. Very skilfully, like a cowpuncher herding steers, he manipulated us out ot the swarming traffic into a kind ot pocxet. And he handed us each a very fancy looking roller skate. “A kid," said the enthusiastic young salesman, “will be asking you for messages to go, if he has these skates, see? He 11 be out in the fresh air, taking easy, natural exercise all day long. 1 hey re like velvet. t hey’re soundless, smootn, like flooating in a canoe. Like blowing along or. the wind. In fact. I’m saving my money to own a pair of those skates myself, sir.” We examined them. 1 hey just looked like roller skates to me, “I’d be having,” 1 said ,“to buy new rollers, new wrenches, all the time, 1 key’d leave marks all over the hardwood floors.” “Just sit down here, sir,” said the young man. “Just sit here one second.” I am always glad to sit. So is Jim. We sat. The young man squatted down and skilfully snapped a skate on to my loot. “See?” he cried. “Modernised. A patent device. It just snaps on. Nothing to fall off or work loose. Just a second.” He snapped the mate on. “Now, sir,” he said, “just stand up on those.” I stood up, cautiously, the young chap holding my elbows to steady me. He roiled me a foot or two. “Did you ever,” he demanded, “feel anything so airy, so smooth, as the action ol those skates’?" 1 look a couple of cautious slides, holding to the counter edge. It was certainly an eerie sensation. Floating is the word. 1 shoved myself pleasurably along the counter. When I turned, also cautiously, I saw that Jim had been outfitted w.th them and, being more leggy than I, was trying a few slow curvy strokes with them, amidst the crowd swerving past. “Slick, eh?” said Jim, whirling over to me and doing one of those skating carnival halts, “How much are they?” I asked. “I didn't ask,” said Jim, and we looked for our young man, who, in the true spirit of Christmas, was already waiting on somebody else, letting us soak, as it were, on our skates. “I think I'll get a pair,” said Jim. “I’d imagine they re pretty high,” I said. “Did you ever feel anything so smooth?” WATCHING FOR A BREAK. J—JOLDING each other, we took a couple of slides along the counter. We came to the main aisle. Jim was being a little too expert and his weight carried us out into the driving storm of doggedly moving humanity. “Hey,” I said, missing my grab for the counter. “Hey.” But how was anybody to know we were on wheels? We held fast to each other, as the thick, packed throng moved us pleasantly away, waiting for an opening or else a chance to seize hold of a pillar. We had become involved, however, in

one of those solid swarms that slowly shuffle, hour by hour, through the great stores these final festive days, and, since we were so tightly packed neither Jim nor I could stoop down to undo the skates from our feet, and since it would have been ridiculous to try to explain to the uninterested people pushing irom behind or leaning back against us in front, we just let matters ride, until we got a break. “Don’t struggle," warned Jim, quietly. “If we upset, we might start some kind of a panic. Take it easy. We took it easy. Jhe ones behind shoved, the ones ahead laid back, and there, as snug as steers in a cattle car, we moved effortlessly along. “Jim,” I confided, "this is an idea. I bet we could sell this idea to the big stores. Roller skates for rent, to make Christmas shopping easy.” We rolled once around the sporting goods and twice around the toys. A couple of times, I thought I saw the chance to climb over small children and get a grip on a counter edge, but Jim’s grasp on my sleeve prevented me. Jim,” I said, “try to signal that young brat that is waiting on us.” But the tide set out to sea and we started leaving the sporting goods. “Jim,” I muttered, "turn your toes a little to the right ,and try to steer us to the side. We re getting out of the sporting goods into the hardware.” We both turned our toes right, but it made no difference. We were just lightly and easily roiled along, at the pace or the throngh. “One thing,” said Jim, “we can’t fall down and be trampled to death.” "Hardware passing,” I said. “Linoleums next.” We slowly rolled through the linoleums, past the coconut malting into the hooked rugs. "Watch for a break,” I advised, “and se if you can make a grab. Once we get out of the crowd, we can fall down and take them off.” But through the hooked rugs we slowly floated, and suddenly a dreadful presentiment assailed me. “Psst,” I hissed, “the escalator!” “I’m afraid,” said Jim, “we’re for it.” We could hear the dull rumble of the escalator. We tried to thrust out of the throng, but with nothing to grip with but our hands, all we succeeded in doing was irritating people whose arms we clutched, and they glared at us haughtily. Slowly the throng thickened, packed, pressed together and leaned hard over, in the general determination to get to the escalator. It was hopeless. When your turn comes to the escalator, you take it, willy nilly. We took ours. Clinging to the fat rubber rails, we kept upright. I tried to raise one leg in order to unfasten one of the skates, but my knees bunted the lady ahead of me in an undignified fashion and she turned and hissed—- “ Don’t get fresh!” So, swiftly, inevitably, we reached the bottom of the escalator without having any time to plan or organise our arrival. And on the shining steel plate which bottoms all escalators, our feet rolled forth and our helpless hands had to let go the fat rolling rubber railing, and, ingloriously we skidded forth before the astonished eyes of the attendant and such shoppers as had enough interest left in life to bother looking. I he attendant helped us take the skates off. He did not, as 1 suggested to him, he might, suppose we were trying to steal the skates. Not at all, not at all, he assured us. “Things like this are happening all the time during the Christmas rush.” So we took the skates slowly back to the young temporary salesman, who had not noticed our absence, and told him we would think the matter ever. CHRISTMAS PICTURES A merry fire is blazing, And there’s laughter in the room, While the happy songs of Yuletide Chase away the winter gloom; Red-cheeked holly round the pictures, Mistletoe above the stair, Tell of hearts aglow with gladness, And rejoicing ev’rywhere. In contrast to this picture, Of a northern Christmas Day, Is a jolly sunburnt Christmas, Spent beside a laughing bay. Sunbeams dance upon the waters, Sands are golden, skies are blue— Ah! There’s magic in this Southland, That just takes a hold of you.

CHRISTMAS GIFT-HORSES I’d like a surprise this Christmas, I’d feel very pleased indeed If friends and relations when making donations Could offer me something I need. I'd rejoice if some presents were absent, Or at least of a different sort; I own that my attitude's one of ingratitude— But spare me undrinkable port. I’ve a surfeit of blotters and pentrays, And pocket-books give me a pain; I can have my clean fun with one calendar—one— And I don’t want a muffler again, j Don’t imagine I'm boorish or blase When I plead for a Yuletide surprise; I would lay down my life for my children and wife, Yet I boggle at family ties. But perhaps I had better be careful, And content with my annual haul, For I've just realised that I should be surprised If this year I got nothing at all! • —Ralph Wotherspoon. CHRISTMAS LILIES The lilies grew in Nazareth Our Lady to adorn, When lirst she heard the wondrous news The Soviour would be born Of her, a simple village maid, Then gladly she her Lord obeyed, Oh, flower without a thorn! The lilies grew in Bethlehem, Far down beneath the snow. They Jay within the kindly earth Till lily buds might blow, As in that Infant fast asleep, Lay man's redemption, hidden deep Till Calvary’s tree should grow. The lilies grew in Galilee Rich nature’s bounteous yield. "Consider ye,’’ the Master said, “The lilies of the field. Mark ye that sparrow in the dust, And learn .that perfect faith and trust By these may be revealed.” In gardens half across the world The lilies blossom still; Their snow-white loveliness extols Their great Creator’s skill. They might be Angels from above Who sing the carol of His love "On earth be peace, goodwill.” —D. J. Sims. ; THE CHRISTMAS DUCK The Christmas duck Has got no luck— The Christmas duck’s Unlucky. And yet he meets his death with pluck, One must applaud the Christmas due* And grant that he is plucky. He’s full of spice, pure bred and sage, At Christmas he is all the rage. And people like to play the host When Christmas ducks come home to roast.

“SANTA CLAUS’’ TOWN In America a small town in Indiana is called ‘ Santa Claus” after the goou saint beloved of children the worlu over, anil as Christmas approaches, it becomes a place of great importance. Parents all over the continent write letters of greeting and pack parcels, which they send to Santa Claus for reposting with the Santa Claus stamp —a small figure of Santa Claus and his postmark. No gift gives more delight to the little American children than a letter or gift from Santa Claus himself, and the avalanche of correspondence which descends upon the little town just before Christmas necessitates quite an army of extra staff. Some years ago the postal authorities suggested changing the name and thus doing away with this rush of Christmas work, but the inhabitants protested, and the little town still remains "Santa Claus.” LEGENDS OF THE POHUTUKAWA TREE More than one story belongs to the pohutukawa or New Zealand Christmas tree. One tells that a Maori chieftain, when sailing along the coast one I day, looked long at the lovely ohutu- ' kawa flaunting its scarlet blossoms along the cliffs, and then flung nis I head-dress of scarlet feathers into the ' sea, saying that such ornaments were lof no account in comparison with those of the trees. Another legend of a famous pohutukawa tree derives from Maori mythology. The spirits of the dead on their way from earth were supposed to travel from all over New Zealand to Cape Reinga, in the extreme north. There they had to leave the land, ano plunge down through the ocean to the underworld. A giant pohutukawa grew on the cliff, and, reluctant to leave earth, the spirits clung desperately to a bough of this tree, which hung low over the water. Lower and lower bent the bough, weighed down by the clinging spirit*, and the waves dashed against the cliff and thought it rare sport to spray the spirits before they took the inevitable plunge. For many years the great bending bough was pointed out le visitors, but it finally broke off. ami in its turn plunged into the ocean. ae Tactful One. Judge: Have you anyhing to say? Defendant: No your Honour. Those beautiful women on the jury, however—l mean, the wonderful, youthful, gracefulCounsel: I object, your Honour. Defenda'nt: They are beautiful women, and I—i Judge: It's no use—we may as well dismiss the case right now. Fifty-Fifty. Mr. Murphy was taking his first flight in an aeroplane. The pilot was taking him over Dallas, and when they were about 3000 feet up the ’plane suddenly went into a nose dive. “Ha, ha,” laughed the pilot as he righted his 'plane. “Half the people down there thought we were falling.” “Sure," said Murphy, “and 50 per cent, of the people up here thought so. too.”