The New Zealand Railways Magazine, Volume 5, Issue 9 (April 1, 1931)
Our Women's Section
Your Autumn Clothes.
Summer has come for a very brief visit this year, and now the cool autumn breezes are warning us that, in a few weeks, we must cast aside our floating voiles, our tennis linens and our sweeping hats—in favour of the warmer smartness of tweeds, berets and scarves. Autumn, that season of sudden changes—with its winds and its splendid riot of colours, demands from us—whose sphere it is to be always decorative and “a la mode”—a brightness in our apparel. A touch of red, gold and russet brown, of greens, warmer bronze and flecked gold. It is curious how we reflect the colour moods of Nature—how we discard the delicate pastel shades of summer, the ethereal azure blues, elusive mauves and frail sunset yellows, and become vivid, flaming—almost rebellious. Our men folk, throughout the seasons, preserve a sombre, reserved greyness which varies little with blazing summer sun and autumn cool—they have left to us the work of personal adornment no doubt believing that, of the two sexes, we are the more fitted for change—let us say the more adaptable. A quick review of our wardrobes for the autumn shows that they will be most entrancing, cheap, comfortable and possible for everyone. From Paris comes a whisper that skirts are definitely long—but not “ultra” for day and street wear. Surely we are too sensible to adopt a foolish fashion where hems touch the pavement—especially in our boisterous and unsympathetic climate. The “trailing” robe is perfect for a ball room, or a bridge party, but nothing looks more absurd and is more uncomfortable for a day's shopping or office work. We must be practical—and at the same time fashionable. Let our skirts, then, for this autumn be about half-way down the calf—not any longer.
The three-piece tweed suit is a necessity for every girl, and is very easily made—you will find it extremely useful for countless occasions—and it will always look smart, provided that you are particular about your general colour scheme. Skirts are to be made again on hip yokes—belted and buckled—with as many pleats as you desire. Coats, still of the same tweed, are nearly as long as the skirt and seem to be worn more without belts than last autumn. The chic little tweed hat, brimless and close-fitting is very easily made—patterns can be bought everywhere—finally a soft silk shirt or light woollen jumper and a bright, light floating scarf, and you will page 58 be ready to sally forth into the autumn winds, looking smart, cosy and thoroughly in sympathy with moody Mother Nature.
“It is not everyone who realises that it is neglect, and not work, that ruins the hands. A little Sydal, the well-known Hand Emollient, rubbed in each night will counteract the ill-effects of housework and gardening, and keep the hands smooth and soft.”
Your Pictures and Photographs.
Sometimes you see in a magazine or folio a little water-colour or etching which fills you with delight—you think how much you would like to be able to have it looking down upon you from the walls of your room. Beautiful things should be seen constantly—not hidden away in books, and as “originals” are beyond the grasp of the ordinary person—we must make the best of prints. Naked walls are depressing and monotonous—whereas three or four pictures completely change the atmosphere of a room.
Then you have dozens of photographs of friends, families and scenes and often stored away among the “rubbish.” If so, buy a roll or two of “Passe Partout,” either black or gold. Measure the pictures carefully and cut an oblong exactly corresponding in fairly firm cardboard—then order your glass (the same measurement) from any picture shop. It is very cheap, and cut to any size you want; but remember that even one-eighth of an inch is important, if the result is to be neat. Place the picture or photograph between the cardboard and glass, and bind all three together with the “Passe Partout,” which is gummed on one side ready for use. A narrow edging is more effective than a wide one. You will be delighted with the simplicity, neatness and artistic appearance of even a cheap magazine print. Do not have the walls of your room positively crowded with pictures—each loses its appeal and destroys that of its neighbour. A picture must be seen, in every sense of the word, to be appreciated.
Two Good Recipes for the Housewife.
Here is a delicious Chocolate Sponge. Ingredients: One teacup flour, 2 table-spoonsful cocoa, 2 eggs, 1 teacup sugar, 2 small teaspoonsful cream of tartar, 2 small teaspoonsful carbonate of soda, 2 tablespoonsful milk, vanilla. Method: Beat eggs and sugar and cocoa to a cream; sift in flour and cream of tartar; dissolve soda in hot milk, and quickly add to mixture; pour into greased sandwich tins, and bake 15 to 20 minutes. Use any filling desired.
Oatina Biscuits.—Two teacups Oatina, 1 egg, ½ cup flour, heap s.b.p., pinch salt, 1 teacup sugar, ¼lb melted butter, vanilla. If desired some chopped walnuts and one tablespoonsful treacle can be added. Method: Melt butter, add sugar and egg beaten. Oatina flour and salt, and lastly b.p. Place on cold tray in strips; bake about half an hour.
He leaned across the fence
And spoke to me—
A stranger in this place
Of gloom and bitterness.
Among the orchard trees,
Could only look—and look
Into those eyes, which told
Of things not known
To me and mine.
For we have always dwelt among the shadows;
And ever in our ears the roar
I told the stranger
That my eyes were dim with mountain mists,
And that there was
A greyness in my soul.
He spoke to me
Of blueness and of gorse.
He told me how the roses and the daffodils
Look beneath the moon at midnight.
He sang for me a bell-bird's song,
And then he sobbed the music of the sea.
Along the blackness of the road,
The calmness in my soul
Losing One's Train.
“Missing a train is a terrible business, even if you miss nothing else in consequence; and the inner disarray, the blow and wrench to thoughts and feelings, is now often far worse than any mere upsetting of arrangements. A chasm suddenly gapes between present and future, and the river of life flows backwards, if but for a second. It is most fit and natural to lose one's temper, but the throwing out of so much moral ballast does not help one to overtake that train!“—Vernon Lee.
Going Away and Arriving.
“Followed the awful excitement of the railway station, where we were brigaded into various parties and given posts to guard while the business of taking tickets and seats was transacted. There was no play about it now; we were off in earnest amid the grim realities of trains and engines; and our excitement took an almost fearful thrill, as though we had started some tremendous machine which we could not stop… But I remember these occasions chiefly as being associated with calm weather, and long sunsets, and the faint salt smell of the sea across the darkness.”—Filson Young.
A Story With a Moral.
The headmaster of the local school, and family, arrived from New Plymouth recently, to take up his new duties (says the “Taumarunui Press”). Owing to the deplorable state of the road both lorries conveying the furniture, were bogged for hours, and considerable damage was done to the household effects.