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The New Zealand Railways Magazine, Volume 7, Issue 1 (May 1, 1932.)

Our Women's Section

page 57

Our Women's Section

A Talk On The “Talkies.”

The other day I heard a “high-brow” friend denouncing vehemently the “regime” of the Talkie—not only were they thoroughly harmful to society and “lowering” to the intellect of the young generation—but according to her they were responsible for neglected homes, false ideas of right and wrong, and crime in general!

“The people of our country are being entertained with a petty form of amusement,” she said, “because their intellectual ability is regarded as not existing!”

I flippantly suggested that no doubt she would expect a woman, tired and depressed after a hard day of unromantic housework, to find relaxation and pleasure in a Greek tragedy.

Why do we go to the “Talkies?” Surely to escape for two hours from the often uninteresting routine of our daily lives—to live for a brief moment in, not necessarily an ideal world—but at least in a world which offers many joys impossible for us. Like Cinderella we can dance at the Ball, and twelve o'clock will strike all too soon. And the effect is hardly one of dissatisfaction with our lot—most of us are philosophical enough to accept our pleasures for what they are worth to us. Seldom do we muse in misery on what we have seen and heard at the “Talkies”—we laugh, we criticize, we weep—and we forget.

Most women pick up a book for the same reason—to escape. For always in the human race is this tendency to dwell in the realms of romance, from the days when the young knights of King Arthur went off in search of the Holy Grail. We are still looking for it—and if our search leads us into the cheap seats of a “Talkie,” it is nevertheless health-giving and harmless.

If you have to live in a tiny house—replica of hundreds of others in a row, if you have to do the washing every Monday, iron, cook, mend and bring up a noisy, lovable family—why should you not be dazzled by the lights of “Broadway,” see the old Thames gliding under the Tower Bridge where once your grandfather played, and be ravished by “creations” from Paris? And is this harmful to your morals and “lowering” to your intellect? Most emphatically not!

Think of all the “Talkies” represent in this year of grace, 1932! It is as if we had borrowed the Magic Carpet of our childhood days and can sail away to unknown lands. How many people have never been to London, the heart of the world? Yet now, for one and sixpence, they can stand (and not in imagination) page 58 beneath the dome of St. Paul's—they can wander through the heart of Africa hunting big game—they can listen spellbound to the world's greatest musicians. Surely this is an advantage indeed—a curtain is lifted and new realms are displayed to us, more realistically than those in books—for we can see and hear things as they actually are.

We smile at the “Film Fan” who is an absolute authority on Norma Shearer's eyebrows or Ronald Coleman's personal taste in ties; we sometimes deplore the Yankee slang which is creeping into the language of our six-year-old son, who answers “O.K. big boy” to his father—but any moderate person must admit that “losses on the round-a-bouts mean gains upon the swings.”

Out here in this tiny island, swept about by the Great Pacific, we are far from the pulsing life of the Continent, but a whisper comes to us from the “Talkies.” We cannot often hear great pianists nor be present at “first night” appearances of London's geniuses, but we would be foolish indeed if we were to scorn the opportunity of laughing with Ralph Lynne, of suffering with Ruth Chatterton—if we were “above” the absurdities of Marie Dressler and unimpressed by the realism of Gerald du Maurier. Therefore—“Long Live the Talkies,” and may they long continue to offer us their gifts!

All of us who are worth anything spend our manhood in unlearning the follies, or expiating the mistakes of our youth—Shelley.

Poise.

Have you ever listened in amusement to your grandmother describing “her young days”—how she tied her exquisitely worded love-letters with blue ribbon —how she thrilled with the excitement of a new dress—how she was made to walk for hours with a book on her demure little head to secure a “graceful carriage”—how she sat in a straight-backed chair and never lounged gracelessly against the mantel piece, for all the world like a dashing young man? You smiled at their efforts to gain that indefinable poise, but you had to admire the grace with which they sailed into a ballroom—the confidence with which they descended the stairs or charmingly dominated a drawing-room.

It has been the fashion lately to cultivate a careless slouch—and many a young twentieth century Diana has deliberately slouched her straight little back in an effort to acquire the necessary boyish swagger and air of reckless defiance demanded by Fashion. And now—with the advent of curls, and frills, and muffs and femininity she is finding it tremendously difficult to be graceful. It is absurd, she knows, to stride blithely whistling in a semi-crinoline, to cross one leg carelessly over her knee, to perch jauntily on tables or lounge indolently in armchairs. She must have “poise.” And how to gain it —that is the question! Being adaptable, and a natural actress, she will cultivate grace with all the enthusiasm with which she once courted a deliberate gaucherie.

page 59

A pretty face is not even half the battle now-a-days—and many people quite ignore the charm which lies in posture—how you walk, how you stand, how you sit—so seemingly trivial, yet so indescribably fascinating. There are some people whose every movement you love to watch, even if they are ironing, making a cake, or executing any mundane little task—for they have a natural beauty of movement.

Hundreds of men will tell you how an attitude will impress itself indelibly upon the mind—you standing by the window, you walking down the stairs to meet him, you sitting by a dreamy fire, you stooping to pick a flower, or reaching up to hang clothes on the line. This poise, this grace of movement can be yours with little trouble—think of it constantly in every thing you do—and “the poetry of motion” will become a habit.

Autumn Song.

Can you hear the little God of Autumn
Laughing in the trees,
Mocking in the breeze,
Sobbing in the chill of evening?
Can you see the little artist Autumn
Splashing with his gold,
Dashing with his crimson,
Tinting with a reckless vivid hand,
Till the land
Is warm and yellow;
Till the hearts of men are mellow
And they love the elfin fellow?
Can you hear the little God of Autumn
Sweeping through the land?
Can you see the last of Summer,
And can you understand?

—S.G.M

Very Nourishing.

A flip is excellent. Just mix two tablespoons of cold milk in a cup with two teaspoons Ovaltine and eat it with a spoon. Ovaltine is delicious this way, and one does not tire of it. Children love it in place of sweets. For an eggnog, fill a glass with hot or cold milk, whisk one egg and pour into the milk, add two teaspoons Ovaltine, and stir until dissolved.

A little sprinkled over helpings of bread pudding makes the latter much more attractive and improves the flavour at the same time.

Autumn Orchard.

I walked
One afternoon beneath the trees
That whisper
In my orchard.
Beneath the trees that crowd and sway
And flaunt their colours,
Blood and gold-flecked,
In my orchard.
They dropped their frail vivid leaves
For me–
To walk upon.
And I
Walked lightly on their dreams
That afternoon.

—S.G.M.

A quick, easy way to remove the rough, red traces of dish-washing from your hands, leaving them soft and smooth, is to rub in Sydal Hand Emollient. This makes the reddest and roughest hands beautiful, soft and white. Women who do their own housework find Sydal a wonderful boon. 1/-, 2/- and 7/6 jar.