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The New Zealand Railways Magazine, Volume 13, Issue 7 (October 1, 1938)

News in Prints

News in Prints.

Printed silks are flowery. Flowers may make a small all-over pattern; they may be scattered, slightly larger, in bunches; they may grow in rows.

Linens are delightfully original. For frocks, designs are floral, e.g., a white linen printed with large red sunflowers. For beach wear, one looks for novelty prints showing yachts, or sunshades, or anything that's rather ridiculous on a dress material.

It's the furnishing linen which interests me most. The idea is to have curtains in plain linen, and upholstery in a printed linen, or vice versa. For a den, consider brown linen curtains and a brown and white printed linen for chair coverings. Think of red and red-and-white for a cheerful dining-room, and green and green-and-white for a drawing-room or bedroom.

A successful drawing-room features grey and yellow. The upholstery is in grey, piped with yellow, and the curtains are printed in an unusual grey, yellow and white design.

Note the importance of white in furnishing and in furnishing fabrics. The use of unstained wood has a great deal to do with this fashion.

London, 20th July, 1938.

Dear Helen,—I had hoped this week to make another trip to Paris during the Royal visit, but unfortunately John is tied to London for the present. The King and Queen left for France this morning. Last evening we saw the crimson hangings in readiness at Victoria Station, and cleaners were being specially zealous over their sweeping. A large shop opposite is very patriotic with bunting.

But Paris is the place for preparations! Crowds have thronged the streets this week to see the decorations. The populace has responded nobly to the appeal of the President of the Municipal Council: “Put flags in your windows. Decorate your houses. Let the colours of the two nations float everywhere interlaced.” There will be a wonderful response to “Cheer the King. Cheer the Queen.”

The headlines in the press are growing bigger and bigger. We hear of masts bearing long red white and blue streamers in the Champs Elysee, of pylons each carrying 128 flags in the Place de l'Etoile, of 80,000 roses transforming the Avenue de l'Opera into a lane of flowers—and of Parisiennes wearing Union Jacks on their stockings.

Yes, I'd love to be over there where the wine of life is a-sparkle on the boulevards and even the Anglo-Saxon stranger is elated by the easy bubbling gaiety.

London seems drab in comparison, even though painters have been busy for weeks hiding the winter's grime. Here, summer is not bearing out the promise of the spring. Morning after morning we set out with raincoat or umbrella, knowing that ere long showers will splash down. That is why English people are weather pessimists.

Shows, where attendances dropped abruptly during the short hot spell in June, are benefiting from the cooler weather. We have patronised quite a few.

On Saturday evening, as a farewell to friends, we made up a party for the circus. I had looked forward so much to a first-class English circus—but I was disappointed. There was a blaring band, and a circus ring, and a ring-master and half a dozen clowns—but the circus atmosphere was missing. We were cut off by a row of footlights and the proscenium from the canvas, the sawdust—and the animal odours. The turns were all good — performing seals, elephants, dogs, an unrideable mule, and acrobats and equestrians galore—but I merely felt bored. I thought perhaps it was my fault, but John says he felt the same.

Straight plays are the safest things to attend. I believe you had “George and Margaret” in New Zealand at Easter. Isn't it a delightful play? It's still running here and shows no signs of closing down. Another long run is that of “French Without Tears,” but I didn't enjoy it nearly so much. It's not such a natural play, and the jokes presuppose in the audience a considerable knowledge of the French tongue—all right in London, judging by the immediate response of most of the audience, but the same gags would fall rather flat in New Zealand, where we're certainly taught to read French,