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The New Zealand Railways Magazine, Volume 8, Issue 1 (May 1, 1933)

Our Women's Section

page 53

Our Women's Section

Vagabonds

“I know not where the white road runs
Nor what the blue hills are,
But a man can have the sun for friend
And for his guide, a star.”

They say that man is constantly and repeatedly shewing traces of his early life on this globe. No matter how deep the crust of civilisation or how strong the armour of habit and culture, he cannot quite escape from his long dead past. It persists throughout the centuries of toil and progress, through ages of struggle and development, through devastation and despair to glory and conquest, until man has achieved the almost incredible enigma which is twentieth century civilisation.

How he crosses vast continents in mere days, wings his daring way over great oceans, builds his towering cities and lives his complicated life, part of a vortex of movement, and society demands of him that he shall adopt her rules. Generally speaking success is achieved only by struggle and by stoic perseverance. We must stick at the job if we want to “get” anywhere. The man or woman who stays on the spot and masters his little area of knowledge is the economic success of to-day— a day of highly specialised labour. It is commonly believed that “a rolling stone gathers no moss.” Yet there are stones so small and slippery that no moss will deign to grow thereon, though they have moved not one inch in a thousand years!

Some people look with disdain and lofty pity upon the vagabonds of this world. From their secure little niche in society, from the safety of an office stool with the comfort of a “pay sheet” and the knowledge of ultimate promotion, they hear or read about the wanderers, about the men who “can't settle down,” who complain of feeling stifled by the routine of existence and deafened by the roar of modern machinery—men who can't stay long in one place, who seek the great spaces, and who dwell first in one city, then in another— citizens of none. Such they regard as socially useless—yet deep down in their hearts they envy the vagabond—envy him his freedom, his everchanging horizon, the breadth of his soul though his pocket be empty and his “home fire” has never burnt.

The vagabond has brought with him a memory of the days when his forefathers roamed in nomadic tribes over the face of the earth—he has inherited a restlessness and a wanderlust which he cannot satisfy. Perhaps there flows in his veins the blood of a daring Marco Polo, the spirit of adventure, which drove the Vikings across the bitter North Sea; the quest for strange things, which sent Elizabeth's sailors round the world. Who knows?

In every language there are stories of vagabonds, gypsies, minstrels, wanderers. Literature abounds with them and history is thronged with the figures of explorers and adventurers who heard the call of the unknown and who could not be tied by the powerful chains of home, security and comfort.

Since the War the vagabond has come into his own, and has wandered to the uttermost parts of the earth and become a “citizen of the world.” The tendency towards internationalism and racial brotherhood has helped him.

But from our point of view, actually in New Zealand, living in cities and acquiring a national spirit of our own, we need not stifle aud suppress our innate desire to move—rather encourage it. So many people know not their own land, and are so busy with the business of living that they haven't time to know where they do live! Later they don't even want to move, so comfortable is their little rut.

page 54

When holidays come—be a vagabond. You must stay in one place to “gather your moss,” but once a year you can be a nomad—you can know the glorious exaltation of the gypsy.

Travel through your own country, wander, explore, and discover for yourself its beauties.

“Beyond the East the sunrise,
Beyond the West the sea—
And East and West the wander-thirst
That will not let me be.”

Autumn Fashions.

A New Idea!

I met a girl the other day, who said she always preferred the winter for dressing. Summer clothes were such a nuisance, so many frills and flounces now to keep crisp and fresh.

There is something so comforting about autumn and winter, after the wispy ephemeral summer; we almost look forward to a dependable tweed skirt. The girl who can look a devastating vision in flowered voile and a picture hat should be able to look just as attractive in sporting tweeds, vivid jumpers, and dashing scarves. She must borrow the spirit of the season and snatch eagerly all the colour and flame of falling leaves. When a keen wind sweeps over the city, and the sun has lost some of its generous warmth she will be gay—a challenge.

You remember how everyone was knitting last year? In fact I have heard husbands complain they could never have a sensible discussion with wives ! “Be quiet a minute, dear— knit one, purl one!”

This year the craze is to be even more preyalent —everything is to be knitted and you will see the most attractive schemes imaginable. Even men will not despise a tie or pull-over.

Here is a new idea from England, and just the thing for now—because it can transform one frock a dozen times. In the sketch you will see a plain woollen frock such as we all have, and are wondering what to do with—still quite good, but not the “latest thing.” All you have to do is to choose some colours which will be outstanding and contrasting and knit yourself a smart little beret, a jaunty scarf and a wide, close-fitting belt, as in the sketch. Behold a transformation—and you can have as many as ever you want! Some people even knit bags and deep cosy cuffs.

Our Beauty Note.

“We live in a woman's world,” I read the other day. “The place is absolutely run for them now and soon will be run by them.”

I felt extremely sceptical about this. True enough that women have emerged rather aggressively and with much spectacular display from their age-old obscurity. Naturally they are absorbing rather more than their share of attention just at present, and are very much “to the fore” in all things. But surely a balance will be achieved, and from being merely ornamental, women will be useful too. We must not concentrate too wholeheartedly upon our equality with men, and although we have revolted from the long accepted idea that our sphere in life is to be beautiful—we must not altogether forget it. Once a woman's only claim to notice lay in her charms and they were her sole weapon in the struggle. Now it is believed that she actually possesses quite remarkable brain powers—so that she no longer has to rely entirely upon her face as her fortune.

Yet we still wish men to idealise us and to admire our beauty.

There are so many artificialities and cults and so many methods of acquiring beauty that the business girl of to-day is tempted sometimes to give up the struggle. She simply can't be bothered, and hasn't time.

But here is a point to remember. Although you have hundreds of things to think about beyond yourself, try always to be well groomed. This is far more important than being ultra-fashionable. Too many girls concentrate any spare energy they may have upon clothes alone and forget the little things that matter, such as beautifully brushed and well-cut hair, hands which have had a little attention beyond soap and water, teeth which shine, and a skin which glows with health and care. Holes in gloves, heels down-trodden, a hastily darned ladder, safety-pins—all these are impossible to the wellgroomed girl. She knows how much they matter, and sometimes she will spend money on general repairs rather than on acquiring at once what Fashion has decreed shall be worn this winter. This woman has a sense of proportion.