September 21, 2008
Published: NZ Farmer, Dec 1964
Programmes for women’s meetings cause a lot of concern to those responsible and any fresh ideas are welcome, so I wondered if there are any groups who have not yet tried “a good old talk.”
We all know how at every meeting there are the women who will readily express their views and the many who sit quiet as mice. One wonders what on earth they are thinking and would dearly love to hear their opinions, but through silence, nerves or something they remain completely silent.
Try discussion groups. We have found these very stimulating and worthwhile. Discuss what you like, something that pertains to your club, or wider topics, but plan beforehand to have one leader for each group, one to take notes and a speaker to present to the whole gathering the conclusions.
Groups of about six people are idea, seated here and there around the hall, with, preferably, a table – a sort of round-table conference – and mix the types and personalities well. Have pencils and paper for notes, and, if desired, printed sheets of the topics to be discussed, or a speaker to present each question to the whole assembly.
Once tried, I feel sure you will feel this is something you will want to repeat in your programmes. Even the shyest-in-a-meeting woman will talk around a table in a small group, and some very valuable and helpful ideas are often contributed. It’s an ideal subtle way of finding hidden talent too, and I believe increases members’ confidence and general friendship through getting to know one another better, and results in a better, brighter, stronger, more vital club.
– Chain (Waikato)
September 21, 2008
Originally published in NZ Dairy Exporter
Recently I visited my only sister. We live a long distance apart so it is always and event when we meet. Unfortunately one of my children became ill while we were there, but after a few anxious days and with the help of a doctor and kindness from everyone, we had the wee darling fit and happy once more.
While we two mothers talked and talked our off-spring fought and fought! I guess it’s a healthy sign of abundant energy and an expression of cousinly love! The children all vow they had a lovely time. We mothers did anyway. We talked of many subjects. Pardon me if I change the old familiar lines a bit but we talked of… “Shoes and sheets, and kiddies’ ’scraps’ and cabbages and Queens.”
My sister showed me how to make professional belt loops (or keepers) on frocks, and how to make mince, simply delicious and brown, and we exchanged hints and ideas on this, that and the other thing. I liked her new hat so much I’ve got almost its twin now!
With four little girls between us, our daily chores went on, only with nice long lie-ins for me and I suppose earlier rising for my sister, but believe me into a short holiday we crammed a lot of chatter dear to a woman’s heart.
– Spun Silk
September 21, 2008
Originally published New Zealand Woman’s Weekly, 1953
“Snifty’s” amusing tale of the teacher who caught on fire reminded me of an almost forgotten episode of my school days. It was a small country school I attended mith a very high stud and very draughty doors, so in winter it was anything but warm.
There was a small stove used for warming the room and boiling water for our mid-day cup of cocoa. The teacher was a lady of broad proportions, who was at times (with good reason, no doubt) loud of voice, sarcastic and irritable. One cold, frosty morning teacher was in a truly bad mood, none of us escaping the brunt of her tongue, and the only thing that kept us warm was our agility in dodging chalk which she hurled at us from time to time from her stance right in front of the little stove.
Just when, smarting from cold and the bite of teachers tongue we were all beginning to think childhood was the worst time in our lives, an ominous scorching smell pervaded the room. Teacher’s temper was pretty hot, but surely it wasn’t actually scorching! Then “Oh!” screamed the teacher, jumping smartly away from the roaring fire with both hands over her posterior. There was our teacher well and truly on fire. Her smock had a big round hole burnt in it by the time the little blaze was extinguished.
It is significant to note that thenceforward the the warmth of the stove was left unobstructed to be shared and appreciated by all.
- J.B.J.
September 21, 2008
Originally published: 1953, Woman’s Weekly
We had been to town, and while strolling along the street I had shown my little four-year-old the picture theatre. That evening when I walked into the room where my children were playing just in time, unobserved, to see four-year-old inviting toddler to be seated on a cushion on the floor. “Sit down, Betty, and keep quiet,” she said. “We’re at the picture ‘fleatre’!” I could not help but laugh at her childish word confusion. The title seemed to me so apt as I recalled a certain little country cinema in days gone by before health regulations had the powers they have today,
- Wairuna
May 16, 2008
We have a town home and brand new garden now, so settling in has kept me busy. Making the change from country life was by no means painless. How fond one grows of one’s old friends and neighbours and the so-familiar surroundings. Still, life moves on with something new, every day, and we find ourselves busy and absorbed.
It’s lovely now to be able once again to have flowers. Six months ago all there was around us was a sea of mud. I must share with you this “gem” from my 11-year-old daughter. I think it illustrates beautifully the modern young miss, growing up, as I guess we all do in our turn, with that fascinating mixture of ultra-sophistication and complete naive-ness. Out of the blue one day she declared, “Mum, if you would only dye that grey hair, wear stiletto heels and give me oysters for breakfast, you would be a lovely mother!”
– “Wairuna” (Waikato)
May 14, 2008
Originally published in New Zealand Farmer, 1954
This happened years ago in a bush camp in the outback of Australia. A dear old gentleman I once knew used to delight in relating this tale. In his youth, during a trip, he chanced upon a lonely bush camp shared by two typical Aussies of the old school. They insisted he stay overnight with them, so, tired and hungry, the prospect of a meal and somewhere to sleep appealed and he accepted with thanks. Came mealtime, the first course of tinned meat and potatoes was shared among the three.
With great pride in their culinary achievement, the hosts next brought to their crude table a steaming hot suet pudding – the kind known in those days as a “spotted dick”, a long, sausage-shaped white pudding spotted with sultanas. The guest of the evening eyed the pudding in secret anticipation. A favourite of his was a “spotted dick”
Alas, however, for his watering mouth and pleasant expectations for, with a flourish, one of the hosts wielded his knife, slashed the pudding clean through the centre, pushed one half on to his cobber’s plate, retained the other for himself and proudly announced to the dumbfounded guest, “Me and me pal likes ends o’ puddin’.”
- Wairuna (Cambridge)
May 14, 2008
Originally published July 1962
Received 5/-
I awoke this morning to find myself staring a snail in the eye. No, I didn’t sleep under the hedge last night – just in my cosy bed in the bedroom of our brick house, but friend small could not have slept at all surely, for he had found his way up the brick wall, in tghrough the open window, across the sill, and I awoke, just in time, thank goodness, to arrest his descent down the wallpaper. It is quite common to find snails stuck upside down to the wide eaves around our house and I wonder what sends them up there when there is so much shelter and food for them in the garden.
And please can anyone tell me how worms by the dozen get on to a two feet high concrete terrace? After heavy overnight rain our terrace is alway covered in worms, all pink, helpless and horrible. I can’t work out how they get up there. They never seem capable of getting off. This only happens at night – never in a daytime downpour, which causes me to wonder whether worms, like hedgehogs, come out at night.
This worms-on-the-terrace problem has me so puzzled that if no satisfactory answer is forthcoming I shall lie in wait one rainy night just to see how it happens.
– Spun Silk
May 12, 2008
Originally published: about 1956
It’s an ill wind that blows no good, “Scorpio,” as you will see. I told my children about your children’s escapade – sliding down a muddy bank in their bathing suits. My imps chuckled in great glee and enquired what the “kiddies’ mother said.” So I told them you just collapsed in a chair and gasped, and I gave them a practical demonstration. They giggled some more.
Then, as it was a wet day, and I was actually in the middle of adorning my kitchen with wet napkins, meantime sliding on pegs, crayons and plastic toys, stepping over the youngest sucking her thumb in the preserving pan (her boat) and kicking pot lids, dolls and cut-outs right and left out of my way as I worked, when I began your story, I decided I’d better return to my job.
But, of course, as you know, the children had no intention of being dropped just like that. “Tell us about it again, Mummy,” they pleaded. “Well,” thought I, “if I keep repeating the ‘Scorpio’ story, I’ll make no headway.” Then my brain did a wonderful thing, a grand idea popped up. “Why not,” I suggested, “get your scribbling books and draw the Scorpio children sliding in the mud?” It clicked! The good part of your ill-wind reached right down here.
For several days after that, when “Spun Silk” was at her wit’s end trying to invent a new pastime for her house-bound family, someone would remember the “Scorpio kids” and out would come the drawing material again. Eventually we had abstract, realist and what-have-you sketches galore of little “Scorpios” and collapsed adult “Scorpions” – and peace for mum to get on with her chores.
- Spun Silk
May 12, 2008
Originally published: September 1962
Everyone is conscious of the campaign to raise funds for Freedom from Hunger, collections having recently been made throughout the country. I would like to put forward an idea which I hope will appeal to New Zealand women,. If every women’s association throughout the country introduced a Freedom from Hunger tin at their meetings, wherein each meeting members would slip a silver coin, then when the tins grew full the proceeds could be sent to Corso, Wellington, for the relief of hunger. If this scheme was adopted a very substantial sum of money would become available, even if every member of every organisation put in as little as threepence per month.
– J.J. (Cambridge0
