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HAWKES BAY LIFE AS SHE WAS
BY KAY MOONEY
Life in Hawke’s Bay . . . yes, we need a magazine to record it in this centenary period. People in the next century will read it and try to assess what kind of people we were just as we look back and survey life in Hawkes Bay in the 19th century.
Social events, for example . . . either they were much better then than now, or else newspaper reporters were more easily excited. A columnist called Edith ran out of words in her excitement at describing these events for her column of Ladies Gossip in the Daily Telegraph.
When the Napier Rowing Club held a Ball in the Drill Hall, Edith really went to town on the fashions. Some of the ladies, she thought, mentioning them by name, looked simply beautiful. Others she found very nice while others still, poor dears, she found neat but not extravagant. A young lady dressed in black net was sternly and publicly reprimanded and told that she would have looked better had her dress been a little shorter. As it was, said Edith, it gave the impression that part of her drapery had come loose and was dropping to the floor and this was distracting to the other dancers.
Edith had a fashion assistant called Louie – m or f? – and Louie set the styles for the ladies of Napier according to information culled from the court of the Queen Victoria and from backchat from the very best circles in Berlin and Paris. In the 1870’s, Louie decreed that low bodices were in and that velvet and plush were the materials of the moment. Louie laid down strict rules for the borderline between what could be worn by the single girl and what by the married. Let the single girl sport ribbons and bows and sashes of watered silk to entice the men. The married women must be less frivolous; she has caught her man. However, she may try to drive him mad by being eccentric in her dress, something entirely denied to the single girl.
The permitted colours for the married women are steel grey, brown and dark green but she can make herself look fetchingly eccentric by decorating her dress with brightly-coloured birds or bunches of poppies . . . or even both together. Birds and flowers, says Louie, do not look excessive together and can safely be worn in the same garniture. An interesting word, garniture; presumably it falls somewhere between garish and furniture, a fair enough usage for a matronly figure decorated with birds and poppies.
A daring idea for evening dress was to wear just one side of the gown covered with full-blown roses, stitched together as closely as possible although Louie warns that this can look dashing on the right person but a little bizarre on another
Social life in the afternoon in Hawke’s Bay seemed to centre on the tea-meeting. The ladies of the Napier Presbyterian church held such a meeting and it sent Edith into raptures. Seven tables, she said, were radiant with silver-ware, fruit and flowers. The food quite amazed her … the jellies and floating islands were magnificent in shape and colour and … wait for it, this is true elegance … even the tea-leaves were well shaped. They knew how to live elegantly, those Presbyterians.
“Throughout the different colonies in which I have travelled,” Edith enthused, “I have never seen anything to equal it for the very low price of one shilling.”
Prominent in the social life of Napier was the new sport of roller skating. At the Elite Skating Rink in the building later to become the Gaiety Theatre, there was a regular programme of races and speed events with, as prizes, diamond brooches and gold watches. At least, that’s the way they were described. There were special sessions for the ladies with, “a large corps of polite and gentlemanly assistants always ready to instruct the ladies in the healthy art of roller skating.”
On the domestic front the forerunner of drip-dry was promising a revolution to save women from washtubs. It was the Edison shirt. For a brief time after its announcement it seemed as though laundries would go out of business. It was made of a material that looked like linen but it consisted of 365 layers of very thin paper. The soiled top layer was to be torn off every day and a special Leap Year shirt with 366 layers was available.
Sad to say, the Edison shirt never did catch on. Presumably the wearers made the wasteful discovery that just occasionally they had to tear a leaf off the inside as well and their years shirting would be used up by summer or autumn.
Another jump into the future was a forerunner of Social Security … a season ticket for the pleasures of hospital treatment. For the modest sum of one pound per year, the subscriber was entitled to all the benefits of the Napier Hospital. He could have his appendix or gall stones removed, a leg amputated, a brain trepanned … all for one pound. He could even have a post-mortem if he was determined to get full value for his money.
Home nursing got something of a fillip when the Superintendent of the Hospital conducted a course on the subject for the ladies of Napier. Needless to say, eager-beaver Edith was there, pencil in hand, happy to have the opportunity of attending what she called an intellectual discourse. The main instruction she seems to have absorbed is that the doctor considered a chinmey [chimney] in every room the most essential part of home nursing so that the stale air, rising upwards, could find an outlet. He strongly advised that home nurses should make it their first concern to see that the chimney was not blocked by old boots, bandboxes and bundles of straw.
Good old Edith, martyr to her profession, attended and reported on the football matches at the Recreation Ground in Napier. She made a quick survey of the fashions, commended those women who were suitably dressed for football-watching in tweed dresses and long, loose drapes and took a wicked side-swinger at the vulgar who distracted attention from the game by wearing tight-fitting dresses and bonnets of plush or velvet.
As a commentator on the game between Hawke’s Bay and an English team, Edith was a dead loss.
“Football is a very rough game,” she said, “and to see the jerseys torn and the blood streaming down is not pleasant for ladies. Our footballers dared and lost, for their pluck far exceeds their ability as players.”
The surrounding gentleman, however, were wonderfully kind to Edith and tried to help her understand and report on what was happening.
“I really only know what is happening when there is a scrummage,” she confessed, “and I can never remember which is our goal. I’m afraid all the gentlemen were smiling at my ignorance. They were SO vexed that Hawke’s Bay didn’t win but, as I told them, it was so much nicer that strangers who had come so far should have the pleasure of winning.”
Poor Edith … if she was useless as a sports critic, she was even worse as a music critic. She attended, and reported on, a piano recital in Napier by Mr Bonfield Akers. Mr B. Akers stopped playing and left the platform and said he could no longer play while people were talking.
Edith – presumably one of the culprits – waxed very indignant in her column and though [thought] the pianist presumptuous in the extreme to expect people to remain silent just because he was playing.
“Didn’t you ever feel brimful of laughter just when you should be extra sedate?” she asked her readers. “Well,, that’s how I felt. Fancy, never to be allowed to speak a word at a concert! What kind of entertainment would it be without an undercurrent of chat going on?”
Perhaps we can conclude our glance back into Life in Hawke’s Bay as She Was with a couple of child-interest stories, then, as now, always acceptable to readers.
One concerns a little hero, a young boy drowned while swimming. His younger brother came and tried to help him when he was seen to be in difficulties but the drowning boys said, very politely, “No, thank you. Don’t bother. No point in us both drowning. Goodbye. Remember me to Father and Mother.”
And then he sank. Presumably in a tidy stream of bubbles. Anyway, that’s the way it was reported. You can take it or leave it, as you please. Me, I’m leaving it.
The other story is nothing like as edifying but it has an authentic ring. It concerns a fond mother who did not believe in punishment but thought she could gets results by appealing to the better nature of her child. “My darling,” she said, “if you continue to be naughty, you will grieve poor Mama so much that she will get ill and then she will have to lie in a dark room and take horrid medicines and she may even die and then she will have to be taken in a hearse to the cemetery to be buried …”
“And can I ride on the box-seat of the hearse with the coachman?” asked her child.
Not a very fetching sort of child, perhaps, but he sounds as though he would be more at home in Hawke’s Bay life today than Edith, the reporter, being archly feminine at a football match in floating panels of loosely-draped grey tweed.
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