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It Strikes
Me
By ALLAN
DAWES
Last year I had a White Christmas, in 1943 a
black one, in 1942 a hybrid. This year, like a lot
of worthier people, I'm spending Christmas at
home for the first time in four years and I'm here
to say I'm looking for a Black and White Christ
mas.
LAST Christmas night I spent
walking the wintry wind-
swept. streets of Washington look
ing for the hardest thing to find
in the capital of the United States
—a bed for the night.' The one I
found — at 5 a.m.— "was the hard-
r it, thing in Washington all
right. There wasn't a taxi to be
had for lave or even money, be
cause of some gasoline ration
ing quirk. Hie streetcars had been
derailed hy the sleet, every house
was a white house.
The Christmas before, I Jeeped
through lanes of rotting Japs to
odd hideouts on the Huon Penin
sula. in New Guinea, tracking
down the canteen turkeys to
check-up whether the boys were
really getting them. Ihad three
Christmas dinners.
Christmas, 1942. I dined off a
can of bully and tepid tea made
from water from Leaping Lena..
the- locomotive of I, he Spirit of
Protest.. North Australia's comic
train — right, on the site of the
Elscy Station, where Mrs Gunn
put. "We Of the Never Never" to- (
-ether. I was returning overland
from Darwin, with a hunch of sur
vivors of the corvette Armadale,
sunk in the Arafura.
It was the Never Never, I'll say.
?
Music With Tears
IF you ever knew Melba in her
habit as she lived, I will defy
you to hear without tears the
radio story of her life which 3DB
is preparing to broadcast. I
heard it in part in rehearsal to-
day, apprehensive every moment
someone would nudge me into
waking from the dream. Melba,
the Voice that lifts you on wings
of song somewhere beyond Cloud
Cuckoo Land and the Nellie Mit-
chell that scarifies you with the
rough side of her tongue, both
live and breathe through every
word, every note of it.
Characteristically, it takes
four people to play Melba. Stella
Power, the "Little Melba" of
other years, brings to life the rich
coloratura of the mature Melba.
Patricia Kennedy, after close
study of recordings and coach-
ing by friends and members of
the family, is the speaking voice,
and bobby-sox Melba singing at
eight years Comin' Thro' the Rye
and See Me Dance the Polka, in
the Richmond Town Hall, is
Kareen Wilson. Kareen is only
eight and really may be a Melba
one of these days, for she is an
entirely charming little miss.
The growing-up Melba between
15 and 30 is Glenda Raymond.
All that symphony orchestra
and massed choirs could add are
there, but over all is the domi-
nant. vibrant personality of
Melba, great- singer. great
woman, great Australian.
Melba 's Farewell of the Albert
Hall in 1926, with an Australian
Test Cricket. Team in the Royal
Box, Australian wounded soldiers
in the box of the Prince of
Wales . . . her gallant speech
(she was 67), "Dear Friends and
Dear Countrymen" — they are
all here.
The story of Melba will come
to you in half-hour episodes.,
maybe 50 or more of them.
The singing class at the Pres
byterian Ladies' College. of
which young Nellie Mitchell once
was a member, trooped In to 3DB
studio to contribute to one epi-
sode and more than one of the
characters in the story plays
himself.
?
Ash And Carry
\ CAULFIELDER tells me he
hadn't, had sir/ht or sound
n/ his dustman in months,
until this week. Now the ash-
can juggler heralds his ap
proach with three cowbells on
his drag and knocks or rings
l.o remind you bl changed
collection times over the fcs-\
live season.
You've got to hand it to,
them!
Darwin Service
JT'G time a few people realised
that service at Darwin in what
ever arm of the forces, in 1343.
was onerous and dangerous when
the heat was on and darned bor
ing when the heat was off.
The sentiment. Isn't entirely
mine and. as I have heard It
voiced lately, not entirely that;
of men whose service was con-!
fined to Darwin. '
It comes from square-shooting
soldiers with Mid-East and
Pacific operational service that
entitles them to speak.
I know you can have too
many campaign ribbons and too,
many people wearing them, and!
I know that It. Is hard to draw
the line. But I doff my new
austerity tile to the boys who.
rain or raid, manned the ack-
ack guns on the northern air
fields. and the radars In their,
hide-outs— perfect magnets for
Japanese bombs— or kept 'em
rolling on the open road.
?
Couldn't the conditions of
the Defence Medal, the boys
ask, be broadened to include
those who had to take it so
often and dish it out so sel
dom?
k
Let's Spruce Up
XVE all have our favorite cor
ners. One of mine in Mel
bourne is Carpentaria Place, j'
where over the evergreen tops in
the Parliaiment precincts, you
sight a skvline divided by a ,
trinity of spires, and on your;
right lies a quiet green patch |
enriched with a fountain and the ;
statues of two Gordons — Adam
Lindsay and the lion of Khar
toum.
But, alas, the fountain doesn't
bubble sparkling to a crystal pool.
It's dry and dirty and there's
refuse on the pool, the ragged ,
remnant of an ancient by-laws
notice flutters like a scarecrow;
from a crumbling post, and an|
unlovely bin crouches under one |
of the palms. 1
Opposite, the. Tramway Boards'
passenger shelter strikes the only
discordant, note in a group of |
harmonious architecture. |
I've a jccling some of its;
ant so used to being dowdy,
during the war we're maybe,
tempted, to be smug about i
our shabbivess. '
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