Skirts Up Getting Warm
Dear Lover:
Was hoping the last steamer would bring letters from you, but no luck at all, and I’m afraid when we get to Sydney there won’t be any either, for you haven’t had time to answer my letter saying to send them there. Do you think you get all my letters? I suppose they come in bunches, but do the dates run along in any sort of regular order? Wrote to Shang a couple of days ago and hope she gets it, for I sent some flower seeds that are lovely. Dear me, I’m ashamed to say I’ve been dreadfully down in the dumps lately. Just as I’d get to the weepiest stage, I would remember how you used to call me “kidney fat”, and then I’d really have to laugh. How I used to screech at the back door for John and you would come and sit on me, and I would meekly walk out to the barn, oh! I could yell my lungs out now if it would only bring you even to jump on me, you angel. I often wonder if I ever really will be back doing all these things, chasing downstairs to answer the phone, or send away a book agent, or to order a loaf of bread from Foxes. I so often dream of what it will be like when we come back, who’ll be at the station to meet us, then my trunks will go up to the back hall, and as I unpack things I run in to show them to you with your skirts up getting warm in front of Shang’s fire, but one thing that won’t be there is Shang in her red kimono, but I’ll be only to[o] glad to have her help me unpack, instead of her being in bed. Will you still call me “Baby” when I come back? Oh! I want you so badly – they’ll call us the Siamese twins when I come back, instead of my being your shadow, as I’m going to stick closer than a brother.
The people here are really almost too hospitable. I run out of ways of thanking them for all they do. They aren’t satisfied with calling and inviting me to tea perhaps, but must needs give a dinner for us, take us motoring, and send flowers. Now you know when all want to do such a lot, it keeps you rather busy, and my brain is in a whirl wondering what it is that comes next on the program. I have a surprise for you that I’m going to send. Perhaps you’ll get it in the mail with this. Not even father knows what it is. We sail on Friday the 13th for Sydney. I love you such a lot, and miss you all the time.
Alice
December 9, 1912
Your lovely long letter and a perfectly fine one from Shang just came and oh! They did help a lot, even tho’ I couldn’t get through them down stairs, but had to run up to my room where I could be by myself and have a beautiful time. Thank you heaps for the cards. I use such a lot, for so many people call that I just have to deal them out wholesale.
This picture shows some of the Maori gods that they carve on everything. They are wonderfully well done, and have pearl shells stuck in for eyes. You remember that blue taffeta hat affair I made at home? Well, I thought it was going to be perfectly useless, but since we have been in New Zealand I have lived in it. It rains here all the time, so I just put on my rubber cape and this hat, and don’t bother with an umbrella, but let it pour and really enjoy life.
Some of the English battleships are in the harbor, and the Admiral of the Navy is with them. Today we take lunch on board with “His Worship and Lord High Excellency Admiral King-Hall, X.Y.Z.”, etc. The invitation was a most impressive looking affair, so I suppose it will all be painfully formal. I told you, didn’t I, about their having so much tea in N.Z. A cup before you get up in the morning, morning tea at eleven with hot biscuits, bread and butter, and cakes, afternoon tea at four with all the cake, sandwiches, etc. and then always at nine or half past. Everyone does it – men, women and children. I think it is dreadful, and people know now that I don’t take any, but invite me out “just to talk”. In all the hotels this is served in the lounge, and everyone helps himself. In houses usually in the living room. I am going out to morning tea in a minute. Really I have been on the jump every minute here, and must start today paying calls. This letter goes to Sydney on our steamer, so if you get it you’ll know that “Friday the 13th” at least landed us safely. Tell Shang to plant some penstemons. I never heard of them, but she probably has, and they are lovely. Went to a garden yesterday where they had a border of shrubs all around the lawn, inside of that a row of larkspurs and foxgloves (they are a terrible weed here) then poppies and then these, so it was just one blaze of color.
Goodbye again,
December 11, 1912 Alice
Pony in my lap, lamb in the motorcar
Shang dear:
If you could see the gardens I had been fairly living in. It really made me ache the flowers were so lovely, and I am just pining to get home to grow things, anything just so I can dig in the ground and watch things come up. Mrs. Vallance fairly worships hers and just lives from one day to the next for it. She has heaps of splendid books on gardening conservatories ( I have added one to the southern side of my bungalow) etc. and these I studied by the hour. She is crazy to have some American seeds so I told her I would ask you to send them. Any special pets of yours like extra big larkspurs (didn’t you have some yellow ones?) or particularly good Canterbury bells, and if you think it would keep. She is so anxious for an American beauty cutting. Here are some N.Z. crown anemones, and are lovely, sort of like a poppy, only in all colors and they last beautifully for cutting for vases. Plant in rather sandy earth just below the surface, in the house so they will be ready to set out as soon as it is warm enough. I know you will like them. Mrs. V. is going to save you seeds from her Oriental poppy too, and will you send her name to Pete Henderson so that he will send her his catalogue every year. Her address is Mrs. C.F. Vallance, Kahumingi Masterton, N.Z. (I know you could not read that if I wrote it. I haven’t the remotest idea how much these things cost, but let me now. These stamps are some I happened to have.
You would love the life on these sheep stations. We were always doing something, watching them breaking in a horse, or teaching him to jump, shearing the sheep – which they do by electricity- training the sheep dogs, feeding the cute little lambs, and there was such an enormous family there that something exciting was always happening. I was reading on the davenport in the library one day and looked up, and there was a pony with his head in my lap. One of the boys had brought him in just for fun. Mrs. V. is a perfect angel, and lets them all do as they choose. The day I left they had a lamb in the motorcar seat beside me.
Have you read “Judith’s Garden”? If not do get it – by Mary E.B. Stowe. It is fine and I know you would like it.
We left Masterton Wednesday, and came down here by train, and I do believe we are going to leave out the south island. Father thinks it would be too cold, and they are having blistering weather in Sydney now, so we will probably sail next Friday for there. It is the 13th too, so this may be my last will and testament.
This is more civilized than any place we have been since Aukland – actually have an orchestra for dinner and a “lift”.
I really never saw such kind people as there are here. Mrs. Vallance was always doing something for me: bringing a new book, making little cakes, even sent away to have a couple of photographs printed that I admired, and sent to Christchurch for a copy of a Maori picture I liked. Since I got here she posted me a huge suit box full of her roses, swet peas and mingonette. The morning after we got here I think ten dozen people called all wanting us to go to dinner, tea or something. Now I don’t believe Americans would do so much or be so prompt for strangers.
They had a bad earthquake the other night and, of course, I slept right through it all. Was so mad the next morning when I heard them all talking about it.
Do tell me about everything you gave for Christmas, what you had given you, all that you did. Don’t miss a thing, for I fully expect to pass away on that day. I’ll be so lonesome thinking about you all, wondering what you are doing, where you had the tables, if you had a tree, who was there and all about it.
Heaps of love, Shangie
Alice
December 6, 1912
Cannibal King *****
[No date]
Angel:
Heaps of mail today, the first for five weeks and three glorious letters from you. Am so glad you had such a good time in Williamsport, and isn’t Shang getting gay and giddy? The morning after we got to Napier, Mr. Donnelly, to whom father had a letter of introduction, sent his car in for us and all our luggage, and before we knew just what had happened, we were whisked out to his house ten miles out, and is said to be the most beautiful place in N.Z., and I can easily believe it, for never have I seen such a paradise. Huge house, with countless rooms, dozens of servants, three cars, acres of ground, twenty five horses, fifty sheep dogs, and 100,000 sheep. His income I’ll leave to your imagination. His wife was a Maori princess, but died two years ago. Her father, by the way, was one of the most celebrated cannibals in the islands. When they went to England, she was presented at court, made a tremendous hit with everyone, and they were frequently entertained privately with the king and queen. Mr. D. is a dear, and turned everything over to me. Wanted me to invite people to dinner all the time, go motoring whenever I felt like it, and just have then run of everything. We spent nearly two weeks with him, and it certainly was glorious. Wished so often for you and Shang to see the gardens. I don’t exaggerate when I say there were thousands of different kinds of roses, and each one looked as if it had [been] come from a greenhouse. I used to go out and bring in great baskets full, and of all kinds of flowers too. Great orchards of every kind of fruit, and every vegetable you ever heard of. There were always heaps of people motoring out for lunch or tea or dinner. I always dressed in my best bib and tucker in the evening and it was all like a storybook. I felt so at home that I hated to leave, and he seemed really anxious to have us stay several months. I hope he will come to America some time, so we can do something for him. I couldn’t begin to tell you all he did for us, and in such a lovely sincere way. It made me feel as tho’ we were conferring on him the greatest favor and pleasure by being there to keep him company. When we were in Wanganui a month ago, just for an afternoon, we met a Mrs. Vallance at the fair who asked us to come and stay with her. I thought it was all politeness, so answered in a very conventional way, but while at Mr. D’s I got a letter urging us to really come. So here we are for a week probably, in about the same surroundings as at Mr. D’s – way out of Masterton. We go everywhere in the machines, live a most luxurious life: but real countrified as well, for we are on a “station”. They say “sheep station” instead of farm, and it is shearing time. We all go out to watch them shearing, feeding the dear little lambs, breaking the horses, etc. and then stroll through the lovely garden where there are more wonderful flowers than I ever imagined could be. I am so enthusiastic now to have a lovely garden. The most interesting thing of all is to hear them talk to the dogs just as if they were people, telling them what sheep to put in certain fields, or what ones to bring to the sheds, etc. and then the dogs go off, round up the sheep by themselves – put them in a field, close the gate, count them and if there is a strange one in, he chases him out. Or one missing, they sometimes go off for days in search of the lost one, and at last bring it home to his master. Isn’t it wonderful the way they understand!! In going along a road, if the dog sees a branch road or a hole in the fence, he runs ahead and stands there so the sheep can’t go the wrong way. Today is Thanksgiving day at home, and I wonder what you are all doing – if Mary is home, or you all with her. Here of course no one ever knows anything about it. Oceans of love and very best wishes for the new year.
Alice
Mumbles & Thunders
The Terraces Hotel Co.
B.C. Lowry Manager
Telegraphic Address:
“Onekeneke” Lake Taupo, Nov. 18, 1912
Angel dear:
You certainly get enough variety in my stationary, don’t you - this I think is particularly choice.
We only stayed over night at that funny little Inn at Wiatapu. Next day motored to Wairaiki, on the way seeing the Huka falls. Next morning we walked to the geyser basin and all over it. There were all kinds of queer spouts, geysers that they soaped to make them play and everything you could ever think of. That afternoon we drove to the Aratiatia Rapids which were beautiful and later coached to Taupo. Here we have been now for nearly a week and I shall be thankful tomorrow when we leave for there is absolutely nothing to do and I have devoured so many books my brain is all in a tangle. The fishing here is supposed very fine and people come clear from England just for that, but it has rained so hard that only one day was father able to go out. He went with some others and they picnicked and I believe had a good time, and with fine luck. But father cracked his rib and [it] hurt it badly & is now going around with a splint and rubber bandages on it.
There are fine baths right in the grounds. One that I go to every morning and evening is a big swimming pool of very hot sulphur and soda water, and at one end the water falls about six or eight feet in a tremendous volume. It is supposed to be fine for the nerves to let this play on your back & the end of your spine, and I think in time it might make me thin, for it is just like a powerful massage and feels like a thousand of brick landing on you but really it is fine. This one is down in the valley and about as far as up to Wilhelm’s through a thick woods. Last night when one of the women and I went down for our swim before going to bed, we were both in the pool and the lantern suddenly blew out. We had to scrape around for the towels and dress as best we could for it was pitch dark, and we had an awful time finding the path up the hill.
I nearly forgot – here am I the day we left Honolulu1, see Betty behind me? And also in my Samoa costume with little Katharine Crose – serving kava – isn’t the kava bowl lovely – it is carved out of one piece of wood, legs and all and of course the more legs the more valuable. After they use them for a while the kava tints the inside so that it looks like a huge opal. If it hadn’t been so hard to pack I should have loved one for a punch bowl or for fruit. The group was taken the day we walked down to Nuuuli to spend the night. Two of the naval officers wives and a half caste – the one on the left, who was Katharine’s nurse. She was so nice to me and did everything imaginable. It was her mother who made me the big tappa cloth, which I hope you have by now.
We are almost on the lake here and have a beautiful view of the mountains, which are covered with snow. That is absolutely all, except for a few Maori huts a mile away, and a little wee store. There is no railroad within 60 miles, and the coach calls three times a week. You can imagine how exciting it is here, especially when it rains all the time. There is a huge blow hole near here, and I amuse myself throwing tin cans at it, and the escaping steam shoots them back at me. It is awfully powerful and mumbles and thunders all the time.
Oceans of very best love,
Alice
1 see photograph
One Jerk Too Many
Foster’s Hotel
Wanganui, N.Z.
J.R. Foster, Proprietor
November 13, 1912
Sallie dearest:
I wrote only two days ago and you will doubtless get these two together but I just must have a little talk with you. This week has been awful so far and if it keeps up I shall be a wreck. First on Monday we got up at five, crossed the lake in a little boat, and it was so rough we were over an hour late – it took four hours and I never in my life was so sick, as well as almost freezing to death although I had on more clothes than I ever wear at home in winter. The coach met us there at Tokaano and we drove fifty miles, till seven that evening over mountain roads that beat Clarion county roads all to smash. Once we went into a rut clear over the hub & why the coach didn’t upset I shall never know. We all piled out. It took half and hour to dig us out and we had five horses too. We had a half hour for dinner at the most awful place I ever saw then took the train and got to Taumaruni at midnight. Up at five next morning to go down the Wanganui River in a sort of houseboat. It was awfully pretty but no more so than our river at home. In fact, not half as wide but full of rapids, etc. It was still dreadfully cold. I invested in a heavy, woolen, long sleaved corset cover & have simply lived in it. Had that, my blue serge dress, suit skirt and coat, big coat, rubber cape, and steamer rug and was cold even then. For the evening we got to Pipiriki where we spent the night. There were seventy five cadets from a military school in Canada there. They spotted me as an American at once and all came up and talked. Some could play the piano and the rag time and slang we had certainly did my heart good. They talked as though they meant what they said, while the people here seem afraid to express and opinion above a whisper, and even then it is never original but always the same thing over and over again. A lot of them wanted to buy Maori curios, etc. for their sisters and mothers, so I helped them and it quite seemed like the old days when I used to be at Culver1. Next morning, up again at five. Everyone put their luggage on a cart that took it down to the boat, just at the foot of the hill. We were there when it arrived and the driver backed up to unload this huge pile of “boxes” “blouse baskets” etc. when he gave the horses one jerk too many. The cart went over the pier, pulled the horse in too, and everything went sailing down the river. It took them quite a while of course to fish all of it out and by that time everything was soaked. Of course I had with me every silk dress and waist I possess, and most of the things are ruined because the colors all ran. My red diary seemed to have enough dye to spare for the whole suit case. My hand bag was inside in the very middle & inside it was a pair of chamois gloves which now are a beautiful shade of old rose from the lining of the pocket book. All the cadets went down on the boat with us. Five or six were Americans, so it made it real nice. We got to Wanganui at one, had lunch and spent the afternoon at the fair, which was just like ours. They had splendid horse races and jumping, but all the time I was thinking how it would be at home, in cottage for lunch etc. Everyone was so nice to us though, and the mayor gave us tickets to everything. The Canadian cadets were there drilling too, and were very good. They are just over here touring N[ew] Z[ealand] and Australia. That night some of them wanted me to go to the circus with them, but I didn’t think father would like me [to] leave him, so stayed in the hotel and started this, but didn’t finish so brought it here. We left Wanganui at 6:30 in the morning. All the trains here leave at the most awful hours and got here to Rapier last night. This is the best hotel we have struck since we left Rotorua, and this is about the order of the Loomis House. Honestly I don’t see how people can live in this day and generation the way they do in this country. All that coaching we did was not for pleasure, but is the only means of transportation over most of the country, and even when you do strike a train, our P.S.&C. is a flyer compared with these. I haven’t squeaked yet, but really think father is getting a little tired of this country, and am now in hopes that he won’t string it out much longer. His rib is getting better and doesn’t hurt him so much now. During some of the coaching we drove right through the snow on the tops of the mountains. That doesn’t seem so queer to you, because you are having winter, but with the summer here it did seem funny. It is much warmer here fortunately. My poor steamer rug is scarcely dry yet from the swim in the river the other day.
Yesterday was my birthday, and father never remembered. I am just going to wait and see when it dawns on him, but you may imagine it was rather gloomy for me. You can’t know till you have experienced it, what is not to have a soul that you can really talk things over with and tell things to, someone who will laugh with you over the little things that happen or that you see all the time. I just take them all in, jamb them down in my heart for as long a time as I can, and then suddenly they burst open the lid, and come out not as they went in, but as a mean, horrid temper. I guess it isn’t newly developed, for I think I always had it, but I have lost all control now and slam doors and fire things around the room till I am so ashamed I resolve never to be so weak again and don’t – till the next time, when I am just as bad or worse. But you know it really is a little tiresome to discuss the length of the wool on a sheep’s back, or whether or not I’ll have nice pudding, which by the way I have been living on. It seems to be their main stay in life, and I feel as though I never wanted to see the stuff again, but have to or go hungry. This is a nice way to talk in a Christmas letter, for I “daresay” you’ll get this about then. Oh! Angel do think of me then and miss me a little, won’t you? For I love you and want you so much. Here’s heaps of love for you all and the very best wishes for the merriest time.
November 15, 1912 Alice
1 Culver Camp, Culver, Indiana, USA: still in business in 2008. The Admiral was a benefactor of the camp, and Alice’s sons all attended Culver. http://www.culver.org
