The Coolidge examiner., 1937-07-01


out sleeves, white shirts clean as
new snow, and tiny skullcaps like
those of college freshmen, only
made of straw.
Every Man Has His Big Pipe.
Some of these men come down
from the high pastures to attend
the fete. Each has his inevitable
pipe, huge and cumbersome, with
lid to keep the sparks from flying
on windy day.
Behind their lords cheerfully
the maids and matrons, fuil-scale
models of the infants. Broad
brimmed hats with black velvet
streamers set off the good looks of
these blond Swiss demoiselles and
their brilliant dresses.
You turn to your Swiss friend,
who has brought you here to his
favorite village and knows his ma
tive land like a book. II always
understood that costumes were nev-
er worn any more in Switzerland.
You see them only in picture post
cards-models dressed up in mu-
scum clothes and posing for the
photographers"
"Oh, no." he says. "the people Of
Gruyere take pride in their cos
tunes and cling to them. Once the
garments were practically aban-
doned, but patriotic societies for
preserving costumes delved into rec
ords and drawing Of early days
and these are the treasure-trove.
They are Gruyere.
Women don the bright dresses
only on fete days, but the men wear
theirs daily. even when herding cat
tie in the high pastures or making
the famous Gruyeres cheese.
The joyous parade meanwhile cir
cles the fountain and comes back
up the street, children toddling,
their fathers and brothers still stern
and solemn in military formation.
1t is to the village shrine beneath
an overhanging cave that the pro-
cession winds. Here they gather,
young and old, in circle and sing
the chorals and rollicking folk bal
lads, as their forefathers had before
| them.
Suddenly. as the last note of the
last song dies away, terrific bang
is heard far down the court. All
eyes turn, to sea rocket bursting
in the air. the sparks falling into
the gay crowd. This is the signal
the youngsters have been awaiting.
Forgetting their lace and silk cos
tunes. they rush pell-mell toward
the man with the fireworks.
Fireworks and Feasting.
Soon all are swinging sparklers,
Roman candles, and red flares tc
make a fantastic sight in that an
cient courtyard. Arched windows
gilded coats of arms hanging from
house fronts, and bright flags stand
out brilliantly in the glaring light
If some old man-at-arms came
to life and poked his head out oi
a window, the ghostly scene anc
popping din may have made him
think the counts army was defend
ing the town from a night attack
Is this Switzerland? That 'staic
land of snow-capped mountains and
winter sports, where folk never wear
costumes or perform the old dances?
A whirling cartwheel, on post
above the fountain, is the mad eli
max to the fireworks spectacle
While a sea of shouting, happy
youngsters watch, a daredevil
climbs up gingerly and steals the
still red-hot frame as a souvenir
You go into the hostelry for dinner
Entering, you pass the large kitchen
with cooks and kitchen maids
scurrying around with their array
of shining copper pots and pans
The delicious aromas that C O m c
from that spotless kitchen are tan
talizing appetizers.
Your charming hostess, matronly
in her colorful costume with dainty
Swiss lace shawl thrown over her
shoulders, insists that you come out
on her terrace for moment. You
60 rather reluctantly, for it is nine
o'clock and you are hungry.
You are astounded by the view,
as you step out onto the gravelly
balcony, perched on the brink Of a
precipice. A ring of jeweled lights,
sparkling from the mountains, en-
circles you.
What are they?" You ask your
hostess.
Huge bonfres built by the herds
men to celebrate August the First. "
You mean all Of those twinkling
lights, some down low in the valley
and others high on the mountains,