The Rites of Spring

It’s almost the end of the year, and my Vogue calendar gives me The New Silhouette from September 1925, illustrated by Harriet Meserole. It’s long and tubular, and entirely decked in a carnival of fringe – perfect for the Spring Racing Carnival. The new year begins afresh with spring, really, rather than merely following the numbers on a calendar.

Today is Melbourne Cup Day, unfortunately a dreary day at that, belying the promise of frivolity inherent in flimsy skirts and new high heels, and little hats that threaten to be carried off by an entirely seasonable stiff breeze.

When I googled references for ‘November’ all I found were paeans to autumnal harvests and melancholy poems to the dreary drip, drip of coming winter. Where are the Antipodean poets writing of spring, hope and new life and all that jazz? Wait, I forget, we’ll find them in the formguide and in the lyrical descriptions of the fashions on the field, and far too many allusions to the stable: young fillies kicking up their heels, thoroughbred beauties tossing their manes, impatient to be through the starter’s gate and quaffing their champagne. Those are the Australian rites of spring. Chin-chin!