Hello, readers of MMD.  During August or September last year, my wife,
Beryl, attended a Needlework and Patchwork exhibition in the Derwent
Entertainment Centre, a vast white (elephant) erected on the shore of
the river that runs through Hobart.  It's on the other side of town
from us, so it's as much as a twenty-five minute drive away.  That's
in bad traffic, an infrequent occurrence in Hobart.

I don't actually know what women do at these exhibitions, because
I rigorously avoid them, but Beryl's story is that she was wandering
around and she came upon this stall that sported just a large picture
of an even larger ship.  It seemed totally out of place in a needlework
exhibition so she asked the ladies in charge of the stall what it was
all about.  They said that they were organising a cruise to New Zealand
the following February, which would include needlework classes on the
days that the ship was not in port.  If she were interested, she should
write down her name and contact details.  So she did, and then forgot
about it.

Just before this last Christmas, I was down in my workshop, as usual,
when the 'phone rang, and Beryl answered it.  I could tell from the
excited tone of her voice that something other than the latest disaster
with our early-twenties grand-daughters was up, and I emerged from my
hidey-hole.  Beryl had won the free cruise!  After a couple of weeks
of dithering we decided to shell out for me to go on the cruise, too.

So, just over two weeks ago, we flew to Sydney, stayed overnight with
Beryl's brother and then boarded this humungous, white, floating gin
palace called the "Voyager of the Seas."  It displaces a little over
310,000 tons.

The cruise was just as one might expect: delicious food but far too
much of it; I gained 2 kilograms.  Beryl very much enjoyed her sewing
classes and I was content to stay in the cabin (er, stateroom!) and
read detective novels.  I was nurturing the secret hope that, during
our days ashore at various New Zealand ports, I might encounter an
antique shop or two with piano rolls for sale.  This despite my
experience that antique shops almost never have piano rolls; I suppose
that the proprietors regard them as junk shop fodder.

In fact, we never seemed to be near any antique shops, although in
Auckland we did go into one and I was disturbed to observe Beryl quite
intently eyeing up a $600 vase, but the crisis passed.

Our last port of call was Dundedin, in New Zealand's South Island.
After giving the centre of town a look-over we took a taxi about a mile
down one of the main streets to a shop selling patchwork materials.
We marched in and I assumed my standard position, near the door with a
pained expression on my face.  Beryl is familiar with this ploy and she
said, "Why don't you go and look around outside for fifteen minutes?"

So I did, and found an antique shop right next door.  But they didn't
have any piano rolls, of course.  However, the proprietor said, "Why
don't you ask in the auction centre just across the road?  They've had
a big batch there and they haven't sold for several weeks."

So I crossed the road, avoiding the non-existent traffic, and entered
the auction rooms.  I found a chap in there who agreed that there had
been rolls, but he thought they might have been sold.  He found a
printed list of items that had been passed in at the previous Friday's
auction, but rolls weren't on it.  So I disconsolately re-crossed the
road back to the patchwork shop.

I had barely got inside when the door flew open behind me and a chap
burst in and announced loudly, "Was there some-one in here who was
looking for piano rolls?"

They had found them!  So I followed him back across the road, this
time almost skipping.  He led me to a corner where there were some
large, battered, cardboard cartons sitting on shelves.  The cartons
were full of rolls, and heavy, but I could just manage to lift them
down, one at a time.  Nearby was an old table with, miraculously,
nothing much on its top surface, so I began to empty the cartons one
by one, piling up the rolls on the table.

Soon a familiar looking grey roll box appeared, hiding amongst all the
Australian Mastertouch rolls.  It was an Aeolian Themodist roll!  Then
a light brown box appeared, and, sure enough, it was a Duo-Art!  By the
time I had gone through all the cartons I had accumulated four Duo-Arts,
one was a U.S. Audiographic roll of Mendelssohn's Fingals Cave Overture
in practically mint condition, a Solo Carola roll, which I will pass on
to a friend who has possibly the only working Solo Carola upright in
Australia, but not many rolls, and five Aeolian themed rolls.

Before I started going through the rolls I had asked the chap in charge
how much they would be.  He said "Would two dollars each be alright?"

I held my breath when I presented the rolls I had picked out, but all
he said was "Ten rolls?  That'll be $20."  So for N.Z. $20, which is
about U.S. $18, I came home with a bag of treasures.

John Phillips in Hobart, Tasmania