THE PASSING SHOW.

Auckland Star, Volume LXVII, Issue 188, 10 August 1936, Page 6

THE PASSING SHOW.

(By THE MAN ABOUT TOWN.)

Dear M.A.T., —It is peculiar how the long arm of coincidence asserts itself, even in t e matter of our own Jack Lovelock and his brilliant success at Berlin. COINCIDENCE. I have had brought to my notice the remarks of Dr. \ E Porritt and other experts about the brilliance of Lovelock being in no small measure due to the sound advice, etc., ot one William Thomas, of Oxford. Ones memory o-oes back to Lovelock's initial attempts at competitive running, which were also made under the eye of one William Thomas who was rector of the Tiinarn Boys High School for many years, including those spent b\ Lovelock" at that school— H.B.

Dear M.A.T., —The last, loveliest —but not. the loneliest—story regarding "that was told by a City Father at a southern liirh school old boyfi reunion THAT STATUE! the other evening. He said that at the height of the controversy (which, by the.way, was dorino- Winter Show week) a married couple from "the countrv who were in town for the occasion happened to stroll Domain wards The statue coming into view, the lady, first lookin 0 at it —and then to the wooded territory beyond, turned and remarked to her husband, "Andy, is this one of those 'statuary grounds what you read of in divorce cases?" Otakou.

Unique and valuable Maori works of art have been discovered 011 Ripa Island, and they include objects made in the old Maori way by constant attrition and TIME NO OBJECT, ceaseless work. You infer by the extraordinary time it took to abrade hard natural stone into artistic form that time was no object to the Maoris. Recently a local admirer of Maori art stood wondering at a large block of greenstone with a slight groove running across the top. It was the-, beginning of a "cut that would (had it been continued and finished) have bisected the whole mass. An old and most intelligent Maori, noting the pakeha s interest, was asked how long the slight groove (about half an inch deep) would have taken to make in the old days. The Maori replied, "Oh, about two years," and explained that such work wfts work only for old men and young children. Old men, you see, were no particular use at digging, they were in the way on war parties, they necessarily lived in the* villages —hence the slow job they were allotted. ~ They could sit from daylight to dark and rub, rub, rub, one stone against another; thus by the most continuous and slow work actually severing large blocks. Children being considered good for nothing except to help their elders, simply brought sand, water, rushes and other abrasive materials to dear old pa at the dear old pa, and he rubbed stone on stone through the years ai;d often cut one in two before he 'went to his final rest. The interested pakeha tried the experiment of boring a hole in a small tiki in the old Maori way. He has been at it for about a fortnight, and a jolly good scratch it is. He expects to dig the complete hole before October.

Makeshift is the Father of Invention, and we of this quick and busy country base much of our fame 011 makesliiftiness. Mentioned elsewhere herein, but in MAKESHIFTS, a different place, the tead pencil which on being used slides up the wood, leaving nothing to make marks with. Asked how he continued his necessarv literary pursuits when the lead disappeared, a pencillcr did not say he borrowed another pencil, but that he pushed the lead back from the southern end and closed the same with a match stick, levelling it neatly with a borrowed knife. This young inventor, depending for his eyesight on spectaclcs, broke the offside bow just as he was about to attack the day's work, which he does at the gallop, being peeved if aught occurs to delay him. He found that pasting an armature of paper, thus binding the broken ends of the wire, did very well for thirty seconds, after which his specs, drooped from his left ear. paste bedewed his countenance, and unforgivable words escaped his lips. A mechanical friend with a soldering iron and ji bit of wire rushed to the rescue—and the paper was published. The infinite use's of wire and flax will instantly determine whether their user is real fair dinkum one hundred*per cent colonial or a new chum. A true-born colonial with a bit of wire pinched from somebody else's fence will make traces for a trap, mower, plough or harrows, bind up a busted motor car with wire with a tea-tree stick for a twitch, while the new chum sits down and sighs for the mechanic a hundred miles away. Of course, the new chum learns —even colonials have to be taught—which seems unbelievable. You don't know the story of the poor chap who had to go to a swell show in evening dress? He had the dear old blacks —but no whites— barring collar and tie. So lie strained a nice white hanky under his vest, anchored it at the four'corners, used a polished brass paper fastcer for a breast stud, and —was the bestdresscd man nrosent. A little ingenuity conquers even "sustenance"'!

Currently mentioned that a landowner with n rather rabbity place took about sixtyfive pounds from the operations of two rabbiters for ten days' 808 TAILED poisoning. Whoever reaped SEALSKIN, the money, it oroes to show you that there are rabbits about and that the sealskin trade is thriving. The above-mentioned handsome return necessarily reminds an old rabbiter of strychnine, traps, pollard, dogs—and Australia —particularly Balranald, which, according to old hands, old liars and old rabbiters, was "built on bunnies" and "made from rabbits." One remembers this Murrunibidgee town (about 800 miles from Sydney) very well, having found it after walking through the scrub for sixty miles bereft of water in any large supply. At that day the rabbit considered as sealskin was none so much. At the moment of one's entry into the thriving town a family was whooping it up 011 the proceeds of one million rabbit scalps, gleaned on the three million acres spread round Balranald. The skins just rotted, and a nasty rot it was. Most of the rabbiters who at first srot sixpence and ultimately one halfpenny per scalp (nothing for the rabbit or his skill), cut out their cheques 111 Balranald, which "made" the town —sez you—although maybe the few million acres of country and some sheep may have had a bit to do with it. On the railway line all the stops were always filled with dead rabbits. Alongside the railway fences dead rabbits lay thick as leaves. Squatters fenced in water holes with inlets—but unnecrotiable exits poisoned the water—and the rabbits. Rabbiters, blueing their cheques in Balranald. brought in the overpowering stench of rabbits, had strychnine in their clothes and pollard in their hair. They made cheques as big as blankets and occupied graves the same size as usual. And the Murrunibidgee rabbit used to climb fences and swim rivers. Tliev were killing him out in those days. He is still living, thriving and smelling.

THOUGHTS FOR TO-DAY. A man who does not know how to learn from his mistakes turns the best schoolmaster out of his life.—Henry Ward Beecher. What is liberty without wisdom, and without virtue? It is the greatest of all possible evils: for it is folly, vice and madness without tuition or restraint.—Burke.