Random Shots

Auckland Star, Volume LX, Issue 75, 30 March 1929, Page 2 (Supplement)

Random Shots

- „ "2MMDE3C

Every Cabinet Minister these days it, obliged to be a Roads Scholar.

Its export plans upset by a Court decision, the Fruit Control Board is appealing to all growers to "stand firm." But will the fruit remain firm, too?

It is rumoured that members of the City Council intend going in a body to lecture to the newly-formed New Lynn Council on "How to* lvim a Borough."

The timber workers' strike is disturbing all Australia. The Commonwealth longs for a return to normal, that is, a long, quiet strike.

"What is the matter with Oxford?" is the question asked in England. The answer is something with Cambridge in it.

If the American Coastguards thought there was any significance in the name of the ship "I'm Alone," which they sank they must now be thinking it should have been named "There's a Lot of Us."

Farmers in South Canterbury say that thieves steal their sheep and remove them in lots of 20 or 30 in covered motor wagons. It appears that the Covered Wagon has a very different purpose in New Zealand.

The Labour Mayor of Christchurch, having decreed the abolition of capitalism, has turned hie attention to men's evening dress. I wonder which of these two abominations he will succeed in abolishing first.

Complaints are heard that the Local Government Loans Board is not approving loan proposals quickly enough to suit the local bodies. Some of us are thinking the board is indeed proving itself an excellent organisation.

"It is stated that there is a 'war , on between the pastrycooks and some of the larger bakers of the city." I trust that no pies will be thrown. The cinema comedians have so developed the art that any effort by amateurs must seem crude.

A gentleman of 83 years has been catching big fish in a rough sea off Cape Brett. It is scarcely fair to young men that this should be permitted, and if other octogenarians follow suit the young men will simply have to learn another game.

New Zealand politicians are often charged with permitting extravagant expenditure, but the worst of them appears as a stern economist in comparison with the Polish Treasurer, who is alleged to have spent £12,500,000 in excess of the amount sanctioned. The Treasurer is to be prosecuted. I wonder if they will fine him, and if so, how much?

The Italian voters—all of them who were allowed to vote —had only Fascist candidates to vote for. "The Fascists gained 400 seats in the Chamber of Deputies and the anti-Fascists none. The majority for Signor Mussolini is thus 400." But if an Italian newspaper with a mathematical genius on its staff had ventured before the election to predict this result it might have found itself suppressed. The people's will must be allowed to prevail.

Apropos of the discussion in England about the state of Oxford University, which has been soundly beaten in recent athletic contests, the story is told that one of the numerous university clubs in one year was the Shakespeare Club. Its membership was small and select, and it met once a week. The custom was for the chairman to move, "That the Bard be not read to-night." This was carried without dissent, after which the meeting gave itself over to steady drinking.

New sets of physical exercises have been introduced in some schools in Auckland. Inasmuch as we have been told about one hundred and fifty times recently that "education in Xcw Zealand should have a closer relation to life," an excellent opportunity here presents itself to educate the children in a matter that comes very close to their lives. I suggest that they be exercised in long jumping and that prizes be offered all those who succeed in jumping a distance equal to the width of the average street. If a child learns to do this he will have a better chance of remaining alive to benefit by the other parts of his education.

THE PRIVILEGE OF GRUMBLING,

"It is the privilege of a ratepayer to grumble."—Counsel at the Assessment Court. What is that sound salutes my ear, and strikes me dumb with wonder — Like waves upon a rocky shore, or rolling distant thunder? 'Tis vocal! Ah, I have it now. It echoes civic sorrows That contemplate our yesterdays and threaten our to-morrows. Discordant, inarticulate — hark, how the millions mumble! They pay their rates—of course they do—but listen "how they grumble! The citizen now anus himself to face recurring troubles, And brackets rates and councillors as detrimental doubles. Municipal activities! Don't mention them! It's funny The council never does a thing but what it asks for money. It gets it too, somehow, worse luck! But watch the rough and tumble When those who pay the rates are told, "Shut up! You mustn't grumble." The City Fathers worry over next election chances And magnify their policies as persona! romances Of super-men. The polling day their record analyses. And as they see "what might have been" among the day's surprises This epitaph of ruined hopes will keep the boldest humble — "The man who pays the rates has got a perfect right to grumble." Vox populi lias many chords—its volume wanes and waxes To suit the moods of underdogs who worry over taxes. Complexities of civic life may flame In disaffection. The apple cart may be upset! Look out for next election! Democracy is merciless to those who fail or stumble. Stop , T.ook ! and Listen! Watch your step! Tlnre's menace in a grumble. O valued British privilege! Experience deduces There's nothing like a grumble for some popular abuses. The trouble is when stock complainants make the habit chronic And thus destroy the value of this ! legislative tonic. The growler sets the weather gauge when things are in a jumble— So come on, boys! Together! G-r-r-r-h! There's nothing like a grumble.