THE PASSING SHOW.

Auckland Star, Volume LXI, Issue 228, 26 September 1930, Page 6

THE PASSING SHOW.

(By THE MAN ABOUT TOWN.) Dear M.A.T.J—In tie "Star" it is mentioned. by Mr. A. R, Alison that tlio barque Northern $tar -was lost loaded with bricks while on her way to SHIPS THAT PASS. Gisborne. The Northern Star had a different end. •I was several years as boatman at the Hokianga Heads pilot station. The first barque to arrive in my time was the Notero (Captain Campbell) on her first trip for J. J. Craig. The Northern Star had made a very long passage from some Australian port to Auckland under Captain Bus'hell. This captain was a spiritualist and is said, to have been warned, by his dead, wife to leave the Northern Star. Anyway, Captain Johnny 'McKenzie took her over in Auckland and went round to Hokianga and. loaded her with logs at Kohukohu. While anchored inside the heads on a Saturday it was blowing very Shard and. squally from the south. The tide was ebbing, and as the Northern Star was swung to lee of her anchor a very hard puff caught her and. she shot over to the north head, being brought up with a terrible jerk. Next day (Sunday) on heaving in the chain it was discovered the link that had been in the hawse pipe was bent like the letter "U." The Glenelg towed, her out at midday on Sunday and let her go about a mile outside the bar. All sail was set, but the wind (S.) was too light and the Northern Star drifted back in front of the main channel of the bar, where the ebb tide swept her outwards. She was in sight at dark. On Wednesday we had a south-east gale, and on the Thursday morning the Northern Star landed keel up just to the south of South Kaipara Heads. A fortnight afterwards, on a Sunday, from the Hokianga pilot station a number of squared logs could be seen about three miles beyond the bar drifting to the north-west.. The deck load was squared logs, the 'tween decks being round. Most of the logs from the wreck were taken out of the hull and bullocked over the sand into the Kaipara Harbour. I kept a diary all the time I was there, but am sorry to say I destroyed it some years later when working in the bush. So these particulars are from memory. Like all people who were connected with the old windjammers in the early days, I have been very interested in the "Star's" account of the old boats. Notero, Presto, Waiona, Killarney, Silver Cloud, Zeno, Brunette, Coquette, Zolande, Ocean Hanger, Parncll, Davenport, Conference, Northern Chief, Eiller Donan, Stanley, Kentish Lass and Splendid are a few names I remember. Perhaps these few, remarks may cause a few dim memories to awaken. —H.C.

The death of General Sir Bryan Mahon will revive memories in those who have seen him or worked under him of his unconventionality. Troops in South "MICKY." Africa referred (out of

his hearing) to him as "Micky," and it Eeems that in later years he was known as "the Mahout," although he possibly never drove an elephant in his life. He came slightly into the lives of New Zealand troops in South Africa.- One day a man in a golf cap, one brown puttee, one faded green one, a disgraceful jacket and etceteras, came along accompanied by a very large and exceedingly clean officer. "Who's the great big bloke?" asked a Fernleaf. "Prince Alexander of Teek," said somebody under his breath. "Who's the old transport rider with him?" Nobody knew, but it was later mentioned that the alleged "transport rider" was General Mahon. The brilliant soldier had a habit of poking about in what seemed a haphazard way, but the general impression was that he knew, he knew, he knew. On a memorable occasion orders had been issued that after dark the troops must be as dumb as a drum with a hole in it. It was duly dumb, except, of course, that horees insist on talking and banging about on their heel ropes. In the middle of the night the more or less sleeping camp was alarmed by the sound of lusty hammering. Someone was driving a horsepeg or a bayonet (the latter being a favourite tethering peg in the absence of the regulation implement). Guided by the clatter, men were on the spot in no time. They found "Micky" thumping a peg into the ground with a mallet to tether his horse to.

Many firms nowadays have excellent staff libraries, so that one has an opportunity of lying in wait and observing the literary tendencies of one's fellow THE READERS, man or woman. Here comes a man, who, because of his size and his look of suppressed ferocity, has earned the sobriquet of "TwoCriin Ike." Ho seeks, no doubt, for a book with the picture of some diabolist with death in his hand and a dagger in his teeth. He makes two determined steps to the letter "M," and gently takes a little volume of Milne's "Essays." Here is a man who rarely smiles. Sometimes he twinkles slightly, ibut he has been known to remain like a rock when one has told him the story of the cm-ate and the barmaid. But he reads only Wodehouse (or greater and lesser humorists) and probably does all his laughing at the fireside. Men suspected of rejoicing in literary iblood and terror, war, pestilence and sudden death may be observed stealing home with tender little books about flowers, tomes touching the lives and deaths of saints, masterpieces of virtue, and so forth. On the contrary, the person who looks like a saint bathes in sanguinary literature. No book without a murder on every page and a detective or two in each chapter will satisfy, him. Men engaged in arduous toil bury themselves in Homer at home and men engaged in intellectual occupations shout for what are really penny dreadfuls sold at five shillings. The scene is Newton, a congested area teeming with people and not unacquainted with traffic. A little lad, perhaps five years old, tattered but perfectly O.K. happy, not spotless but full of health and vivacity, is there. The mother has missed him. She rushes out on to the steps of the house, spots him threading his joyous way among the traffic, and screams orders. "Come here, you little brat!" she cries. "D'ye hear what I •say? Come here at once, do you hear?" And the playful little Aucklander, heading towards mother, retorts, "0.K., baby!" Phenomena of the animai or the vegetable world are always of interest to people who must of necessity eat. Not long ago a reputable person reported that THE DUCK EGG. he was engaged in eating his breakfast duck egg when he found in it a slug which had obviously escaped digestion. To-day a gentleman reports the less abhorrent circumstance of a perfect pumpkin seed in the middle of a duck egg. Other species of birds possibly achieve allied feats, but the duck seemj the more liable to remain the champion producer of unexpected oddments. The problem, propounded to the nearest scientist, induced him to that the family duck is nearly always 'treated artificially, rarely hss access to areas of water, to which it belongs, and therefore occasionally revolts by producing monstrosities that revolt the breakfaster. He thinks that if every duck had its pond eggs would rarely contain "pumpkin seeds or slugs.