THE PASSING SHOW.

Auckland Star, Volume LXII, Issue 86, 13 April 1931, Page 6

THE PASSING SHOW.

(By THE MAN ABOUT TOWN) One great point about Maori names for places is that they generally have some real meaning, but it may be added that if one authority gives a meanKAIWAKA. ing it is almost certain that another will point out it is wrong. This is written to explain the meaning of "Kaiwaka," and it was told to an old settler in the North by a chief named Taurau Kukupa. the chief has been long dead, you can blame him when some authority writes stating the name has quite a different meaning. Taurau said that Kaiwaka means a pile of firewood, or to be in a heap. Now the average pakeha, trying to find the meaning by breaking the word into syllables, would say "kai" means food and "waka" a canoe. Tiie chief's story was. that long ago a great battle was fought by Te Moroa and the dead were piled up In rows all in one heap, hence the name "Kaiwaka." The body of Te Moroa was put on the top of the pile. Tradition states that Te Moroa's spirit, before taking its departure for Reinga, rested for a brief time on the high pinnacle of limestone rock in the Raumanga Gorge below the present concrete bridge. The old-time Maori called it •'•Te Rere o te Moroa" ('The Flight of te Moroa.".).—B.

At the bottom of Queen Street and at the bottom of every city in the world nearest the sea you will find groups of the most persistent travellers in the JACK ASHORE, world—the working sailor men, the men, incidentally, on whom we New Zealanders so absolutely depend. There is a definite peculiarity about the ordinary every-day sailor. All towns seem alike to* him. Off duty he gathers in groups near enough to see the ships and stays there from drizzly morn till dampish eve*. If you were to ask one of these men where New Lynn was, or Wyndham Street, or the new waterfront road, he wouldn't be able to tell you. He is an immense traveller who never travels once he gets ashore. Sometimes maybe he will go a few hundred yards further up the street because the liquid refreshment is noted and on the rarest possible occasions he has been known to take a tram to find the house of Bill who was once a sailor and has settled down ashore. The man-o'-warsman is slightly different, but not much. Most of his time off duty he spends walking along a beach looking out to sea. You could examine an average sailor in the geography of the world and he would be seriously nonplussed. His sense of interiors and distances is primitive. One small example. The young sailor man from Liverpool had a friend in South Australia. The sailor wrote from Melbourne to the friend in the backblocks, mentioning that he would be in Melbourne for two days and would dear old Fred come and see him? If dear old Fr%d had had a ghost of a chance of leaving his job he would have had to consume the best part of a week getting to Adelaide and might with luck in a fortnight have reached Marvellous, by which time the young sailor's ship would be well on the way back to Blighty. And did you ever see one of the end of Queen Street group of passive sailors reading a newspaper? The local news is of just as much importance to Jack ashore as the news of Moosejaw or Finland. Dear M.A.T., —In the early days the Maoris of New Zealand were ever ready to go for a trip abroad in a whaler or even on a vessel going to London. One THE CANNIBAL. Maori who reached the L'.S.A. was secured by the great American showman, Barnum, who labelled him a chief. A man who was at the exhibition and had been formerly a teacher at Russell went up to the Maori and said, "Tenakoel" The Maori was- so delighted to meet a man who could salute him in his own language that he immediately seized him and rubbed noses. The papers next day stated that a white man had a narrow escape, as the New Zealand cannibal had attempted to eat him. The incident, however, turned out a good advertisement for Barnum's show. Indeed, 'tis likelv Barnum staged the incident. —F.

The stout little man in the hard hat wa6 a stranger at that particular service bus terminus. There were the usual passengers waiting, and, owing to a small THE CAPITALIST, breakdown, the bus was late. The little man paced the road in uncontrollable agitation. "Five hundred pounds," he muttered in a stage whisper. "If I don't get into the city by eight-thirty I shall lose five —hundred — pounds!" and he laid a rather grubby little hand on his forehead. The bus came in, the passengers without comment climbed aboard. The little man, still muttering about the wealth he wouldn't get if the bus arrived late, became mute as the bus neared the city. As the bus stopped the little man leapt forth and dashed for the pavement. There was a large man in a soft hat on the pavement. He advanced eagerly to the little man. "Here's the half-crown I owe you, Mr. ," he said, thrusting that coin into the capitalist's hand. One or two unregenerate passengers had the bad manners to snigger. Maybe you've met the friendly chap who prefaces his little story with "I don't want to give the show away, but " and proceeds to give it awav with both IMPERSONAL, hands. There "is, too, the well-known human being who says: "Never speak ill of the dead," and proceeds to dress down some deceased citizen who can't kick back and doesn't care, anyway. In like manner Big Bill Thompson, for sixteen years Mayor of Chicago, spoke of an opponent: "The doc. is slinging mud. I'm not descending to personalities, but let me tell you, if you want to see a nasty sight, you 'watch Doc. Robertson eating in a restaurant. Egg in his whiskers, soup on his vest; you'd think the doc. got his education driving a garbage wagon." You can't help admiring a man who avoids personalities like that.

"Eye-witness" declares: Interchange of views were freely expressed this week, especially when the women took a hand in the heckling at the THE CRITICS, demonstration of unemployed in Kitchener Street. One woman said she would like to see how the kids of one member of the board were brought up. She supposed they had their hair parted in the middle and that the little dears were given a chocolate or two before their breakfast to stimulate their appetites. "How are your kids brought up?" queried the board member. "I suppose thev get porridge for breakfast." "You are not going to pry into my private business," she said, "but if you really want to know, I ain't, got any kids!" - ' Dear M.A.T.,—I have just returned from a business trip and while away I met the consummate salesman, the man who is the pride „ n „ of the employer, and the THRIFT. man who keeps his expenses down and practises economy for his firm. In order to avoid expenses, this traveller deliberately contracted and perfected insomnia so that ne would not have to pay for sleeping car berths on the Main Trunk Limited. Rather a good employee. —A.D.