THE PASSING SHOW.

Auckland Star, Volume LXIII, Issue 136, 10 June 1932, Page 6

THE PASSING SHOW.

(By THE MAN ABOUT TOWN.)

The news that Wilhelm Hohenzollern (late of the Death's Head Uhlans) might be asked to become President of a Central European Republic was being disTHE VICTOR. cussed at a local tea table in the presence ot a nwk<l of seven. It gave rise to talk of the Great War dS which Willie hadgabbled of /Tjr Tag." The little lad, having heard of the war at school, naturally asked dad what he had done in the Great War. Dad replied that he had not actually taken part in the historic slaughter, but that as soon as the Raiser heard he wu coming he surrendered ami the war was over. Naturally the little fellow pondered this deeply. On a subsequent day some passing circumstances gave an opportunity to the teacher at a local school to mention the same old war, New Zealand s part in the same, and the ultimate victory of the Allies. Then up shot a little list. Well 1 asked the teacher. "Please, miss, my father won the war! When the Kainer heard that he was coming- he surrendered." It is good to be a hero to one's son.

The ink was scarcely dry on the birth notice and the young father's "thanks to doctor and nurse; no visitors for ten days but newly written, when THE NEW BABY, many, many people showed their joy that a child bad been born into the world. The penny post brought many sweet missives, all designed to make the little stranger happy. He could have a patent folding pushcart, a grass-woven pram a swinging cot, a corker little bedstead. He could have blankets specially made for kiddies, he could be inducted into the art ot feeding from a. patent bottle, bis life could be made glad with foods, eliminating the need for mother, he could have bootees to keep out the cold and powders to keep out the- wind. He could be dusted with deliciously-scented compounds, could be comforted with comforters, wear baby berets, beautiful binders, laced longclothes and hygienic hose. Little snowstorms of offers to set up that baby for life poured through the letter box, and the young mother could but feel flattered that so innocent a little notice could produce such storms of offers. And the baby, sucking a perfectly new thumb, doesn't cven r blink at the eight of this Egmont of circulars.

A Christcliurch magistrate recently asked a bicycle sinner who had been whirling about the city disobeying the wheel regulations if lie was aware that he was MONEY TO BURN, liable to be fined sixty

pounds. The careless cyclist lacked a light, a bell, a reflector and a white rear mudguard. Apparently these sins, if properly charged, work out at fifteen pounds per sin. Computing the number of push bikes in Christcliurch at a mere one hundred thousand, it follows that the punitive revenue from this source might amount to a colossal sum, if carefully handled possibly cajKible of wiping out any municipal debt owing by the Sacred City, the overplus to be loanable to the State to liquidate the national debt and any expense., that might be incurred by our envoys to Ottawa. As push bikes in Christcliurch are as thick as the leaves that strew the brooks at VaJlombrosa, the owner, we will say, of a "Lizzie" bike may often absent-mindedly take someone eke's Bolls-Boy bike and push off towards the distant plains. This would render the subsequent summonses and appearances at court slightly confusing. It would be unjust, for instance, to endeavour •to pay the national debt with a fine imposed for riding a "borrowed" bike lacking brake, lamp, bell, danger light, white mudguard, and all the rest of it. If the. magistracy, supreme and subordinate, is really determined to make the most of this obviously illimitable source of revenue, it should first of all decide whose bike is whose in the City of the Plains.

Dear M.A.T., —Your interesting stories of prancing troop hordes and of stout-drinking Great Northern Steeplechase winners make fascinating reading to all EASY GOING. horse lovers in this mechanical age. Turf stories being apropos just now, many of your readers present at Ellerslie during the justconcluded Auckland race meeting will recall with pleasure the vivid descriptions of the jumping events given to course patrons by the club's broadcaster. The announcer had an almost uncanny sense of anticipation, and more than once he told the spectators that a horse had fallen even before the inimal and his unlucky jockey had hit the ground. "He's down!" said the loud-sns-aken-s, and the crowd almost had time to then look at the horse in the middle of the falling process. Ou one occasion the announcer was kind enough to tell us that our horse was running laet in a big field—our five bob was as good as gone— and so I at least was then able to take an intelligent interest in the race. Incidentally, on-e feels a debt of gratitude to the Auckland Racing Club for providing such an excellent broadcast service and such an admirable announcer. It was a simple matter for one to follow the races without even looking at them. Racing made easy.—W.P.

Cabled that Tommy Atkins is to be sartorially freed still further from the trammels of his traditional clothes. Khaki cloth

tunics are not comfortable TOMMY'S TUNIC, enough for these free and

easy times, though, they are heaven itself compared with the torturing style of long ago. But do not flatter yourself that the Brigade of Guards will go to the. Trooping of the Colour attired in Norfolk jackets, plus-fours and Horn burg hats, the suggested new uniform for infantry of the line. You musn't entirely unstufT dear old Army, with its swank, elan and all that. If a soldier could breathe, on parade it might destroy the esprit de corps. Reviewing slightly the sartorial horrors of military history, there was the shako (with the knob), the terrible timic with the hard three-inch stock to prevent Tommy from breathing, t'li-e skin-tight sleeves to stop him from using Jiis arms, and the cross belts on his chest to give him consumption, from which eo many of the soldiers 08 the Peninsula Wars died. It is only recently that greater freedom for the lighting man has been thought of. A while ago even if Tommy had the ribbons of Jiis Glengarry cap an inch over the regulations to go "square pushing," he was matted for it, and an unbuttoned jacket would turn an adjutant blue. The cavalry, which is so rapidly being mechanised, dare not stoop in its walking-out dress—skintight overall* pulled down over Wellington boots, with box spurs, the overalls strapped under the boot and rendering it impossible for the trooper to pick up his dropped whip or a stray sixpence.. It used to be fashionable for cavalry to dash upon the enemy wearing two jackets, 0110 on and the other "slung" in the dear old Hungarian dolman style. Please don't imagine any blue-faced old dugouts are about to deprive the Household Cavalry of its immense boots with the. slices out for the. knees, the skin-tight tunic, the German silver cuirass, the terrific shiny helmet with the enormous plume, the gauntlets and the rest of the wonderful gear that makes a. Life Guard look so lovely and fcel like a stuffed turkeycock. The new comfort is for the humble Tommy of the Line regiments, the bloke who puts over the ultimate push that saves Empires.

A THOUGHT FOR TO-DAY. No one can see beyond the range of his vision. . . . We mustn't be down upon tliose whom God jias created a. \\n& bit short-sighted.—Kobc-rt Hidicns.