THE PASSING SHOW.

Auckland Star, Volume LXIII, Issue 234, 3 October 1932, Page 6

THE PASSING SHOW.

(By THE MAN ABOUT TOWN.) Dear M.A.T., —I noticed in a recent issue of the "Star" that school teachers objected to the contents of their testimonials being made public—too bad! Being a YOUNG woman, methinks I can LOCHINVAR. pick where the shoe pinches—the gallant young Lochinvars of the cowyards would know their ages—M.S. Dear M.A.T., —The item entitled "The Zephyr" in your column reminds me of an experience of mine. Many years ago during a sojourn at Milford ANOTHER Sound I used to live in a BREEZE, two-roomed wliare. One night after I fell asleep a slight zephyr arose; next morning I awoke and was astonished to discover that during the night the breeze lifted the whare and carried it over a five-foot fence and dropped it down a chain away. No damage was done, the windows were not even cracked. The only other persons who were there at the time, unfortunately, are both now dead, Mr. and Mrs. Don Sutherland, who gave the name to the Sutherland Falls. —Bronc.

The willing exile from Home had received a very beautiful calendar issued by a famous London newspaper. It had been sent unseasonably as an example of POINT OF VIEW, modern photographic art and nice printing. Each month "was emphasised by some sylvan and seasonable scene. The month of May was indicated by an old-fashioned orchard in which the massed bloom of the fruit trees, backed by an ancient thatched cottage and a barn with the stains of centuries, fitted perfectly into the charming setting. Underneath was the line "Spring goeth all in white." The willing exile, gloating over the tale ot English months, was inclined to be sentimental, and, indeed, exclaimed to his friend, who lis more used to the glories of New Zealand, "All, May is a lovely month at Home —beautiful, isn't it?" And the New Zealander, glancing casually at the mass of white Iblossam, said, "My word, those trees are neglected— don't they know how to prune in the Old Dart?"

Current political history indicates that in our beloved land there are four thousand odd more people entitled to diminished old age pensions than there were O.A.P. last year. This shows, if it shows anything, the persistence with which girls and boys were born in the year 1867 or thereabouts, although these potential pensioners may not have foreseen the trouble they would be to Mr. Forbes in 1932. There is another point, too, about these old folks. Even if they were not deliberately born sixty-five years ago to harass the present Treasury (which wants the money so badly for new boards and other necessities) they are here and must be seen to. It is obvious that among those four thousand people there are many who under less urgent circumstances would not have applied for 0.A.P., on the ground that they had incomes of their own—a species of emolument that has disappeared in ever-increasing quantities. You may take it for granted that there will next year ■be an even greater number of people who were born in 18G8 whoso incomes have disappeared and who will necessarily lean on Mr. Forbes or any heaven-sent successor. On the other hand, any statesman who is looking forward to ibe lord of the Treasury in 1997 may be exhilarated -to know that on the whole the present-year baby crop is not excessive and that the applications for O.A.P. in 1997 will therefore be relatively fewer. And, of course, as everyone knows, the outlook is brighter and there may be no need for O.A.P. sixty-five years from now.

London is calling per cable to tell us that face lifting for men is now done by plastic surgeons whose sexagenarian clients wish to be lovely in order to spur HIS NEW FACE, business, little recking that most eminent men don't care whether their faces are lifted or fall on their shirt fronts. There is absolutely nothing new in beauty for beaux, and there have been queues of broken-nosed boxing beauties to plastic surgeons for generations, these including Jack Dempsey and Georges Carpentier. In good Queen Victoria's days not only did tottering octogenarians wear corsets to beat old Father Time, but there are authoritative cases in which old beaux used to have their faces enamelled. The man corset maker is known in every fashionable city of Europe even to-day. Nose machines for the reshaping of this expressive feature mar be seen illustrated in every magazine, while engines for the control of exuberant ears are as common as pink powder pads in my lady's boudoir. The face-lifting fad for men is related to the many means our dark brethren have taken through the ages to dazzle the female of the species. Longitudinal stripes 011 the chest achieved with a sharp flint are intimately related to the lifting of a modern banker's face or the suppression of a merchant's expansive ears. Plastic surgery is expensive, so that revived aids to manly loveliness are for !the eminent alone. A anan being eminent has [no need for beauty. The idea of a pug nose reshaped to the Greek god style is, in. effect, a very poor notion indeed. A woman who has worshipped Henry's stub nose for half a century would, one feels, be extremely upset to find a man with a perfect aquiline ibeak appearing at the breakfast table. Father's new face would frighten the children. The making of new faces will present a new problem to"the police, and official "rogues' galleries" may become useless.

A state of political war is so common to most countries and apparently so desirable to 'the people that to suggest a Conservative member represents LibTHE era Is, Labourites and InWHOLE BUNCH, dependents as well seems almost a profanation. How often one noted that the British Government was called "Tlic Labour Government," "The Socialist Government," titles woefully inaccurate, as Mr. Mac Donald was equally the Prime Minister for the Duke of Dustshire as. for the crofter of Lossiemouth or the Communist o£ Liverpool. Therefore three heartv cheers for Mr. Tirikatenc, M.P. for Southern Maori constituents, who says that an M.P. must be a good wriggler and a good fighter—in short, that a politician must represent his constituents whether they are Green, Blue or Red. A wriggler in this regard is a synonym for an honest man. Up to the moment Maori members have been the only ones to see the virtue, the reasonableness and the honesty of "standing on the fence." No pakeha member has ever been frank enough to claim lie will bob up on either side of the hedge according to which one of his constituents desires his services. Mr. Tau Henare, you may remember, acknowledged that he "stood first on one foot and then on another," a thing his pakeha brethren might do rather well, but which thev are not frank enough to boast of. In effect, the declaration of fence balancing on the part of Mr. Tirikatenc may be epochal, laying down the precedent that a politician who does not stand oil either side of the fence equally is neglecting part of his constituents. One wonders if the frank Maori member will ever see the glorious day when party shibboleths are merely a nasty memory, and every politician thinks in terms of New Zealand and not of part of an electorate.