THE PASSING SHOW.

Auckland Star, Volume LXIV, Issue 42, 20 February 1933, Page 6

THE PASSING SHOW.

(By THE MAN A3OUT TOWN.)

The boy was undressing at Orakei preparatory to swimming.. Hβ pl«»dh» clothes in a bundle for his dog to guard strapping nis wristlet THE WATCH watch, which Iβ valued TH*, WAX t h e dog's colla? He dashed down to the sea and dived in. ' It was too much for the dog. With a yelp of delight, the dog jSneS The boy. When the lad ?*"**** Ind the watch keeping company in the.water, it was his turn to yell-but not with dehght. He made for the dog and brought both possessions ashore, to discover, happily, that his watch was still ticking normally.—K.M.U Dear HAT.,—I read with much interest your paragraph on Cobb and Company In New Zealand the most famous coach route of the company was between COBB AND CO. Hokitika and Christchurch. One of the famous drivers was Arthur Davis, and his skilful.handling of the superb American-bred horses, coupled with the scenic beauties of the road, made the journey a memorable one On one occasion in the middle of winter, when enow was on the ground, there was (among a tun complement of passengers) a Scotsman It was the custom at one stage—at a steep hill—:tor the passengers to get out and walk. The ladies, too, often gladly .took advantage of this custom to put in a brisk climb and thus warm themselves. The Caledonian, as he trudged ankle deep in the snow, bitterly resented, "Payin' your siller and to walk. And for the remainder of the journey he was indifferent to the world-famed scenery. Springfield was the then terminus, and team and coach were, as usual, handed over to the "•rooms. Next morning a startled groom saw the shaggy head of the Scotsman at one of the coach windows, who accosted him with, "Tell Meester Cobb that instead of asking for some of my siller back for walkin' up yon hill I slept in their cooch all nicht. But J. U nae travel with them again as lang as I live! —H.M. ———— 4 People on the city side frequently rejoice their friends and relations on the side where Pupuko Lake glitters by dodging across in the ferry on Sunday and SUNDAY TREAT, having a perfect day among the pohutukawas and pipis, eating lunch, and drinking afternoon tea with their friends and returning to the city side bronzed and beatific. Owing to a temporary aberration in the suburban water supply, these friends have been fewer—except, of course, the friends of those who have erected fresh-water tanks and pray for rain. A city family visited Takapuna friends on Sunday. The gentleman of the family took a large portmanteau with him. He is famed far and wide among his acquaintances as a home-brewer of genius, so that when in the home of his Takapuna friends he opened the bag there was a delicious clink of glass. He dived hie hand in and brought to light six large, dark bottles, placing them reverently on the kitchen table while the eyes of the host glistened and his mouth watered with expectation. "I thought," said the celebrated "that I'd give you a treat —and so I brought over a few bottles of city water."

Dear M.A.T., —"They that go down to the beach on Sundays" have their responsibilities. Young children take a lot of looking after if they are fond of SAFETY FIRST, the water, especially if

they can swim only a little and have a penchant for getting out of their depth. It is then that father —most of the responsibility seems to fall on father— has to vigilantly patrol the beach under the scorching sun. And if the picnicking site selected is near the edge of a cliff it is in accordance with family rules that mother likewise should take some of the responsibility of watch and ward. It was near the edge of a cliff yesterday that I saw a careful Auckland mother. 'She was sleeping peacefully with a pillow beneath her head. She had a strap tied to one ankle. The strap was about eight feet long. The other end was securely tied round the waist of the youngest of the family, a boy who may have been three or four years of age. All he could do was to crawl around on a restricted circular route. His limit was a yard from the edge of the cliff. Hβ was in perfect safety. I reflected that women are most ingenious, and can now foresee a day when, with the assistance of two straps, I could spend a perfect day by the sea.—M.A.C.

Lord Lovat, the great soldier peer, territorial magnate and lover of trees, is dead, and his enormous holdings will be administered by others. IF was his THE SCOUTS. familiarity with great spaces at Home that made him an ideal leader of Lovat's Scouts in the South African War—but as a matter of fact he didn't choose ex-Lifeguardsmcn for his irregulars. Hβ was a Lifeguard officer, however, and Lifeguards were a highly interesting feature of the war. The curious thing about these splendid men ajid magni.icent horses was that they were too highly trained, and although the Guards are so often recruited from the country, there were early difficulties with big black horses used from colthood to London pavements. Interesting in the early stages to note the force of habit in men and horses —troopers in open order sent out as scouts keeping correct distances and watching the flank man so that the line was not broken. Until the. carefully-trained big black hor&es were all dead they had a habit of falling into the first-hole, didn't like barbed wire, and often led the big men into difficulties. Later the gigantic Guardsman might be seen scooting around on ponies, their feet practically dragging on the ground. Survivors of this magnificent body of men may remember how "slim" Piet was with them. On an occasion near Colesbnrg a patrol of the Lifeguards was rounding a kopje on its lawful occasions when a Lifeguard officer, presumably a staff officer, galloped across, crooked a finger at the patrol, and called to its young officer, "This way, Mr. ," mentioning his name. The patrol followed the strange officer. Once round the corner Piet and Co. opened fire, and many a big man bit the dust. The "officer" was a sure- enough Piet riding a captured Lifeguard horse and himself attired in correct uniform, even to the cavalry cloak. Later the big fellows got a bit of their own back.

Knowing quite well that it is the Lancashire lad who wears tiie clogs, M.A.T. seems to have conveyed the unpardonable notion that

"Geordie" writes to disLANCASHIRE perse: Wheiver towld ye CLOGS, thet a Geordie vveers clogs wus a thunderin , leear, an , what's niair a Geordie wadna kick onybody >te dith. Man alive, ha'e ye niver h'aid them canny auld song's "Gannfn te Blaydon Races" an' "Keep Yor Feet Still, Geordie, Hinny, Mine the Naybors Boon Belar"? Ef ye hevn't, ye deant kna' whet ye've missed. Noo, M.A.T., aa want ye to corract the wrang impression ye've given yor readers—the on'y Geordie aa iver knew weer clogs bowt hisn in Arkland an , the on'y man aa iver kicked te dith wus a did marine. An' whin yor busy ye might ae weel coraect that wrang impression thet maist people hev thet Greathead invented the lifeboat—the thing thet put Canny Auld Shields on the map. Greathead ne mair invented the lifeboat thin ye did, M.A.T., on'y he got paid for it, an' ye niver will. Noo, M.A.T., fer the sake o' the memory of Geordie Stephenson an' Wullie Wouldhave, chuck yor clog yarns ower to Lancashcer, else yor printer man'll bill ye for mair a»pro3 to juggle -wi , roe nixt complaint.—Geordie.