THE PASSING SHOW.

Auckland Star, Volume LXIV, Issue 97, 27 April 1933, Page 6

THE PASSING SHOW.

(By THE MAN ABOUT TOWN.)

Although the large crowd at the Cenotaph on 4n«ac Day was most orderly and "reverent, the size of the gathering made it for the police and imnTHE CHILD MlND.tary details to join hands, x forming a barrier to keep the press of people from intruding on the open spLe. There was a little girl holding her mother's hand who probably saw little but adult legs. She looked up and noted the large blue men with linked hands. "Oh, mummie she cried, "they're playing ring-a-rmg-a-rosy.

Dear M.A.T.,—It happened in a country town, not a hundred miles from Auckland. The local town board had arranged a citizens' Anzac service, THE HYMN. and among the arrangements was the engagement of a neighbouring brass band to lead the singing. The order of the service was dulv printed, with some well-known hymns included, but the day before the 25th a messenger arrived and breathlessly exclaimed "You can't have one of those hymns—the band hasn't got the music!" "Well," was the answer, "which one is it?" "Oh, dear" replied the messenger, "I've forgotten." And then a bright thought came to him. "It's something about the saints having a holiday," and the local committeeman replied, with other thoughts on his mind, "'Perhaps it's the saints stand-down week." The hymn, after all, was "For all the saints who from their labours rest."—Walker's Ridge. >

One of the small surprises of the Anzac Day parade was the increased number of South African veterans who turned up. They managed, under Major N.Z.M.R. Halpin, to appear almost as sprightly as twp-year-olds, despite the fact that even those, who served as trumpeters must each be over fifty vears of age. And, of course, most of them are waving" good-bye to sixty. The gathering of these old lads—there were eighty-three of •them, serves in one way as- a rejuvenant, despite the too solemn occasion, for men who have possibly in some cases not seen each other for three decades have a chance of wagging the chin over old times, of telling old stories and even indulging in expressive "Afrikaans" that is Dutch to the listeneg who has never trotted the veldt as a moving target. It is novel that as the years go by such an association becomes sentimentally stronger. The stirring of memories is one of the best uses of Anzac Day.

Once upon a time, dealing with family names that are not what they seem, one mentioned Ingestre (Inkster), Bethune (Beeton), Menzies (Mingies)—and THE PUZZLE. Featherstonhaugh. Not

knowing how to pronounce the latter name, one supposed it might be Feestonhay, but a lady related to this famous family came along and surprised M.A.T. by saying that Featherstonhaugh was Featherstonhaugh and nothing but Featherstonhaugh, which rather gladdened the scribe, who had often wondered how he should pronounce his own name if he ever became famous. And to-<?ay a man handed the scribe the_ following from an English paper: "The Chinese pronunciation of Jehol is something like Ray-haw, with tne accent on the first syllable. sManchukuo is pronounced Man-chu-gaw, with an accented and lengthened third syllable." With excusable heat he wanted to know why the British people writing or speaking foreign words do not spell them as they sound, and mentioned, among other things the American who found the' Germans so ignorant that.they didn't know the name of their own country, but called it Deutchsland. The American was equally displeased with the English. "They're the guys," said he, "that spell 'Chumley' 'Marjoribanks.'"

Many earnest citizens selected by equally earnest ratepayers to represent them on local bodies, rightly or wrongly, conceive it to be

their duty to remain in THE AMENITIES, opposition, thus arranging without intention that the newspapers should blazon "Another Breeze in the Council," and to relate those other suburban sensations which make the Ogpu stuff pale into insignificance and Hitler look like an outsider. But not in every local body is this atmosphere of acrimony habitual. On a recent day a man asked a suburban councillor how his- council had got on at the previous meeting. "Splendidly," he said; "Councillor Q. brought someelderberry wine." This brotherly amenity is reminiscent of the chairman of a local road board of twenty years ago. His invariable rule on entering the council chamber was to place a large jug of ale on the Press table, greatly, of. course, to the embarrassment of the recorders, who, however, got used to it. ,'This freedom has grown larger as the years have crept on. The leader of the body who first said one hot night, "Gentlemen, you may take your coats off," was hailed with incredulous gestures, and the super-suburban Mayor who initiated the dread command, "Gentlemen, you may smoke!" was really as important an initiator, in his sphere, as Mussolini. Some years ago a suburban Mayor, new to the task, almost paralysed his council by breathing sterterously and panting, "For heaven's sake, open the windows!" The horrified councillors were too astonished to speak for some moments, when the oldest councillor, gasped, "But, your Worship, them windows ain't bin opened fer twenty-five years!" The sashes, in fact, were all nailed together.

It is universal good news in New Zealand when it is announced that Messrs. X. and Y. have shot some deer with a large number of "points," the deer beEIGHTEEN ing hot so much a deer POINTS, as a perambulating bunch of antlers. It is not news at all if a dead deer has two, points, although a two-point animal is a smaller target. Sport, pressed to its logical conclusion, would render •the bantam soldier immune in war. A dead man measuring five feet two in his puttees wouldn't be worth a place in the casualty list, intended, of course, only for men over five feet ten. One wonders a little about the Malay head-hunter and his favourite sport. No doubt he discriminates as to the value of his trophies. You can imagine a head-hunter carelessly reaping a gentleman's head under the impression that it had belonged to a chief, when on post-mortem inspection he discovered it to be merely the head of a coolie and unfit to hang up in a decent tent. A head-hunter might specialise, like a deer-hunter, on heads with good points—might eschew the ordinary black-haired variety and decorate his bough bungalow with the red-haired variety. The passion for exceptional post-mortem trophies has spread rapidly, and deer of many points adequately stuffed and water-proofed now form pleasing decorations in gardens! A pointless deer wouldn't do. One imagines the owner of a property pointing out to the potential tenant the advantage of living in a bungalow with a sixteen-point head on the iawn and the scornful reply of the tenant that he not only had gas and hot water laid on, but an eighteen-point deer head hung on a bracket in the porch. In several places in Auckland there have been gateways of whale jaws—a notable pair still forming the entrance to a Devonport dwelling. This gateway has been there for many years, but the owner has never mentioned on a descriptive notice board that the whale was caught on a snapper line, or that the gateway exceeds by six inches the whale jaw entrance to a Mount J&en dwelling.