PERSONALITY OF THE WEEK.

Auckland Star, Volume LXIV, Issue 99, 29 April 1933, Page 8

PERSONALITY OF THE WEEK.

He has the gift of friendship and an open sesame smile. Once Mr. Wilfred A. Colbeck, M.A., LL.B., was a lawyer, called to the Bar in England, returning to NO. 385. his native land to practice, which he did. Not, being wedded to the law, he became a stocky broker in a nonchalant way. Mr. Edward (Ted) Anderson suggested a partnership, and it was so, the same night (or early in the morning), and for years they pulled together. Mr. Colbeck was catholic as to his New Zealand education, for he attended at Auckland, Nelson and Wellington. Then he went to Cambridge (Caius College) and took his degrees. During his four years at Cambridge he played as hard as he swatted, rowed in 'his college boat, and did all things, of an athletic nature. Smashing his knee rather cramped his style for a time. Yes, he plays golf; has done for forty years and is still going strong at sixtyfour. He wasn't a foundation member of the Auckland Golf Club, but he was there a year after. Since which he 'lias occupied every position in the club, including that of president (many years), and is a life member. He was local cliariipion and (about 1900) runner-up for the New Zealand? championship. Golf is in the Colbeck blood. There are boys who play a pretty stick.

Noted that <5. B. Shaw and even lesser highbrows intend to prolong their allotted span by following the sun round the earth. When the first of the IF WINTER . autumn winds begin to ■ COMES, sigh in dear old England, / • "G. 8." packs hisf grip full of light-weight toggery and gets him thence to the nearest prevailing summer. He wants, lie declares, to live to be one hundred years old, for lie lias a lot of acid things left in him to say to the other billion or so people who have the insolence to inhabit the same world. Come to think of it, these summer hunting people are all wrong. The successive seasons as per Nature are ns nccessary to "G. 8.5." as to a turnip or to a 1 peach tree. If Nature thought the best thing to do to a turnip was to give it perpetual summer, of course she would have arranged for the migration of turnips as well as godwits. Even the warmedup Aucklandej-, feeling a bit frazzled, notes the tonic effects of the change of climate as the train draws into Waimarino. People born in countries where summer is perpetual, although they are usually frightfully bored, manage to put up with it, but the man from a temperate zone finds frost, rain, hail, snow, sleet and sunshine as necessary to his wellbeing as the same elements are necessary to the turnip. If "C 1.8.5." believes that perpetual summer is necessary to the intending centenarian, it follows that the Governments of the world should see that their whole populations rotate according to the seasons. Some thoughts about perpetual summer for the upper classes may have occurred to Messrs. Forbes and Coates —but a million and a half people will winter here as usual.

Public mention of the annual loss by fire in New Zealand serves to remind a man with a fireproof house of an incident in the days

when people drove about THE MISTAKE, in gigs, used kerosene

lamps and went for picnics. It was a nice day and the father of the family in the sweet little house quite a long -way from town suggested that they should go for a picnic. Mother and the two boyA hailed the suggestion with loud applause. Of course they lighted a good roaring lire so that they could liavc a rattling breakfast before they bitched the horse in the gig, and they all sat down and had an excellent meal. Afterwards they drove to the coast, enjoyed a perfect day, hitched in and drove back. The gentleman kept his eye on the skyline behind which his dear little home nestled. He had an anxious look. Turning the home bend of the road, there before their eyes was the dear little home with its romantic surroundings. "Great heavens!" lie groaned. "The blooming place ain't burnt after all, mother!" But mother's heart was too full for words. Dear M.A.T., —Your mention of a soldier who was a teetotaller and gave away his rum ration, believe it or not, reminds me I knew another soldier who JAMAICA! gave away "his rum, but not because ho was a teetotaller. One night our rations did not come up. so the next night we had a double issue of rum, which was brought up to us in petrol tins. My little lot was well and truly adulterated with motor spirit. All that night and the next day I felt very sorry for myself. Couldn't have walked the chalk line, and was violently sick. After that the mere smell of rum had disastrous effects upon inc. so at rum issue time I was easily the most popular bloke in the section. I often "whip the cat" because I was too young and innocent to think of selling my issue instead of giving it away.—AAV.