THE PASSING SHOW.

Auckland Star, Volume LXVI, Issue 160, 9 July 1935, Page 6

THE PASSING SHOW.

(By THE MAN ABOUT TOWN.)

The current prevalence of dangerous influenza in New South Wales reminds an old 'Waler of earlier days in the extended outback of Australia long S.O.S. before radio came to comfort the lono boundary rider or the unaccompanied shepherd. 'He mentions that as a new chum he was a waterdrawer and boundary rider on a five-hundred-tliousand-acre run. He was only thirty miles from the homestead —a relatively small distance in that large land—and the ration carriers used to bring his tucker once a fortnight. The ration carriers didn't come, and the new chum shot sheep as they lined up at the troughs and otherwise like those Biblical back-countrymen, lived on '"locusts and wild honey"—without the locusts. Continued absence of all persons from anywhere induced the boundary rider to ride to the station. Not a soul he knew was at the homestead, which was held by two or three strangers. All hands were dead and buried. The point is that the boundary rider had no notion whatever that influenza was sweeping the country, sporadic instances occurring here, there and everywhere. And the old 'Waler ended: "Thank God for, radio, for aeroplanes, for telephones, for motor bikes, for motor cars— for S.O.S. I'll bet there's a bike, a 'phono and a radio at that outstation to-day."

A learned professor, lecturing locally, very reasonably suggested that although we are so remote from the whirling world in New Zealand, this remoteness is RURAL HISTORY, tempered by a knowledge of the earth comparable with that of less remote places. It will be remembered, indeed, that during the Great War New Zealand often knew what had happened on the Western Front before the people of London did themselves, which, after all, is a tribute to modern science, "which so narrows distance. And he told the story of the English bucolic, met on the country road by the astute city person, who was keen to ascertain how little a true bucolic knew. "I yur," said the countryman, "thur's bin a war?" "Yes, a dreadful war," said the other. "Oo won ?" "Oh, the British won." "An' wot did um do with Krooger ?" "Oh, Kruger, you know, has been dead for years and years." "You don't tell Oi?" "Yes, but there's been a fearful war between Germany and the Allies since then." "Oh, an* 'oo won thickcy war?" "Oh, the—er — British—that is the Allies won that war, too." "Wot did uin do wi' the Kaiser?" "Oh, they sent him to Holland." "Oh, well Queen Victoria won't like that, will 'er?" Then, of course, the city man refrained from asking Hodge where Wharekirauponga is.

A novel, nay, a unique, sight was recently afforded on a passenger steamer within harbour limits. A Chinese'sailor man, obviously strange to this port, CHANG'S FANGS, descended from the upper deck to the lower,- leaned far over the rail, and in a very decent and respectful manner spat into the Pacific. Without uproar he withdrew, and as the immemorial custom in the teeming East is single file, a companion followed him to the rail, and in a very respectful and decent manner also spat into the Pacific. One emphasises this tribute to Old Ocean because so many Western friends would have made a spittoon of the deck instead.of the ocean. But the point of this narrative is that the Eastern coolies had paid this tribute to Old Ocean because both had seen a dentist. From comparisons it appeared that each had given up to the forceps at least two molars, and one suspects that even a bicuspid had not escaped. Which at once dispelled all preconceived ideas in the mind of the watching Westerner that the average Chinese grows teetli just like he grows fingers, that when they are mature they are with him until the last solemn soil is piled on his lowly corpse and he is with his ancestors in a more Flowery Land. One expects a Chinese who has chewed away at his roughage and smoothage for eighty years to have his natural teeth worn down to the jaw but still in masticatory order, and the sjght of two of them spitting into the Pacific after dental extractions gave the watcher the feeling that after all the millions of the East arc not necessarily superior to ourselves.

A "Star" picture showing an American dog of fragile proportions and a cat of the same sharing the same bit of flotsam in a flood illustrates the comOLD MAN RIVER, munal habits of the animal creation during times of mutual stress. The dog wouldn't biff the cat into the water, and the cat wouldn't scratch the dog off into the damp because it wouldn't help either a bit." People who, like present non-swimmer, have watched the breast of a great river bearing down to the sea carrying forests and farmyards with it, have often seen floating communes which have been patterns to the human race. Pigs squealing for dear life perched on a floating sty, together with half a dozen wet fowls, taking no notice of the porker. 'Possums and dingoes in amiable company going past on a few boards without thought of personal tights —rats and birds in company—ferrets and rabbits holding an "at home" on a log, ducks— frightened of the swirl—taking no notice of their temporary pals the turkeys—and man on the bank, his mouth watering at the {bought of so much tucker floating by and him without a gun. There is the antithesis to the rolling snow-fed river in the tropic day which wilts the soul and burns the sole; when bird and beast, played out, will steal into the habitation of man, and with him pant unfrightened. It is in moments like these that the sun-dried bird, the frizzled beast and the master of both sings out for a nice wet flood.

The sight of a wrestler pulling a cart loaded with something like a dozen men recalls the days of yesteryear when other stalwarts performed bovine or DRAUGHT HORSES equine feats of strength, —AND OTHERS, spectacular, if unavailing. For instance, Auckland remembers the stocky circus man who gave an excellent imitation of human trace chains. He hooked his feet in the swinglebar of a cart and with his hands grasped the bar, to which a pair of horses were hitched, and ■became the nunuln connection between team and load, which proceeded through the city— an excellent exercise for middle-aged gentlemen of plethoric habit and recommended for that tired feeling. People who had not the slightest intention of becoming human trace chains cheered him lustily. It was this gentleman who would stand* between two horses holding the swingletrees. The horses would pull different ways—and he would hold them. A mass of local doctors went to hear this curly-headed chap talk of how to become strong and make one's self a living trace chain. None of the doctors wanted to be trace chains, but it amused them to listen. This quaint person stood on the stage and demonstrated his only strengthening exercise. He merely strained his arms to the heavens and shuddered violently, agitating the whole of his frame. "That's the lot!" he trilled— and it was his whole training technique. The doctors cackled melli/luously, went on the stage, fingered his biceps, and poked his abdomen, and were very pleased indeed, but never from that day to this has a single doctor acted as a trace chain in Queen Street.