COUNCIL NUMBERS

Auckland Star, Volume LXVIII, Issue 283, 29 November 1937, Page 11

COUNCIL NUMBERS

IRATE HOUSEHOLDERS

PERMISSION NOT ASKED.

PAINTER GOES THE ROUNDS.

(By Telegraph.—Own Correspondent.) CHRISTCHURCH, this day. Many of the victims demand, in a dazed sort of way, "What the—?" "Who the—?" and become unprintable; the more sensitive are on the verge of tears; but some have recovered from the shock sufficiently to express, in passable, if still rude, language, their opinion of the City Council's idea of numbering houses.

For "cool, brassy cheek" the outraged householders give their City Council full marks; for aesthetic taste, none at all. Most hurt and most determined to "do something about it" are the young couples in some of the newer suburban streets who have only recently begun to pay the 700 or so weekly instalments that will eventually make the little brand new bungalows they occupy their very own.

One such street in Papanui buzzed like a disturbed beehive last night, when husbands came home to find that the City Council's number painter had been busy on their gateposts. They raised a wail that was heard in the "Star-Sun" office, two and a half miles away, and a reporter went to see and to listen.

Each gatepost, most of which are in varying shades of cream, bore a great black blob, the full width of the post and about three inches deep. Screwed on to some of the posts were brass numbers carrying a polish that would have won approbation aboard a man-of-war; on other posts, the numbers were of bright chromium steel. No matter. Each was surrounded by mourning, which, besides being hideous in itself, made them much less conspicuous than before.

One lady near the Papanui Road end of the street admitted that, not having been very well lately, she had neglected her brass number; but she had not barSained on having it painted over, first black and then white. "The cheek of them! The cheek of them!" she shrilled, and fled inside to ring up the grocer and tell him to add a bottle of "turps." to the morrow's order. "If Only . . » "Knoeking-off time" overtook the painter half way down the street, apparently, for there the series of little white numbers on the big black backgrounds ceased, and from there on there were no numbers. Before one such gatepost stood a young husband, his wife and two-year-old son. all talking at once. The number on their gatepost, which was a deep cream, had been painted on by "hubby" in bright green enamel, of which he had also given the concrete front steps a coat. His handiwork was still faintly visible under the black. "Not Many Complaints." What he considered a telling point was advanced by a stout little man. "The City Council does not put a hideous mess like this on its own premises," said he. "You can go a.nd have a look at the Council Chambers. There are no big black blobs on it— only a little brass number 'way up over the door." Next morning the man who made tea unhappy in such a lot of normally na PPy bungalows came back to jjo on with his numbering and it seemed only fair to let him give his side. "I think it is quite a good idea, you know," he said. "But a lot of people think it's an absolute disfigurement, don't they?" "Well. I haven't had many complaints," the painter averred. "Not very many, that is. Oh. yes. I suppose it is rather late to complain." he agreed, "after I have done the job."