For Motorists Only

Auckland Star, Volume LXX, Issue 23, 28 January 1939, Page 3 (Supplement)

For Motorists Only

JUST at the moment I'm bubbling ] over with ideas. Having \ driven a car for the last three years (off and on, of course), I j feel I am entitled to a few opinions on the subject of motor- I ing. These opinions have bden growing in strength, until now I feel the time is ripe to divulge them to the great army of fellow- j motorists. ' It's all about pedestrians. Now, there's not a doubt that Mr. Seinple has spoilt pedestrians. Abso lutely. They actually think they have as much right on the roads as the motorists. They've even got special little roads across the streets as well as their pavements, and if that isn't the height of indulgence, well I don't know what is. I tell you, when I first saw these crossings, I just couldn't believe my eyes. I thought vaguely of the Red Sea opening to let Israel through the waters. I gasped. I was indignant. What with the 30-mile speed limit, and the dexterity of the pedestrians anyway, well it took my breath away. The manner in which they saunter across, the delight with which they watch the long string of traffic grow, is particularly calling, especially when the bar closes at six and we're cutting it fine already. But can we do anything? Of course not. We also serve who only sit and wait. Susan is indignant because she has had a driving license two whole months and so far her kills consist of merely a hen, a wire fence, a rabbit and a pig. Of course, the tirws she has removed the garage doors are not counted in this. And the beastly pig didn't succumb. Instead, it had seven little pigs the next day and its owner has sent Susan a bill for the grazing of seven piglets for one week. She thinks it is one week. Certainly no less. Susan says pedestrians are very scarce here, and those still in circulation are amazingly agile. She is, I might add, very discouraged. So out of all this data has grown my idea. It is based on this principle. We have a shooting season. For nearly all the year wild pigs, ducks nd pheasants, etc., are left practically to their own devices. We are prevented from shooting them, trying to, of course, until this season opens. Thus is man's desire to pot at things gratified. It has to be. Man was once a boy, and what boy doesn't spend hours on end firing stones at birds and telephone insulators? And that urge cannot vanish altogether with long pants and hair oil. We also have an oyster season. The oyster lives his secluded and unmolested life all the year till the season opens and the oyster-pickers arrive. Thus man's appetite for oysters is appeased. So it goes on. If it were not for these periods of the year when restrictions are lifted, men would become full of suppressed desires to shoot things and lift oysters. And suppression is so bad for one. It results in defiance of liyy altogether. There would be risings, mass protest meetings to which we'd all sneak our rifles and pot at stray policemen under the delusion that they were rabbits or wild boar. Then, waving red flags we'd march off down to the coast and fall to disposing of all the oysters we could, whether we really liked them or not. That would entail difficulties. A thousand or so oystercraving hitherto-repressed citizens, tramping barefoot around the Cheltenham rocks would be more liable to remove the shells from each others toes, than those of the oysters. Hammers and rocks, coated with scraps of toenails, oysters and fingers, would float through the thickening atmosphere, and any

policeman appearing on the beach would be in danger of losing his life. I feei these statements are not exaggerated. So, perhaps, you can already see my point. You understand why we have seasons, so you will understand the plight of the motorist. He kicks off in his new, glinting vehicle and is warned not to exceed the speed limit. Of course, he does. Then he notes that the car which has just flashed past contains a uniformed figure whose back view is rather familiar. He groans and slows down cautiously. He wonders what he can pawn to pay the fine. That, perhaps, would be bearable, but then there are the pedestrians. Pedestrians who fly out from behind stationary cars so that we have to shoot across the street to dodge them. Pedestrians who saunter. Pedestrians who go halfway across the street, then turn and trot back again. They don't know where

ByR. Campbell

they want to go and have to decide in

the middle of the street. We'd like to help them. We'd certainly take them somewhere and relieve them of the trouble of making a decision for themselves. But are we allowed to? Never! Tha pampered one continue on their blissful way. They know that if they are hit the hapless motorist will be blamed. The motorist knows it too. So he zigzags to avoid the creatures; he slows up in the most ridiculous places. Altogether, he toadies to them. But there is a glint m his eye as he taps his wheel and waits. He seethes inwardly as he slides under the back of a motor lorry to avoid a sauntering youth. He is a victim of suppression. He will break out badly 6ome day, charge into the white-gloved officer who points a supercilious hand in his direction, or he will dash into the foyer of a theatre as the crowd surge out. So, as the Duke said when he couldn't get enough coal to light his stove, "Something must be done!" And so it should. We have .our oyster season, our shooting season, why not a pedestrian season? For two weeks let us have the right to hit any objectionable specimen who attempts to hinder us. Give us the freedom of Queen Street. No more of this repression of natural instincts which is draining our manhood from us. After one week the worst species would be obliterated, after the second, only the very well-behaved and those who had pained admittance, to the gaol for the two weeks, would be left. We would then contentedly bow to the rules for the rest of the year, having got all that off our chests. "Arise, ye Ootlis, and gult your ire." I've always liked that line, and I think it is quite suitable. Well, motorists, what do yon think about it? Of course, it has. its drawbacks. We will have to don crash helmets, I imagine, and certainly never venture to walk anywhere in the city ourselves. But the idea has infinite possibilities. I've written to Mr. Semple about it and he doesn't object. At least he hasn't written to say so, so" I concluded th<? proposition is favourable in bis sight. There is one thing, however, of which I am certain. When I see Susan back out of the garage, I intend to back into my study and lock the door. And T won't come oat till she crashes Into it again.