The ODD ANGLE

Auckland Star, Volume LXXIII, Issue 254, 27 October 1942, Page 2

The ODD ANGLE

(By MacCLURE.)

• WHEN PARDON WON THE CUP It's seldom one sees a copy of Henry Lawson's poems these days, ■so I kept on bidding and finally had the luck to have the bundle knocked down to me. "You paid enough for that lot, Mac," a friend commented as I hastily untied the lot and extracted the prized volume. "Maybe," I replied. And then, maybe, I didn't. It's strange how most of us begrudge the odd shilling for some masterpiece of literature and yet, in the same breath, think nothing of paying out double, treble, or even more for something-or-other we've scarcely a use for. The saddest of all sights is to look on at a sale of old and rare New Zealand books and watch men worth thousands taking their time over threepenny rises, carefully watching every move of their neighbour's, holding a sale up while they re-examine a priceless volume before they can come to a decision to go another tray-bit. "I'm bid three and nine, gentlemen.

• "WHILE THE BILLY BOILS" I think I must have been about ten years old when I first read Lawson and no author ever meant so much to me—even Burns. This 1 do know, long before the Boer War days, almost any day you could have found us kids under Bandmaster Cummings' house reading Lawson out aloud to each other. And if there were tears in the eyes of these same kids can you, who know Lawson, wonder at it? To-day many of those same kids sleep in France— not a few of them on Gallipoli. None of us went much on "the classics." Stevenson's "Treasure Island" and Ballantyne's "Coral Island" we did enjoy, but Dickens gave us the hump —and worse. As for Scott—didn't we get enough of him at school. No; our idea in those late "ninety'' clays ran to Frank Reades' and Jack Wright's, Buffalo Bills, Deadwood Dicks—and Henry Lawson. Later we were to "find" Rolf Boldrewood's "Robbery Under Arms," Adam Lindsay Gordon, Banjo Patterson and, of course, all the bushranging stuff we could lay our hands on, for. let it be said here quite bluntly, we had a bushranging career planned out for us. ft was Lawson that made us feel mean about that. The more we read of "While the Billy Boils" the more we wobbled about that career we had planned.

• "LIFE IS MOSTLY FROTH AND BUBBLE " Meanwhile, at home. mother waited for us—with the Bible. There were those texts we had to learn for Sunday next. The Bible meant little to us, then. To us it was "mostly terrible stories about Jews plotting and scheming." The story of Jesus, that was all right, but even that happened thousands and thousands of years ago. Besides, nobody we ever met practised any of the stuff Jesus taught. Not even our own minister Twice we'd bowled him out in lies, and we hated him because after he'd dropped in for dinner and stuffed all he could into him we kids had to go short. But Henry Lawson, now, there was a man for you! Had Henry lived in Jesus' day he must have been His beloved disciple, because everything Henry said was so full of love for his fellows, we reckoned. Where in all literature could one find greater themes than in those immortal verses he bequeathed to fellow Australians'' Written on the fly-leaf of that auction copy I bought, in faint handwriting was this quotation from Adam Lindsay Gordon:— "Question not, but live and labour Till your goal be won, Helping every feeble neighbour, Seeking help from none; Life Is mostly froth and bubble. Two things stand like stone: Kindness in another's trouble. Courage in your own."

• CHRISTMAS IS COMING And now to conclude with another acknowledgment. You may remember I mentioned the fact that an anonymous correspondent, a lady, had posted me two five pound notes to give away to "a" returned soldier —with her gratitude and best wishes. I did so—spreading the money over two dozen worthy Diggers, one dozen of them in an institution. Well, the lady read my statement as published and sent me two more fivers, with an accompanying letter thanking me for giving it away and leaving no doubt as to how she stands in relation to Christ's gospel. "Reading your column last Tuesday," she wrote, "and thinking of all the ingratitude to the soldiers, my mind was carried away beyond them to One, the ingratitude to Whom does not bear thinking of. For His sake would you oblige with another £10. It seems such a pitifully small offering, but surely He will understand . . . There is so much to wonder about in the world to-day one can only do the best one can, praying and—'Trusting.' "

Well, it's the lady's money, and her wish. Should any of my readers, after contributing to the patriotic appeal, still have any money they would like to give away for Christmas I cannot think of a more worthy cause to give it to than to our old and ailing folk—especially those in institutions. The old and infirm have not much to look forward to—even should they ever be discharged. To them let your gifts be sent, you Christians with too much money. Better still, give it direct to them— visit them yourselves any Sunday— take it with you. You can always give it to the sister in charge, in your own name, in Christ's name—or anonymously. There's no need for middlemen like me to do it for you. And that way you'll always know for sure where your money has gone.