THE RIGHT STUFF

Press, Volume LIV, Issue 16118, 24 January 1918, Page 2

THE RIGHT STUFF

MASSET'S COCKNEY

FRIEND.

AN INTERLUDE

He came into the Ministerial car suddenlv and unannounced, and brought with him. as brisk as a clean wind from Strath Taieri, the lively and unconquerable spirit of London. It was a sheer intrusion, of course; but as things turned out, no intruder was ever more -welcome. Tho train had just left Hindon, whero so many tourists in passing try vainlv to pitch a pebblo across the river" and Mr Massey was poring .over what seemed to be a typed mile i f grievances. The entered, and at once disarmed surprise and resentment. lie was clearly a man who had stoked across many latitudes and through uncountable leagues of blue sea, and had a record of rare entertainment in strange company in many a dim fo'c'as'le and sunlit foreign por . His eves were brighter than a friendly Skve "terrier's, and he bugged in one arm an English concertina— £>! 10s, it was. in London, off the Styand. '■Thev bet me along there, ne explained'gaily. pointing back the gorge,' "that I wouldn't come and shake hands with the bloomin' Prime Minister. 1 bet them as 'ow I would, and, Lor' love me, ahm here. awhr you, Mister Mausscy? You don t know me? 1 seen you at the Guildhall gettin' tho freedom of London. A bit of all right, eh? You dont mind me com in' in? How awnr you. Tho greeting was irresistible; the typed grievance was laid aside: the Prime Minister heartily gripped tho horned hand of a true-blue Cockney. The genial democracy of Conservative England had united easily with the most genial Conservatism of Democratic New Zealand, and presently London —"sowf-east" —held sway. "Seem' as how ahm here, the musical stoker said, "I may as well give you a bit of music. Did you ever hear the chimes?" •'Let's hear them, ' said the Prime Minister. . The bright eyes were instantly hooded in ccstacy, the instrument with its inanv shining keys swung about a pale, eager face, and presently the Bells of St. Martin's were calling—calling over London town. "How's that? All right, eh. "Very good, indeed. Go on!" "llig'ht O! The 'Marseillaise.' And it was the "Marseillaise," witu the gay spirit of Poplar in full sympathy w-th the martial gaiety of Paris. As the music, embroidered with bold trills, filled the carriage and echoed among the lulls, bringing many curious faces to the windows, and surprising stolid folk at waysido stations, one undei stood whv the men of France and the men of England "go west" together as comrades. _ Then a flood of intimate information about tho stranger's life and experiences. There was his boy, for example, back of the train with the men that had dared his fawther to shako hands with tho bloomin 5 Prime Minister; and a young mother dead soon after her husband had come back from trooping overseas; and a holiday for the nipper in the country before returning to an orphanage; and a whole lot of details, revealing the fine character of a British fireman with a conccrtina and an eager face to make hid at home everywhere. "How about 'The Bedouin's Love Song'? Do" you know it?" Appreciation extended his "repertoire," and intensified the player's ecstasy, which found unusually clever expression in songs of sobby sentiment, lively marches that lead soldiers through mud and misery with gay hearts, and the queer, jerky compositions that made the cakewalk a white man's craze, and now makes staid men rattle their toes to ragtime. A rare programme, indeed, tor the manly men that stoke foodships through itones infested with the submarines of murderers who pannot understand the spirit that made this Cockney the welcomo friend of a Prime Minister.

Then a request to Mr Maussey for his monniker. The word stumped the Prime Minister. Reminiscence provided an explanation. "I got tlie King's in Hyde Park," the stranger said: ''Fact. The coves knowed it was King Edward, but I picked him. Seen him often at the Mansion House. So up I goes and asks him for his monniker. He spoke to me as you would. He was a gentleman, was King Edward. He put his name in my book all right." Mr Massey gave his autograph. "Would you like something ciawssy? P>igiit 0. I'll try and give you 'Cavalier ia Rusticana.' " The trial was better than many a "turn" at the 'alls. Then "Out on the Deep" and "Bonnie Mary o' Argylc," with a flourish beyond the compass of any but con'.idenfc artists. One knew that here was the true appreciation of Bonnie Mary. Next, reminiscences of life on "this side of tho Thames," as the teller told it. "Did Mr Maussey know Poplar and the ral thing dahn sowf-east?" Mr Massey had to confess a lack of knowledge. It was obvious that the Londoner believed that the Prime Minister had missed a great opportunity while at Home. "Yes, my old f ome was in Poplar. The missus and the kiddie were with me then. . . . The 'ouse was blown down by a raid. It was. A woman and five children wero killed in the 'ouse. Isot the fawtlier; the fawther was not there at the time." Again one realised why the Londoner loves the Hun ("I don't think"), and why the deep-sea fireman isn't a pacifist. "I say. Mr Maussey, sonny will be anxious abatrfc liis fawther. I'll go fetch hint?" "Certainly," said the Prime Minister; "Bring him along." A little later a bright boy with the eager face and merry eyes of his fawther decorously entered the Ministerial and sat as quiet as a mouse. He, too, showed enjoyment of fawlher's skill_ "on tho concertina." AVc had a riot of ragtime in Caversham tunnel. Then, on the Kensington tip grade, a military mcdlev, with all tho calls to a garrison. And, of course, 1 'Keep the Home Fires Burning." 1 ""Well. Fil go now, Jtr Maussev, and let you run into town alone. You don't mind me comin' in to see you like this? Good-bye; one never knows where we'll meet next time. Goodbye, gentlemen. Come on, son. So long I" And the lawther and the bright orphan and the concertina abruptly l?ft on their confident way in life, leavin" pleasant memories behind them. ™ Lor' love me! It was a bit of orl right! (Auld Reekie in the Dunedin "Star.")