A CUP WEEK INTERLUDE

Press, Volume LXXIII, Issue 22249, 13 November 1937, Page 8

A CUP WEEK INTERLUDE

[By LISTENER] In spite of what certain gentlemen say in a certain place in Wellington, I am satisfied that editors are not such perfidious fellows after all. See, it is this way. Since last Saturday, like most other members of the younger dancing set, I've had a pretty full round of sporting and social engagements, so many of them, in fact, that there has been little time to listen to Bach interpreters, baritones, informative talks —ail those things that in less fevered weeks give me a liberal ration of radio fun. Therefore, I plaintively petitioned the editor to allow me a free week. I shan't record his reply, as it was given to me, but the gist of it was no notes, no pay, and pay. after all, is of some importance However, he was generous enough to yield one point to me. "You can stray a bit from radio if you want to," he said. As my experience is probably shared by others, there is a compelling reason why I should record that I found it very difficult to get anything for nothing in Christchurch this week. Carnival Week is one span of days in which it is almost impossible to get something for nothing. It is just as easy to win a smile from a waiter on the Champs Elysee without tipping him as it is to get anything free in this city while the racing revels are in progress. I did, however, see a man get something for nothing at Addington last Tuesday. He presented a place ticket worth 18s at the new totalisator and the clerk there paid him out £3 3s (the win dividend) in mistake. Jack Lovelock would have looked senile compared with that fellow smoking off with his unearned increment. The call of distress from the pay-out window had not been uttered before that cad was lost in the crowd. Possibly I should not complain, for I, too, got something for nothing on the night of Lucky Jack's Cup win. It was a lot of fun.

Introducing Runyon

I was introduced that night to the short stories of Damon Runyon, an American sporting writer who has gone to the guys and dolls of New York for his characters. Runyon, I am assured by Mr H. L. Menchen's monumental volume "The American Language," is one of the 10 most fecund makers of slang current in the United States. There is, I'm afraid, something infectious in his writing, so if there are any quaintly unusual twists in the pure prose of this column Mr Damon Runyon must be considered responsible for them. I like the first sample of Kunyonese which I can see now on the jacket of this delightful volume "More Than Somewhat." This is it:

"Only a rank sucker would think of taking two peeks at Dave the Dude's doll ... for Dave thinks more than somewhat of his dolls."

It may seem that I am straying further from my subject than I have ever done before, but with ferocious cunning I am really getting on to it by amazing degrees. I set out to mention that I had been introduced to Mr Runyon's stories, and in the most pleasant way—that is, by having them read aloud to me. Where this session took place does not matter, but I can say that the surroundings were comfortable and the cocoa good. The introduciion came with the story called "Blood Pressure." The anonymous narrator, suffering from blood pressure, is in the hands of one Rusty Charley—a most unwholesome character—on an evening ramble. They arrive at the Bohemian Club run by Knife O'Halloran. Four coppers off duty enter the club portals. Here, then, is a glimpse of Runyon at work:

"Knife," Charley says, "what is the most beautiful sight in the world?" , "I do not know, Charley," Knife says. "What is the most beautiful sight in the world?"

"Four dead coppers in a row." Charley says.

Well, at this I personally ease myself over towards the door, because I never wish to have any trouble with coppers and especially with four coppers, so I do not see everything that comes off. All I see is Rusty Charley grabbing at the big foot one of the cops kicks' at him, and then everybody seems to go into a huddle, and the guys and the dolls in evening dress start squawking, and my blood pressure goes up to maybe a million. I get outside the door, but I do not go away at once as anybody with any 'sense will do, but stand there listening to what is going on inside, which seems to be nothing more than a loud noise like ker-bump, ker-bump, ker-burr-o.

Now, I enjoyed that session of reading, and a few of the astute ones should be able to detect now what I'm leading up to. If it is Dossible on an evening in Carnival Week, for a reader to give simple pleasure to groups of people who have been at Addington for the greater part of the day, and flirting with the fleshpots between times, I think there is evidence enough that radio reading sessions would be popular. The National Broadcasting Service virtually admits that in keeping Mr D'Arcy Cresswell on the air, but again I must protest that Michaud's "History of the Crusades" and Kingslake's "Eothen" are right enough for sessions of limited appeal, but what I have in mind are sessions which will appeal to mezzo, or even low, brows. If there is a valid objection to broadcast readings I should like to hear what it is. To ignore a suggestion merely because it is a suggestion is not being big, strong, and masterful. Once again I beseech the National Broadcasting Service to heed this plea. Bernard Shaw's Talk While I happen to be in this helpful mood, I would like to suggest

further that the National Broadcasting Service should obtain from the British Broadcasting Corporation a recording of Bernard Shaw's talk rebroadcast from Daventry by 2YA last Sunday evening. Reception was only fair, but those who did hear the ingenious old intellectual wizard, declare that he had something good for the masses. Shaw makes a habit of speaking the truth, and he is one of the few men now independent enough to practise truth speaking. Many listeners would like to hear him again. Centenarian on the Air There is another talk of the week that should be mentioned. Or. Thursday evening 4YA broadcast a talk which was nominally one in the "I Was There" series. It was scheduled to come from Mrs A. Harries, and was on the subject, of the opening of the Crystal Palace. That ceremony took place either in 1851 or 1861, so it may be deduced that Mrs Harries is more than somewhat elderly. Although most women are sensitive about their age, Mrs Harries probably won't mind it being announced that she is 103 and sailing quite merrily along to her next birthday. For this talk she was interviewed in her home by Pastor Davies, and although it must be admitted that | she had very little to say about the Crystal Palace, it was a pleas- i ant radio experience to hear her I confident voice and hearty chuckle coming through the microphone. | That there was an occasional mis- j understanding of the questions put to her helped to give the interview naturalness that would have been lacking had it been more carefully prepared. I can think of nobody likely to challenge the right of Mrs Harries to be listed as New Zealand's oldest broadcaster. Overseas Artists j In the programmes of the com- I ing week there is not much I am ! j inclined to star on trust. Those j who care for music are advised to I listen to Paul Schramm, pianist, who j will broadcast from 3YA next Wed- j nesday and Thursday. I have heard ; two or three of Mr Schramm's re-! citals from other stations. He cev- i tainly appears to have the master ; toueh. Mr Schramm's visit reminds j me of a statement made by the Post- ! master-General in the House of Re- ! presentatives last week. He said , that for the three months ending , with October fees paid to New Zea- ■ land radio artists totalled £9395. , while the fees of overseas artist?, amounted to £ 1572. It looks as if j the National Broadcasting Service j is giving fairly ample protection to j one local industry. I suggest that a ; large portion of the fees paid to local ; artists might have been better spent ■ on overseas importations. If local ; artists are, on their merits, entitled to such generous treatment from the j National Broadcasting Service, the I need for the Conservatorium of j Music and the spoken arts is not so ; apparent. The best way of improv- i ing standards* in the Dominion is to j spend, as much as possible on talented visitors. i