WITHOUT DEFEAT

Dominion, Volume 28, Issue 255, 25 July 1935, Page 6

WITHOUT DEFEAT

A Story with a Call to a Nation

By

OLIVER BLACK

Herein arc being set forth the n-anderings up and doicn the North Island of a young Englishman anxious to learn by observation and personal contacts something of the life, the outlook, the aspirations and the genius of the New Zealand people, as expressed in their daily round, their achievements as a community—a nation in the chrysalis—and their social and political development. 11 The Science of Christianity. As Oliver finished his soup the parson came and took his seat at the table. Oliver apologised for his intrusion into number six and explained how it happened. “Finnigan’s a great character,” said the parson'. “As Irish as they make them, and he’s been out. here for many years now’ and never lost it.” Oliver asked about the sphere of his companion’s work, and learned that It lay in a poor district near AVanganul. "It makes one’s heart bleed,” said the parson, “to see such poverty and distress around here. And in a country such as this where food should be" plentiful; there must, be something wrong W’hen there is distress and hunger in New Zealand.” “You would like some kind of Christian Communism, perhaps?” “Perhaps; at all events I think that the rich are too rich and the poor too poor. There ought to be some kind of levelling up.” "I thought the churches were opposed to Communism on principle?” asked Oliver.

“Oh, I don’t suggest any form of Russian Communism. Though it seems to me that most people are no better off here than in Russia. The masses are oppressed and controlled, the majority are dependent upon others for their daily bread, w*e have over 50,000 men for whom no work or wages is allowed —they live on charity; I doubt if w’e compare too favourably with Russia.”

Oliver looked at him speculatively, and ate some bread.

“If I may say so,” said he, “I have rarely heard such remarkable sentiments. By whom are the masses oppressed?” “I would say by big business.” “That’s a good phrase, but I don’t think it means much. I don’t suppose there’s a single country in the world w v here w’hat you call ‘the masses’ (which I suppose means the ordinary man in the street) are less oppressed than in this country. I would love to see you go out. into the road and ask anyone if he thinks he’s oppressed!” The parson laughed. “I dure say you’re right. Perhaps I spoke thoughtlessly." “It’s rather dangerous for people in your position to speak without think-

iiig, isn’t it? And you say we are ‘controlled’ here. But that is necessary in any circumstances. Personally, I think a little more control, a little more discipline in every wuilk of life, would do us all a lot of good.” “Again I must agree. It certainly would in Church.”

“And in the State. Are you interested in polities at all?” “I try to keep out of them. But I hear a good deal of murmuring against the Government by men who are out of employment through no fault of their own and for whom the Government has not found jobs.” “But,” said Oliver, “the Government cannot find jobs by passing Acts of Parliament. It can create work, nj doubt, by borrowing and condemning the country to pile up debts on the shoulders of your children. Unless you want the Government to shuffle the solution of the unemployment question on to your children —as they’re doing in Australia —it can only indirectly stimulate employment, while providing the best relief the country can afford for those who are out of work. And that this Government has done —and unemployment has fallen by a sixth.” “Nevertheless, if you saw the distress that I sometimes see you w’ould wonder whether one could not do more. Oliver pushed back his chair. "I’ll tell you what you can do,” he said. “You can preach against envy and covetousness. Also against uncharitableness. You can encourage people to be content witli their lot, with the station to which it has pleased God to call them. And you can remind them that Christ turned to the poor, to the underdog—and that it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter into the Kingdom of Heaven. Good-night to you sir..” Farm Labour.

As he finished his breakfast next morning Oliver had a brainwave. He asked the waitress if there was a Farmers’ Club in the village. She directed him down the road. Oliver found it, went up the rickety stairs and discovered a caretakes stacking bottles underneath a trestle table in a sparsely-furnished little room. He asked for the name and address of the most influential farmer in the neighbourhood and was told his name was Ridley. Oliver went back to the hotel and telephoned Air. Ridley. He explained that he would like to see over Ridley’s farm and received a cordial invitation. Ridley arranged to meet him outside the Post Office in the next town, some five miles along the road to Wanganui, at two o’clock. Oliver spent the morning reading the paper and wandering round the village, and after a leisurely lunch set off for his rendezvous. On the steps of the Post Office stood a heavily-built, red-faced man in a

thick tweed suit, his legs encased in black leggings. “Ah!" said Olher to himself, “my farmer.”

He ffot out of the car and introduced himself, apologising for taking up a farmer’s time. “Huh I” said Mr. Ridley, “forget it. Anything that takes me away from work for a few minutes is a Godsend. Let’s have a nip before we start.” He turned into an hotel. Oliver followed, protesting that he did not drink in the afternoon. His protests were unavailing, so he sipped a ginger ale while Ridley wielded a whisky bottle. “Yes,” said. Ridley, “you won’t find my farm like the ones you’ve been used to at Home. AVe can’t afford to-do the way you can over there. No labour and no money.” Oliver said that he was not accustomed to any kind of farm and that he was sure Mr. Ridley’s would prove a revelation to him.

“Well, you know, it’s not what it might be, but it’s not so bad,” replied Ridley wiUi a smirk. He tossed down his drink: "Shall we he getting along?” They climbed into Oliver’s car and Ridley guided him through the town, and up a side road. Leaving the car they walked through a gate, and up a metalled drive to an apology for a lawn in front of the house. In the course of the walk Oliver learned that Ridley had bought the farm some few years ago and had recently gone in for pigs on a moderately extensive scale. He also discovered that the work had been done by Ridley himself and a boy of 15.

He crossed the lawn to the milking shed. There was a good deal of moss and untidiness but the place bore a fairly prosperous air. Ridley showed him the pig sty with great pride, Oliver saw two large pens crowded with pigs.

“Ahexplained Ridley, “I believe in crowding pigs together. They sort of like company. I know at Home you only put five or six to a sty, but I don’t hold with that. Besides, with things as they ar.e now I can’t afford to put up ajm more buildings.” A water pipe leading from a tank behind the milking shed across the yard to a trough in the nearest paddock, was leaking badly and a thin but regular trickle of water was forming great pools in the mud of the yard. "I must apologise for the mess in the yard.” said Ridley. “I’ve been meaning to get that pipe fixed for months. I really must do something about it before the winter. The truth is I can’t afford it. With things as they are to-day, 15/- for a new valve is a lot of money.” Oliver wondered how many days’ drinks and cigarettes and seats at the pictures represented the cost of a new valve. Broke to the Wide. Ridley leant on a gate and gazed complacently across ths paddocks to where the cows were slowly working their way in the direction of the farmyard as the time for the afternoon milking drew nearer.

“And are you broke, too?" asked Oliver. “I can’t say I’m broke- —but I’m not making any money. Why, damn it, if I kept any accounts and could reckon up how I stood I believe I should find I was losing money !” Oliver nut to him the three categories suggested to him by the man at Levin.

“Well, you can say that about 50 per cent, of the farmers ar.e making money

in the sense that I’m making money. I pay ffiy Avay and live but I never seem to have any money in the bank". There are hundreds of things that want doing about the farm, and want doing badly if I had the money.” "Isn’t the position really this,” replied Oliver smiling. “You are making money but not saving money; you’re making money and spending it.”

“I don’t know about that,” returned Ridley. "What I do know is that whenever tlie time comes for me to pay my mortgage interest I don’t seem to have any money in tlie bank.” They walked back to the farm buildings and through a store room into the milking shed. Oliver saw an incredibly ancient weighing machine in the corner, stiff and rusty with age.

"We use that for weighing pigs,” said Ridley. “It doesn’t look very accurate,” suggested Oliver. “It isn’t, but that doesn’t matter much. AVe know about how much they weigh. As a matter of fact I’ve been meaning to scrap it for years. But now, of course, I haven’t the money to buy another.” They returned to tbe house and Oliver said good-bye. "Delighted," said Ridley, “come and see me again seme day.” Oliver drove thoughtfully back the town.

(To be continued.)