ON THE BOARD.

Evening Post, Volume LXXIX, Issue 12, 15 January 1910, Page 3

ON THE BOARD.

« AMONG THE SLAUGHTERMEN. VISIT TO A- FREEZING vVORKS. [ How very different things are from what they seem ! Everybody has some idea of everything, whether he has seen it or not. For instance, the writer, whOj ! until the other day had never Deen within the sacred precincts of a freezing works, had gathered from the accounts of some of his friends who had been so privileged, a very distinct conception of slaughtermen and their work. They were a sort of band of iolly butchers, not inhibited by the nature of their profession from the enjoyment of the humour of things. They were merry comedians, hiding the seamy side of life — and death. — under a jocular and jocund manner. When a visitor came within their ken, a gentleman, say, in spotless raiment of the latest mode, they assailed him with a round chorus something on these lines, borrowed from a description of a visit to a northern freezing works, given by a friend t,o the writer : ' 'Hello, bloke ! Hello, chum! How are you doing?" This to the accompaniment of a volley of minute portions qt a "sheep's anatomy, nofc usually included in the preparation of the carcase for the Home market. Such were the free and independent artists of the "board," the mutton board, as pictured in the imagination from a few suggestions. THE ±IEALITY OF THINGS. ] What is the reality? Something far otherwise, as the writer discovered from a visit to a local works one fine summer morning. The larks were singing in the blue, sky under the brilliant sun, the seagulls were dancing in the air, settling ever and anon in that part of the harbour where the discharge of two pipes turn the blue waters to a dull purple tint. Here and there were sheep grazing peacefully on the sunburnt hills, unconscious of tfieir destiny. It was a perfect morning, sweet, fresh, and pure. Only in the immediate vicinity of the collection of brick buildings, constituting the freezing works, was there any suggestion of a lethal business important to the prosperity of this country. The suggestion was distinct and unmistakable, a! peculiar pungent, aromatic odour compounded of many essences. It needs no further description, as it announces itself to many people, who are not visitors or intending visitors to the source of the perfume. It is an inevitable concomitant of the process of turning live sheep into dead and frozen mutton, and nothing more need be said on that score. "THE MUTTON FLOOR." The butchers are on the floor, the mutton floor, or "the board," as ii is sometimes termed. They are a disappointment, regarded melodramatically. There is no effusive welcomo, no cordial reception with a chorus, no shower of emblems and tokens of the trade to greet the visitors. Where are the jolly comedians who regard life and death as a jest? Not on the mutton floor. These tall, iviry, sombre-looking men in blue or black' flannel sleeveless jumpers and long leather boots, these aproned figures moving! steadily and silently about their business, seem fully conscious of the nature of their work They are not comedians ; they are tragedians-}— serious artists with a. certain gloomy pride in their craft, carving a sheep, as the conspirators were to carve Caesar, as a work of art. , Along the spacious concrete floor they stand amid a welter of the heads and legs and entrails and skins of their victims. And alongside, clung on hooks, are many shining carcases, the fruit of their prowess. It may sound gruesome and \ horrible, but really the slaughtermen at work are like surgeons in their craft. The killing of sheep is a necessity. It must be done — let it be done well. And so it is. HOW THEY WORK. This is the method of things. Pefc sheep, traitors to their race, decoy their fellows from the country into a' long race opening off into pens. The country visitors, all unwitting of the nefarious purpose of their new acquaintances in the city, fall easy victims to the con- • fidence trick. Tney wander into pens. The slaughtermen are waiting on the other side. Up go the sliding doors, out go the sheep, the heavy ewes and wethers dragged by the knife-armed men and with one slice across the throat comes '•the happy despatch." Four are usually killed one after the other. By the time No. 4 ha» gone tne way of all flesh, the slaughterman returns' to No. 1 and removes his tongue. And so on. Tongues are everything. The slaughtermen count their sheep not by the head, but by the tongue. It therefore pays a man to "hold his* tongue," for his tally is counted so at the end of the spell, and on that tally he gets his pay. So they all go into a bucket — one for each man — and "no tongue, no pay." They are part of a great machine, are the slaughtermen, one of the living links — the most important, perhaps — in all. the long chain that delivers the frozen carcase in canvas -cases, hard and stiff into the hold of the Home boat, the tallow into casks, the meat into tins, the manure into bags, the wools into bales, and the skins into packages — all. the long and^- elaborate process of making the most of a sheep. v Tfie work does not appear easy. Apart from the slaughtering and dressing itself there is the handling and lifting of heavy sheep. And above all the atmosphere of the shambles. THINGS IN GENERAL. What has been said of sheep applies largely to .cattle. The huge animals are stunned /with a long-handled sledge hammer, and then fall out on the floor for the final coup de grace. They go through several * hands, ils the work is more difficult and lends itself naturally to specialisation. Each man has his particular work to do. There is no place for a- weakling "on the boai'd." It is all very interesting, especially in view of the importance of the frozen meat trade to New Zealand. There is an additional interest, too, in the work of slaughtermen at, present. To all appearances there was no sucn thing as trouble at the works visited by the . present writer. The men were going steadily and quietly about their work, rather more easily than usual, but that was all. They were still thy- vital link in the great machine.

The Taranaki County Council proposes to make an experiment with waste petroleum from the Taranaki Company's works at Moturon. A chain ol metal will be lifted, and two or three inches of crude oil will be spread over the road. Tho metal will then be replaced and rolled, the oil thus being, forced up to bind the road. • THE GUINEA POEMA CHEQUE for £1 Is has been sent to the writer of this verse — T.S., Featherst6n-street, Palmerston North: — When I think of a feast of a bygone race, And its wondrous bill of fare ; I picture what joy would have beamed on each face Had Flag Brand Pickles been there ! WIN A GUINEA ! Prize Poem published every Saturday. Best original four short-line advt. verse about "Flag Brand Pickles", wins each week. Forward verac, embossed metal cap from bottle, and full nddrees to Hayward 1 Bros.. P.O. Box 613, Wellington.