BY THE WAY

Evening Star, Issue 20196, 8 June 1929, Page 2

BY THE WAY

Uh Q.V.]

“ The lime lias come,” the Walrus said, “To mlk ol many things." The fact that serious minded deputations have practically held lire during this week’s visit to Dunedin'of two Cabinet Ministers has surprised us. No doubt the Ministers are also surprised —and delighted. After all, what is a deputation S' It is Simply a body of men who, at the instigation of other bodies of men, approach someone higher up in the influential scale and are told in answer to their behests that their views will receive every consideration. Sometimes the speakers receive sympathy. Usually they need it. Occasionally they arc thanked for stating their case so clearly, and they go away quite satisliod. And there the whole matter ends—unless the august personage or body approached has decided long beforehand that what the deputation has asked for will be done in' any case. Our New Zealand method of getting what we want is crude and ineffectual. As a rule our deputations are lured into an austere board room, where ■an atmosphere of suspicion, itself perhaps unsuspected, militates against freedom of expression and warmth of response. It resolves into a sort of eat and mouse pastime, or a game of chess. This is not the way big things are achieved in Europe, a continent where diplomacy overcomes many a seeming impasse. For example, wo conjure up the very pleasant thought of Dr Kastz dining with Dr Schact, and at the strategic point between entree and liqueurs, securing bis assent to an arrangement involving a compromise based on an annuity of £102,500,000. All is done in comfort over the dinner table, mark you! There are no cold, matter-of-fact speeches, spoiled through over-preparation and delivered mechanically by a deputy whoso gaze is fixed on a. fly dinging to the opposite wall. This is tact. This is culture.

Italy isn't properly disciplined yet by a long way. Wc don’t mean, of course, that ]-] is Holiness the Pope has reproved Mussolini, for the Pope, although in Italy, is not solely of Italy, whatever Benito may think or say. But there is one Italian whose voice is being heard unmistakably, and that is good old Vesuvius. Mind, we shouldn't be surprised if Vesuvius had to pay for it, and probably a blackshirted company will mount the cindery slopes and pour castor oil down the” crater, by way of bringing the rebellious mountain to its senses. Still, wo don’t think even that drastic method will make much difference, and, in any case,tho Black Shirts will have to wait till things simmer down a bit. For Vesuvius is fiercely independent. The Press and the political machine are well under control—capitalists and trade unionists have all toed the mark. Not a fruiterer dare show one single banana—even a straight one—in his window or on his counter. And you can’t get French wines for love or money. But Vesuvius still keeps the red-hot flag of revolution flying high. We wonder he has the cheek!

Employers, employed, politicians, and Press, Benito has under bis thumb, more or less. Bananas are banned, and whenever one dines One mustn’t drink aught but Italian wines. Whate’er your opinions, you mustn’t suggest That Mnsso’s arrangements are none of the best. In fact, in a nation so nicely controlled You sneak as you’re bidden, and do wliat you’re told ;

But good old Vesuvius cares never a hoot, And even if Musso play-acted Canute, And ordered the lava to stop on the spot, He’d quickly discover ’twas getting too hot. The Dime may speechify, sputter, and swear, But still, when it comes to emitting hot air. Although he’s profuse, undoubtedly smart, The good old volcano can give him a start. < * # * No person can radiate cheer more delightfully than a farmer in Dunedin during Winter Show Week. For the nonce the problems of husbandry are cast into oblivion., or at any rate are left for the next in command to solve. Each day the son of the soil shakes a score of hands, and maybe slaps a like number of backs, exchanging light raillery the while. In. the words of those whose privilege it is to write society news, a good time is had by all. But wo hear somebody ask: “ What about all the rural business that is done in town during Show Week? There is the Farmers’ Union, the Otago Provincial Fruitgrowers’ Council, and the South Island Dairy Farmers’ Federation. Surely a conscientious attendance at the conferences held by these bodies means a plethora of work and worry.” To this our answer is: “Not a bit of it.” Your true farmer does not let weighty deliberation mar his urban pleasure. To him such confabulations aro really sources _ of relaxation. Unless an irresponsible individual happens to blurt out something about daylight saving, your farmer will sit back, smoke his pipe, applaud an address, juggle with a stray remit, toy with a motion, and chew over a resolution—all with very evident enjoyment. The life history of a Fanners’ Union remit is,particularly absorbing. Usually a remit is dragged into the public limelight about six months after its birth in a lonely country outpost. The Provincial Executive then nurses it for three months or so before passing it on to the annual council meeting for confirmation. After that it is sent on to the dominion conference. Should it survive the spoonfeeding there it may reach Parliament in time for next year’s session. Unfortunately, however, a remit quickly loses its vital force, and when Parliament receives it nothing remains to be done but to pension it olf. But farmer’s don’t worry. They’ve plenty of young remits coming on.

The advance of the “talkies” in reinforced array makes us feel as cheerful as a demobilised orchestra. In the past we have seen many pictures, good, bad, and indifferent. Good silent pictures, complete with original sub-titles, have given us so much satisfaction that wc cannot imagine how synchronised vocal sounds, especially those tinned in America, could have enriched our enjoyment. On the occasions when we strayed into poor shows wo simply sat hack in our seat,, dosed our eyes, and browsed over the instrumental music. If we ventured to open our eyes we found the soft, green light of the orchestra well by no means displeasing. It reminded us that the place was a theatre. If it really comes to pass that

the “ talkies ” eliminate orchestral players in the flesh, we shall hesitate before donning our going-out shoes. We cannot sec our way dear to stuffing up our cars with cotton wool should the dialogue not be to our liking. It would be embarrassing, undignified. However, if picture proprietors will persist in carrying out the latest policy they might at least-brighten up the atmosphere a little by lighting a fire in the orchestra well.

With regard to the South Island Main Trunk Railway, the Premier’s decision to have it completed has apparently passed through all the necessary stages, and of these stages the most important is that involving the formal protest from Auckland. No proposal to do anything in the South Island could possibly bo complete without that protest. it is part of the necessary ritual, as it were, like the trotting out of the King's champion on Coronation Days. ■Whatever things could people need in A little village like Dunedin? Or Christchurch ?—we have heard of that Small country village on the flat. Whatever English tourist, say, who Had been to visit Ruapehu, Would ever turn aside to look At little hillocks like Mount Cook? Or, after Taupo, take a trip To see that puddle Wakatipu? I know that, on the Isle of Chatham The populace don’t care an atom, But cheerfully- bestride a pony To reach Owenga from Te One; So why South Island folk are strict on A railway line from Bluff to Picton Quite puzzles us—-why should they try ways Of getting motorable highways? Why, we’ve got all the population, And surely there is no occasion For all this working-up of feeling On bitumen, or else tar-sealing, When all thev’ve ever got to drag on The roads, is just a bullock wagon, Or else—perhaps when things get busy, A somewhat-wor&e-lor-Fear ■ lin Lizzie. . . Just think, Sir Joseph—is it necesArv to serve these wildernesses? Because New Zealand, naturally, sir, Does not exist below Cape Paliiser!