BY THE WAY

Evening Star, Issue 21079, 16 April 1932, Page 2

BY THE WAY

[By Q.V.]

“ The time has come,” the Walrus said, ” To talk of many things.” Ten years ago or so we were told (and not for the first time) that tho future lay in tho hands of youth. The old men had muddled tho war and muddled the peace even more. They were devoid of vision. They hated every new thing. They feared experiment. They distrusted other men. They only cared for their own comfort and security. They positively blocked all new and promising things, those visions which shine so brilliantly m the eyes of youth. Let them back to their easy chairs, and leave affairs in tho hands of tho enterprising, generous, trustful young, who were quite, quite ready to take their jobs. A great deal of water has run under tho bridge since then. These fine young men are ten years older; tho regeneration of the world does not seem so simple as it used to. Some of the more modest begin to doubt their own powers. Some who have tried them are still more humble. And so we see the eighty-year-old Hindenberg re-elected President of Germany. Herr Hitler, who can promise as well as any other politician, had to take second place, while his opponent, whose principal assets > seem to be his past reputation as a general, an unlovely wooden countenance, and a still tongue, romped in. One hardly looks on Hindenberg as a genius. One does imagine him to be a man who can be silent in seven languages, and not say anything rash when he does speak. With Herr Hitler anything might happen. With Hindenberg nothing is likely to happen. At eighty intellectual deterioration is well under way, but caution remains above tho wreck to the end. We do not love Hindenberg—few, we fancy, do —but many trust him, and we were glad to see him head the poll, even with such features, • # * * The Indian cricketers to tour England have signed agreements, and one clause enforces a daily shave. Perhaps this will not operate in the case of Lall Singh, Amar Singh, and Joginder Singh, who are devout Sikhs, and also Ghulam Mahommed, a. strict Moslem, who is proud of his beard. —Cable item. , Great shade of Grace! Old W.G., Whose bearded face Once seemed to me To sum up all That can be done With bat and ball— ; That mighty one! Of course, they boost Jack Hobbs’s play. And he’s been used To shave each day; And Bradman, that Phenomenon, Who’ll never bat With whiskers on; While Grimmett’s spin Makes batsmen stare, His manly chin Is free from hair. You’d think it weird If Larwood grew A bushy beard, , Now, wouldn't you? And yet, though these Have won applause Like W.G.’s With naked jaws, Still, all the same, His facial hairs Achieved a fame As great as theirs. , I’m sure a Sikh, If such were seen, Would look a freak When shaven clean. He’d always strike A martial note, When bearded like A billy-goat. They’ll all, no doubt, Be very loth To play without Their hirsute growth, And never will Improve their play By razor drill Performed each day. So just reflect On Grace, who starred All beaver-decked, Like any pard. Let Amar, Lall, And Joginder, Perform in all Their native fur! • # ♦ • In Auckland province, and perhaps elsewhere, primary education in the backblocks is conducted by correspondence. It seems a very convenient system for the children, given a supply of tho necessary text books, and in the case of the teacher apparently it would resolve itself into the mere correction of exercises. Let us try a_ correspondence' course between a Sixth Standard girl and her preceptor: — Maungatapu-a-rangi. Hear Teacher,—l got your questions in geography all right, but I have not had time to answer them before. The day your letter came Ada Philmore rang us up and said she had heard you had got a new hat. Would you mind letting me know what shape it is and where you got it? Mum said: “And high time, too!” but Had said what with all them cuts and things he supposed you couldn’t afford anything very Hash. He says ho can’t afford a new hat for a long time yet, not if he pays the interest on the mortgage. Wo have a new Jersey calf. Such a dear. I call it “ Blossom ” —can you think of a better name for it? Bob, my big brother, Ins a steady job on the relief works at Auckland, but says the wages are low, though ho lias not to work as hard as he had to on tho farm. I don’t know where Pleasant Island is, neither do Had nor Mum. A man we had working for us for his tucker says it is somewhere in the Pacific Ocean, but where he was not sure. I hope that is the right answer. The weekly paper says skirts will bo longer this year, but I can’t let mine down any further. What should I do? Please let me know when you write to me next time. —Your affectionate pupil. P.S. —Hon’t forget about the hat and skirt.

You will notice the latitude this gives to what a parent calls “ the companionship and helpful personality of the teacher.”

•»* • • We do not know whether or not the little strangers arrive in New Zealand in greater numbers in proportion to the adult population than they do elsewhere, though we have an idea that statistics (which we loathe) show that they do so fairly frequently, but they certainly stay longer with us; and if Sir Truby is a true prophet there is every indication that this tendency will increase as time goes on. Just at present there does not seem much inducement for them to remain; but “ Courage, comrade, the devil is dead,” as someone in 1 The Cloister and the Hearth’ says., The little stranger is far from prepossessing on arrival. He or she (it is difficult to say which is which at first sight) has no features, no coherent speech, no hair to speak of; while to attend to one is a full-time job. For the little stranger is like the rest of us—ho wants everything he sees and a good deal of what he doesn’t see, and feels neglected and aggrieved if he does not have his requirements satisfied immediately. Except among its immediate relatives the immigrant is as welcome as a wet day at Brighton. Even among relations it is often regarded as rather a nuisance, and those who look into the future, far as human eye can- reach, seem to think it may become rather a menace. Can all this additional population be absorbed? Will they all find jobs when the time comes, or will they merely swell the ranks of the unemployed and have their heads broken by zealous policemen in due time? These are problems beyond our powers. Whether Sir Truby King will deserve a statue in the Octagon or will be considered an enemy of the people is on the knees of the gods, like a great many other matters. » • • * Romancers have toyed with the idea of what would happen if one of the stars in their courses took a sheer, or skidded, or if something went wrong with the steering gear and it collided with the earth. H. G. Wells, for example, based one of his best short stories on the danger of some such happening. If such a catastrophe should take place we hope that it will be at night while we are in bed and asleep. To be hit by a motor car is bad enough, though an accident anyone is liable to. It is all in the day s work, so to speak, and if sufficiently nimble one may escape with a tew broken bones, out there is not any escape from a star. One can only await its approach with the fortitude of His Worship the Mayor facing a deputation of the unemployed and hoping that they will not stay long. Scientists, however, assure ns that such a thing, while possible, could only occur onco in 500 million years. They are quite definite and exact about the time. They do not claim a margin of six-months either way as a reinsurance. If we had a brain calculate form as precisely as thift we would go out to Wingatui with confidence every meeting. What, we would ask them, are the odds against a steamer colliding with a whale? Probably not so long as the stellar disaster. There are a lot of steamers, mostly unemployed, and no doubt a great number of whales still survive. One of the Homeward-bound New Zealand vessels did actually hit a whale not long ago. Apparently the whale was killed, the steamer undamaged, the passengers interested. It is not an experience which comes to everyone. We once sailed e* or a whale. Luckily the cetacean was well down in the water; in fact, it only presented itself as a dim green streak. Possibly it was not even a whale at all, and the ancient mariner who called attention to it was merely pulling a youthful and convenient leg. • - * • Although we’re over ears in debt, And everyone is glum, There’s genius in the country yet, And brighter times to come. While anguished politicians ran In circles round the floor, Some legislative superman^ Came forward with a brilliant plan To tax the Bachelor. The man who lives the single life Is fortunate indeed, Financially, with neither wife Nor family to feed. He ought to wax exceeding fat, This selfish celibate. Ho earns as much—and (more than that); His household's covered by the hat That sits upon his pate. It’s argued volubly by some, And with a show of sense, That wife, and family, and homo Are worth the. big expense. Quite possibly, but none tbo less, It’s absolutely plain That taxing single blessedness Will end this economic stress, And let us breathe again. The bachelors will run, 'you see, In panic-stricken packs To church and marriage-registry, To doclgo the hated tax. The registrar (and parson, too) Will pocket wedding fees. ’Twill cheer the church, now feeling blue, 1 And hoist the country’s revenue By several degrees. The jewellers will make a “ scoop,” And sell their brightest things In cluster, solitaire, and hoop, ■ To wooers wanting rings. A wedding circlet will be sold To each expectant groom; And this, as frequently we’re told, Will boost the local stock of gold, And make tho country boom. Sultanas, sugar, flour, will make (With other things beside) The proper sort of wedding cake To put before a bride. Just think of all the stuff that’s grown By divers kinds of men, To nut in wedding cakes alone; ’Twill stop the fanner’s mournful moan, And make him smile again. The sandwiches, the wine and ale, The gloves and morning coats, The spats, tho gloves, the bridal veil, Tho fares for trains and boats; Tho taxi hire, the furniture, That stocks the new-made nest (If bills are paid) should all ensure A quick and comprehensive cure When business gets depressed. Mv blessings on the man who tries . To solve New Zealand’s woes Bv looking further with his eyes 'Than just beyond his nose. Let bachelors, of every grade, Despite their growls and swears, Bo driven each to wed a maid. And then there’ll be a boom in trade We’ll talk about for years!