BY THE WAY

Evening Star, Issue 21630, 27 January 1934, Page 2

BY THE WAY

[l)j X.Y.]

“ The time has come,” the Walrus said, “ To talk of many things.” i'fis not always that we can sympathise with Prime Ministers—even when they are engaged in a strenuous tour. But about Mr Forbes’s recently-com-pleted trip round Otago and Southland there was something that savoured so strongly of perpetual motion—of mind, body, and tongue—that we find it impossible not to be sorry for this victim of political hustle. Fortunately for his own peace of mind and physical wellbeing, our Prime Minister seems continually to act in accordance with the sensible axiom: “Don’t worry; work.” And so it is that after a week or so of professional gadding about our New Zealand Pocket Hercules will probably, return to Wellington with a welter of facts and figures accurately pigeon-holed in his mental recesses. Had we not this much faith in Mr Forbes, we should certainly expect him to report to his colleagues of the Cabinet in terms such as these:— “ Gentlemen, as you know—or, do you ?—I spent over a week of the recess in rushing through—er—now where on earth was I? Oh, yes—Otago and Southland, I think/ As far as I can recollect I was bustled into a place called Oamaru, and then spurred on up the Waitaki, where they are building a dam, or a bridge, or something. Anyway, it was blowing pretty hard, and I was glad to leave. I was next conveyed to Pembroke; there they tried to tell me the deer fishing—no, no, the fish stalking—you know what I mean. The point is, that if the Makarbra road were pushed on to Kingston or Queenstown there would be excellent hunting on Lake Wanaka, with the consequence, as I see it, that an ynproved steamer service on Cromwell Flat would serve to protect the apple conglomerate and gold crops against the depredations of the rabbit, “And, gentlemen, speaking of the rise in price of wool, it seems to me that there is one thing the Government must keep steadily in view. We must take adequate measures against the flood menace at St. Bathans and see to it that the deep leads of Southland are properly irrigated. Otherwise—l; ask you—how will it ever be possible to erect an aerodrome at Roxburgh and so provide a short-cut for the Melbourne boat? Now, I have just said—or did IP—that the Dunedin manufacturers gave me a jolly good luncheon, and, in return, it behoves us to help them in every way possible. . “ Correct me if I am wrong, Mr Bitchener, but do you not think we could best do this by damming Lakes Wanaka, Hawea, ’Te Anau, and Waihola, not to mention the Otago Hai--bour and Hooper’s Inlet, and so ensuring the stability of our secondary industries? In fact—let me see—yes; damming appears to be the correct word. 1 therefore suggest, gentlemen, that we should damn everything and everybody.” ♦ , * * * A blue gladiolus has been brell by Mr C. Rides of Christchurch. While ■ statesmen are fuming and sweating . With problems that puzzle and pose, i While peace and its prospects are getting Remote as Mount Everest’s snows, When half the wide world has its shirt out To show that it’s brown, black, or blue, And everyone’s frightened to blurt out The truth—be it ever so true — When, honestly speaking, creation Is testy and peevish and Sour, Or whining in nervous prostration Because of the ills of the hour, One wishes this hectic and hatefiil Dyspeptic delirium would cease, And feels, incidentally, grateful For something that savours of peace. Some, seeking the solace of summer, By streamlet, ,or summit, or shore, Return to a world that is glummer ' Than ever they knew it before; For holiday haunts have expenses, One purchases pleasure with pain; And then the old treadmill commences Its dismal rotation again. But what does one’s slavery matter So long as the papers one gets Are sending us subjects for chatter. Conjectures, and quarrels, and bets? The grafting and grinding and grovel. The grabbing and grubbing and greed Seem lighter when soirfething that’s novel Succeeds in supplying our need. Yet things that are foreign and distant Will fail to excite or appal (Although to be strictly consistent, One ought to be moved by them all). The ground in Japan may be rocking And slaughtering thousands—and yet We merely ejaculate “Shocking!” And promptly proceed to forget. But when the excitement is local, No matter how small it may be, The whole population grows vocal, Discussions are frequent and free. A scandal in Gore or Waimate; Or even Waihi, is enough To make the dominion grow chatty From Auckland right down to the Bluff. So, thanks to thd powers ’ that console us, By giving us subjects for chat. I’ve heard of a blue gladiolus. „ Now, what do you think about that ? I’ve seen them in yellow florescent, And every conceivable hue Excepting—that is., till at present— A genuine, positive blue. Now, every New Zealander’s dwelling Possesses a garden of sorts, And people in Christchurch are telling Such tales of their hybrids and sports That surelv it seems quite a pity If amateur growers down here Can’t raise, to enliven our city. Some flower that’s equally queer. Perhaps we shall hear of green roses, . Black salvias, and yellow sweet peas. And similar metamorphoses In flowers and bushes and trees. Sweet lemons and cucumbers seedless. And such horticultural freaks, Should set us—to .say it is needles!?— Discussing their merits for weeks! • • • • A fishmonger of our acquaintance and near business neighbourhood does not decry New Zealand flounders, soles, blue cod, or kingfish. (Groper he regards as “mass-production,’ to he measured in cusecs and not in pints, like an Invercargill u nip n —four to the bottle.) But he speaks in tones of veneration of the herring, and admits that on the recent visit of a Home liner to Port Chalmers he despatched a youth in his employ to interview the ship’s butcher and return with the customary present of some Yarmouth bloaters not for trade purposes, but for. the indulgence of a ’ personal " -and—private -appetite: Most unfortunately the butcher was

“ ashore,” and reference to the chief steward provoked suspicion and ultimately a speedy . return to Dunedin empty handed. We know kippers, wa know red herrings (admirable allies of the brewer’s),-and wo know the Sun-day-evening hotel meal, herrings and tomato sauce.” Why not the bloater, of which the English “ pommy ’’speaks more respectfully and affectionately than of Piccadilly as it used to be? Our anxiety on this score is accentuated by the ‘ New Statesman.’ - ‘ The Gourmet’s Book of Food and Drink’ is reviewed, and it contains the recipe for ‘ Grandfather’s Bloaters ’ —viz., “ Put two fine bloaters into a soup plate, pour over them enough whisky to cover them, set it alight, and let it burn itself out.” But a correspondent writes the following week: .1 have been familiar with this recipe since my undergraduate days. Exciting as it reads, it won’t work. Cold whisky won’t ignite, -and even if you hot it up to flaring point before you pour it,over the bloater, the flame will die down all too soon, and you will be left with a. tepid but still" raw bloater somevrhat sodden with raw whisky.”

Yet we cherish memories of tho Maisou d’Oree in Swanson street, Melbourne, where cate royal was an 'even greater attraction than a sight of the majestic Madame Lachaton. "who on being too familiarly addressed by a leading K.C. after he had. dined, removed her slipper and gave him earache for a. fortnight. In this hostelry, much beloved of leisurely Civil servants,, capo royal was the benediction to the repast. As a matter of course the black coffee came in a small cup with two lumps of loaf sugar in the saucer, also a. liqueur .glass of old, dark brandy. . The sugar was christened with the spirit (total, immersion inverted), a lighted match applied, and. when the "pale-blue flame subsided. the treacly residue was poured into the coffee. In our opinion the coffee and the brandy would have' gone ’far 'better separately. However——. But as to “ Grandfather’s bloaters,” we are still not quite sceptical., Probably if, the British tax'gatherer’ was’ less avaricibus the -recipe would work. Un-excised, over-protrf Hokonui, we are convinced, would do the trick, if only we could get the Yarmouth , bloater., ’jVhy can’t we?. What’s the use of Empire trade? Commander Sir; William George Windham, an English angler who is disappointed with the alleged failure of official New Zealand departments, to guide him speedily and accurately ip some place "that sounds to us like a fisherman’s Paradise, suggests, among a" multitude of other ideas, that central fishing boards should be established in both islands, the personnel of these presumably to devote the whole of their time to introducing visiting anglers to the dominion’s fresh water beauties. When we reached the end of Sir Walter’s statement we came to the conclusion that all this sportsman wants is to go straight to his fish and collect them. Of course his is quite-a modest request. When one considers how much simpler it wbuld be to go to a shop and buy a gbbd : haul one'realises what a vast storehouse of energy our visitor must he, ( In the face of Sir Walter’s suggestions the only decent thing the Tourist Department can now do* is print a 1 Who’s Who in Fishland?.’ Undoubtedly all trout over 31b should be registered in the proposed directory. Thus:— “ Rainbow Rudolph; age, anything between five years aiid a hundred; favourite' pool of abbde, fxve.miles two chains on" the'south''side of Ngatawakawhaka, on, the Wnipiropiro; weight, varies in; accordance with fishermen’s tales, but' is approximately ,101 b; has two sets of gills, two eyes, one tail, and 5 000 scales (more or less);. is of amiable but cunning disposition; has been hooked twice but escaped each time; favourite food, anything anglers do not use for bait, but will toy at times with a dry fly: hobbies, speed swimming and increasing the vocabulary of fishermen. - * * * ♦ The B:B:C. hits: decided to-ban the “ crooner.”- —Cable, - The 8.8. C. By stern decree Has put a ban Upon the man Who croons. You know the sort Of chap ! whose forte It is to; wail In semi-male Lugubrious chants The words of dancing tunes. The: fellpwiisings. Meandefings Of “ yqu, ” and “ true ’’ , And “ do ” and “ blue ”} And thbn The notes are slurred, And every word He moans and drone* In nasal, tones Pronounced as if They bored him stiff (Amen!). I’ve not the kind Of “ highbrow ” mind To think the charms - Of Bach and Brahm* Enough; For all day long 1 I Tike a song, And now and then Some funny men Relieve, I find,- ~~ The heavier kind Of stuff. And lazz will do For dancing to; A rhythmic noise For girls and boys— That’s all. But if one’s not Inclined to trot, But merely sit I Enduring it, It’s wearisome; “ Tum-tum-tum-tum ” Will pall. Perhaps that’s why The crooners, try To vary it t A little bit' (Oh, lor!). . But what they add Is twice as bad. The tune and verse . Are ten tiroes worse. I’d rather jazz Were voiceless as Before.' , With ear-holes full Of cotton-wool Stern fate has come To render dumb That voice. We won’t lament Because it went. The dismal thing . Has had its fling. We’ve had our fill, And therefore will . Rejoice.