BY THE WAY

Evening Star, Issue 22099, 20 April 1935, Page 2

BY THE WAY

[ByX.Y.] ‘ The time lies come," the Walrus »M * To talk of many things.’' A fortnight’s holiday in the gold country has kept us out of touch with current events, whether they be of dominion or world-wide import. At the moment wo can get no thrill out of the European "talks.” The life histories and records of achievements of mayors, past, present, and future, do not as yet interest us; we have merely noted that the new Governor-General has arrived in New Zealand, that Ralph Connor has been in Dunedin, and that the price of eggs has gone up. We have, therefore, come to the conclusion that there is left to us-.only one reliable way of building up this week’s ‘By the Way ’ column to its usual length. You must bear with us if we confine at least the prose portion of it to a few casual jottings embodying impressions gathered by the wayside.

If you have never travelled the length of the Central Otago railway line in one day you are sadly lacking in the kind of experience that tries the patience to breaking point and comes perilously close to wearing out the seats of anything but the stoutest nether garments. ’Nuff said, perhaps; it may be recollected that some weeks ago we boosted the railways at the expense of service cars. We wish to be reasonably consistent. Still—we feel constrained to carry on just a little longer—it must be admitted that there is nothing about a Central Otago railway journey that prompts one to dash off, immediately after the destination has been reached, an enthusiastic letter to one’s wife or sweetheart. The stopping places are the chief things. There are plenty of these. In fact, if there were no stops there would be practically no journey. And in that case one might as well stay at home. « * • • If the strengthening of the bridges on this line means that larger locomotives are to be commissioned for the service, and if the larger locomotives really mean business, it may yet be possible to cut a few welcome minutes off the day’s trial, “ She’s in before time.” we were amused to hear a lounger on one of the more distant stations remark. “ Well,” we remember thinking, “ she has had plenty of time in which to get irt before time.” Nobody knows what the record time is for the Central Otago train; if she has a record she certainly doesn’t deserve it. •■• • •

This <c television ” makes me squirm, A sort of diglot, mongrel term. Half Latin and half. Greek; But, anyway, it means that you Can see the chap you’re talking to. As well as hear him speak. The clever ways Of nowadays Are. doubtless most amazing; For what the ear Could never hear, % The eyes find out by gazing.

When lovers sentimentalise The love-light in each other’s eyes , Is visible to each. This sentence looks a trifle queer, But, anyway, when she says “Dear,” A look helps out the speech, v , But, deary-me I There seems (to me) Some hint of future, both,?!;1 'When will it end— The time they spend In ogling ■- one • another ?

Besides, ’twould lie a horrid thing If Corydon, by chance, should ring An hour—or xnore-rtoo soon, . And Phyllis hiyl to hurry down In- tousled hair and dressing gown (Oh, most inopportune!) The face of her Might register Annoyance and contempt: just what she thought Of being caught Disordered and unkempt. And I, myself, I must confess, Might feel some small uneasiness If that insistent bell Should call me from the dining room To interview a chap with whom I wished to figure well. My voice might seem As soft as cream. But vision would reveal The silent .oath Of manhood, loth To interrupt a meal.

Well, well I We learn to school our tone When talking on the telephone, And make it sound polite; And possibly we’ll manage, too, To make our faces suit these new Exigencies of sight. The. “ poker-face,” Which shows no trace Of pique, contempt, of ire. We’ll all put on While holding conversations on the wire. But, Lord! What hypocrites we are! And this will make us worse by far Than we have ever been. For, obviously, it is a case Of making up the human face For fear of being seen. And all the while, Behind that smile The same old passions hide. To lay them flat la something that Would keep us occupied! • • * •, Doubtless there is something to he said in support of the views of overseas tourists, who, being accustomed in their own lands to a luxurious mode ol travel, wax eloquent over the shortcomings of hotel life in rural New Zealand. However, not being an overseas tourist, but merely a Dunedmer off the chain, we found it impossible to criticise harshly any of the hotels at which wo happened to pull in. Just a moment, though—there is one .little grouch we have in mind. At a modern establishment which boasts a supply of hot and cold water in the bedrooms we felt brave enough to face the derision of the inveterate tea drinkers of the country and ask for a cup of coffee. Alas, the waitress, from whom we had apparently expected too much, merely looked at onr companion (pro tem) with an expression which plainly meant, ‘ Are you this man’s keeper or attendant, sir?” It is very sad. We hope the Commercial Travellers’ Association will take upon itself the task of teaching hotel proprietors that there are one or two people in New Zealand who do not like tea seven times a day. « * • • During our sojourn in the gold country we were taken for a ride—a buggy ride. The, buggy was drawn by three spanking horses. And at this juncture

we should like to interpolate that wo feel sorry for those who have never experienced the thrill of riding in a buggy drawn by three or more spanking horses. They have missed a fulsome joy which can be captured nowadays only if one goes far enough back into the mountains where steam and petrol contraptions cannot penetrate. It was into the mountains that we were takenl For part of the journey a river bed had to be crossed again and again, and, as recent heavy rains had no i doubt altered the geological formation of the fords, we obeyed with alacrity the behest of the driver to lean this way and that so as to counteract the lurchings of the spindly vehicle. It seemed great fun—after the fords had all been crossed* Fresh dangers lurked at diverse points of the first long stretch of dry and narrow road. Sharp bends had to be turned; the edges of steep banks and—yea—even precipices had to be negotiated. It was at moments like these that we felt a craving for something more fortifying than minties. Furthermore, we did not appreciate the nonchalance of the driver as he threw stones at the lead horse. He was the best of drivers, but we never did believe in stone throwing. * « « « This buggy ascent into the mountains was much more thrilling than the journey through Central Otago by train. Yet it was hardly so full of concentrated excitement as the buggy descent which we made a few days later with a young sheep farmer and his charming wife. He was a picturesque figure, this young sheep farmer. He carried no soft flesh about with his 15 stone of body. He was chatty and genial. He wore a high-crowned Stetson. He smoked, a curved pipe with * minor tree' hollowed out for a bowß In short, he was the sort of man who inspired every confidence, and, on looking back over, the drive we had with him, we feel ashamed that wo ever harboured any doubts as to his ability to pilot the vehicle safely round the many bends which again had to be negotiated. True, he refrained from stone-throwing, but on the almost perpetual downhill grade he took all comers at a sharp trot, and heralded the approach to most of them by turning his head (thus taking his eyes off the horses) and yelling, “ Weh-h-h-h-h, Ben!” to a laggard dog. Why, Ben should have been “ weh-n-h-b-h-h----hed ” at moments when a crisis seemed imminent we could not quite understand, though we suspect a certain amount of leg-pulling at a poor “ townie’s ” expense.

The inhabitants of Central Otago ar® a great people. They are as frank and open as their sunshine and tussock country. In their work they are practical; in their thoughts and conversation. they are intelligent. Them is nothing oafish or cloddish about them. Their plans for solving the depression and the world’s ills generally are quite as convincing 'as any panacea prescribed in Dunedin or any other city. They can criticise the Government just as cheerfully and persistently; as the Chamber of (Commerce. As with practically every citizen of Dunedin,. they know what they want, and they know; they aren’t going to get it. They are not lacking in imagination. Indeed, there are one or two of them who are inclined to overwork the imagination* During , our travels we heard the intriguing statement that the new road to Milford Sound was not being pushed through for the benefit of the tourist traffic at all, bnt as a defence measure against hostile forces. Three Japanese sampans had recently been sighted close into the south-west coast* and apparently .the Eorbes-Coates Government was going to make sure that there was no .repetition of such a sinister occurrence . ....There is a pleasing scarcity in Central Otago of people who come under one or other of the “ ists.”At any rate, we met no Communists, Fascists, Pacificists, or Prohibitionists. It is a tßuly delightful place in which to spend a holiday. * * * • ,

Our latest postage are all Praiseworthily original. At least, they’ve struck a novel line* More varied than the last design. It’s hardly loyal, be it said, To banish good Song' George’s head. But still, it’s 1 quite a treat tt> look ; At Mitre Peak and Captain Cook, Mount Cook affords a pretty view, Beech-brown (quotha!) and vitri» blue.' . . - The little fantail earns his place, - The pet of all the feathered race. 'The tuatara’s wriggled in, - . As ugly as proverbial sin. And yet I always wonder why They pass the poor pukeko by. He would have made a spirited And chaste design in blue and red.-; The kea—where on earth is he? . He’s fond of mutton —so are we; He might have been portrayed in black A-perching on a wether,’s hack. Likewise—to show our insects better-* A hu-hii, Maori hug, or weta. And yet—they’re all so nicely done That criticism is dubious fun. Except that ninepenny affair. Which makes one scratch One’s head and stare. ' Apparently they mean it for The scroll work on a whare’s door. I take their word for what it’s woriKf It might he anything on earth. I thought, at first, this stamp waj meant To celebrate the men we’ve sent To good King George’s Jubilee. The pattern .looks remarkably Like G.W.F. plus J.G.C.!