BY THE WAY

Evening Star, Issue 22252, 1 February 1936, Page 2

BY THE WAY

[II, X.V.)

••Tin’ limn li.'is riinir " llu- Walrus s.iiil, “ ill I alii Ilf ninny lliillfis." As I ga/.o mil, of Ilio window :ind wonder how nuieh longer I cnn postpone conimomrpinont of this column J liehold portion of the “ X.Y. ” garden. To mo it is a pleasing spectacle. To Mrs “ .X.Y.” it is not so good. Truth to 1011, it is a trifle wild and woolly, with just enough suggestion of tiio wilderness elfeet to stir the country blood that is in mo and contrast agreeably with the measured neatness of some other gardens I see on the way lo work. I am always relieved whim Ihe hedges begin to recover from their annual prison crop, and, were it not for the faet_ that a man cannot practise putting in long grass, it. might well ho Unit I would not use the lawn mower so much, But, happily, such unsightly uniformity as there is about the lawn proper is offset by a certain “ jo no sais quo! ” about'the shrubs and native trees, not lo mention a glorious Jack of precision in the border flower-beds. Then again, the grass in our moderate orchard has come awn\ with an abandon with which, accordyig to my assurances to Mrs 1 X.Y.”, have found it impossible tocopc. ft is now possible to repose in it on a dry holiday and find complete shelter. Our rough-and-ready orchard, therefore, is ever so much more useful than, say, the rockeries in which some men wo know take a great pride, but cm which they, poor souls, cannot lie. It would be a grave sin of omission to conclude a horticultural paragraph without some reference to the blackberry bushes in the back section. Last year—or was it two years ago?—something drastic was done to those blackberries to retard their growth. Apparently one does not talk of eradicating blackberries altogether. In _ a burst of energy and a misplaced spirit of optimism, I forthwith planted lettuce and cabbage and Brussels sprouts on the site of the fallen. We didn’t have any blackberries either. Now I notice that through the remains of the lettuce and cabbage trees the blackberries are growing with their customary profusion, thus heralding, to my delight, a return of the blackberry pie ora But, hark! What do I hear in the distance P ... . ‘Tis the voice of Mrs “ X.Y.” calling the faithful to a dash of work on the bed of thingmebobs or possibly the mulligatawnies. Too late! The pen. is already on its way. I must not be disturbed until I have done two or three paragraphs. • * • • Some people love asparagus, And some delight in peas, And, being constituted thus, Are difficult to please. But I enjoy an onion, A slender, fresh spring onion, Yes ; more than one spring onion, Combined with bread and cheese. Asparagus and peas depart When summer is no more. The crispest lettuce loses heart, And .radish-time is o’er. But still I have an onion, A somewhat larger onion, A round and portly onion. As tasty as before. The kumera and parsnip too, The carrot, and the beet, • And pumpkins find admirers who Rejoice in something sweet. But ah! I like an onion, A fried and fragrant onjon, A boiled or roasted onion. With any kind of meat. Now broad or French or runner beans Are eatable, I find; And all the diverse sorts of greens (Albeit full of wind). But think about an onion. Unless you’ve had an onion, The flavour of an onion, You haven’t really dined. The gherkin and the cauliflower, The chopped red cabbage leaf, May serve as pickles, sweet or sour, ' With Monday’s chilly beef. But nothing save an onion, An honest pickled onion, A crisp and crunchy onion. Affords the true relief. The tame and tasteless artichoke Does not appeal to me. Tomatoes may intrigue some folk, Sea kale or celery. But think about an onion, Regard the Spanish onion, No veg. to match an onion In Nature could there be. My wife protests she cannot bear its scent about the place; And sends me to the garden, where It dissipates in space. She says the smell of onion, Of after-ditiner onion, Of stale, remembered onion, Is manifest disgrace. The lily lias a sweet perfume, Likewise the daffodil; A hyacinth or freesia bloom With scent the house may fill. And yet, I hold, the onion, The homely, useful onion, Their brother bulb, the onion. Is ten times better still 1 « • * * In spite of talk of the “ fiercest engagement yet ” in Abyssinia, ] cannot help thinking that the campaign in that unhappy land is devolving into a mere exchange of claim and counterclaim. Some one is telling fibs. In almost every engagement over the last three months each side has shown a marked aptitude for telegraphing great news of its own triumphs and of denials of enemy progress. At this rate the whole affair may yet become a mere battle of words, with victory going to the army with the most vivid imagination. Probably the Italians will win. It may be, however, that telegraphic warfare will not set in properly until the visitation of the long rainy season, with all the handicaps it imposes on physical fighting. That should be the cue for the Longue of Nations to set itself up as the peacemaker in aetuaj fact. For on the subject of words it is an authority whose judgment cannot be_ disputed. Why not finish this conflict in a kind of court sitting before the president of the League Council as judge

nml a jury composed of the leading League States? Learned counsels for both combatant countries could then lodge claim and counter-claim to their heart’s content, and some of the witnesses would have a wonderful time committing perjury. In a battle of words there would bo so few obstacles. Military tanks could take wings and (lv over the mud and swampy marshes. The Abyssimans could exterminate their crews with a new death ray. And so on. There would be no real casuallies. no bloodshed. Each side could simply indulge in an orgy of lies and exaggerations, and civilisation would continue to function as before.

In view of the falsehoods that crop up in cases of claim and counter-claim, it is easy to sympathise with the Christchurch magistrate who, alter listening for some time to the arguments of two parties in a traffic case, said (in apparent desperation): “This is another of these extraordinary cases. Tt seems that both of these cars, standing still, suddenly developed a mania and jumped at each other. One man says he stopped his car and the taxi rushed at him. Then the taxi driver says that he stopped his vehicle and the other car rushed at him. It seems that all I can do is to give defendant the benefit of the doubt.” An unsatisfactory conclusion to the ease. But it is clear that there con|d have been no alternative. _ In the absence of neutral or unbiassed witnesses to incidents on the road, it must ho a tremendously difficult job for a magistrate to make a decision. Possibly it is not so much a ihatter of worrying about the actual movements of the vehicles as arriving at a conclusion as to which party is telling the truth and which is not. Many offending motorists have reduced story-telling to such a fine art these days that the fish liar and the_ golf liar are mere novices by comparison. The only hope that can he held out for the gentlemen of the bench is that tho discovery of the drug which makes men tell the truth is not a false alarm or a hoax. Experiments have already been made with this drug in America, and, although the effect so far has been uncertain, it is claimed that it has taken men off their_ guard and forced them to make admissions which they would have withheld while in a normal state. At any rate, there are grounds for hoping that it may make a great deal of difference in miles per hour and in diverse estimations as to which car was on its correct side of the road.

“ The cabled report bas gotten us all haywire.” You can take what you like out or this, but those conversant with the American language will probably interpret it as meaning simply that the cabled report has not been accurate. The cryptic statement was uttered the other day by an American visitor, who, shortly after the arrival of her husband and self in Auckland was asked by an inquiring reporter whether or not it were true that they .were seeking sanctuary in. New Zealand from gangsters. Perhaps the cabled message from, the U.S.A. had to be coloured slightly in order to keep pace with the story of the Lindberghs’ flight to a quiet spot in England. Anyway, the American couple now in New Zealand were said to have come here to settle down in a safe place far from the gangsters who were supposed to bo blighting their lives.

But the cabled report has “ gotten them all haywire.” It seems that our visitors were simply the victims of a common typo of robbery which involved no vendetta, no “taking for a ride,” no “ putting on the spot,” and no kidnapping. All very unromantic, if you like, but eminently satisfactory. For New Zealand wants no American visitors who perchance might be pursued by the gang which is their bete noir. Americans who travel abroad just to see the sights are as welcome as a Budget surplus, but Americans whose every move may be dogged by gunmen would be no good to us. Criminals are not so strongly imbued with the concentration of the specialist that they would not covet a few sideline pickings, and it would never do to encourage the visitations of the highly qualified American brand to these shores. In. fact, they might end up by revolutionising the industry in the Dominion. That is why we should be so pleased that the cabled report has “ gotten our visitors all haywire.” • « • • Behold once more The same old trade, The same old door, The same old shack. I’ve been away On holiday, And now I’m back. We board oiir “ ebooks,” Our dog and cat. Our neighbour looks (Good man!) to that. They keep alive, And seem to thrive. At any rate, they’re fat. Well, hero’s the town, And now (oh. lor!) I. settle down To work once more ; With hands and head, To earn my bread. That’s what, it seems, I’m for. ' Two weeks, at best, Each year I get For all the rest. I have to sweat To keep my brood In clothes and food, And, likewise, out of debt, I know of some Who sometimes take A journey Home, Which ought to maka For any man Of means (who can) A pleasant sort of break. Just think—a year Across the sea, A twelve month clear. With things to see Both new and strange Well, that’s a change That would appeal to me. But—drat it I—l Have naught to spare. I couldn’t buy A third-class fare. The others, mind, Would stay behind. And live, perforce, on air. It seems a shame That things are so; But, all the same. Some chaps, I know, Can’t got away For even a day. Their funds ’ are much too low. And so, no doubt, Although I’ve had My grumble out, Things aren’t so bad. My luck, perhaps, Might make some chaps Exuberantly glad!