BY THE WAY

Evening Star, Issue 22382, 4 July 1936, Page 2

BY THE WAY

[llv X.Y.]

•* Th time ias come the Walru# said, •• To talk ol many -.flings.” In very truth these Yeomen of the Guard who ciamour for a clean-shaven jowl know not what they do For years the regulations of their calling have enacted them to enjoy dispensation from that cold, dreary, and often painful chore somewhat euphemistically known as shaving. The worst that could ever have happened to them in their hirsute days could have been only a jab from a scissors point during one of the periodical trimmings. Yet they deliberately decide to emerge recklessly from such security and expose thir faces to the daily scrape and >-asp, running untold risk's from razor blades that actually cut, and suffering grievous skin irritation from those that do not cut. It must bo admitted that courage is now required by an ordinary civilian who decides to face the world from behind a beard. He may be regarded by the great legions of the unthinking as an oddity. Relatives rind friends will perchance disapprove of him and misinterpret sound sense as laziness. Possibly his presence in a public street will give pleasure only to small boy “ beaver ” counters. But Yeomen of the Guard should have no qualms about their personal appearance. Surely London will have become accustomed to them by now. I venture to suggest that Yeomen are even barred from inclusion among the victims of those who cry “Beaver!” Their facial growths should have become part of the landscape long ore this, and if they are to be discarded they will be missed almost as much as if the trees in Hyde Park were chopped down. I realise that my appeal from the outposts of Empire will _ not be heard, but I cannot help writing fervently “ Yeomen, spare those beards!”

The other day, when news came through. It seemed too good to be quite true. I. rubbed my eyes, exclaiming “ Whew!” Or words to that effect. The Devil might, 1 thought, repent, But Russia, with a cent-per-eent Complete two-chamber Parliament, 1 didn’t quite expect. And votes for every Muscovite Octobrist, Tsarist, Left, or Right! The notion nearly reached the height Of wild uncanniness. If Hitler asked a Jew to tea, It wouldn’t seem so queer to me As hide-bound Russia setting free Its speeches and its Press. Of course, if I were living there, These functions might be free as'air, Or otherwise, for/ all I’d care, Or know what they’d convey. Their speech, in my opinion’s, much Like gibberish or Double Dutch. Their journals have a comic touch. With letters all astray. Well, anyway, it seemed as though Democracy were on the go, For recent cables told us so: And radiant visions came Of some excited Commissar Proposing to restore the Tsar, And damning the U.S.S.R. (Cheers, groan?, and cries of “ Shame!”) Of loader-writers growing hot, s Consigning, too (as like as not) Old Stalin and his crew to pot. Or places warmer still; Elections, where the multitude, In good old democratic mood. Alternately hurrah’d and booed Each candidate at will, Alas for Liberty! it seems That these were just_ ecstatic dreams, Unwarranted by schemes. Chimerical and vain. No Opposition may oppose, And Ayes regard the mildest Noes As anti-social public foes, Predestined to be slain.

The Press is free, and papers may Indulge in comments every day, Provided these are quite O.K. By strict official test; Which same is evidence to show That no Conservative is so Tenacious of the “ status quo ” As Stalin at his best. “ I’ll sell you ” (Ford’s historic wheeze) “ A car of any tint you please Provided it is black,” and these Concessions mean no more Than liberty unlimited For all things printed, done, and said, Provided they are truly Tied, As ever heretofore, * * ♦ * The other day a peruser of advertisements was rewarded with the discovery of a “ Personal ” containing a heartfelt appeal from a farmer that an opossum poacher on his property should return and kindly remove a trap from the bull’s nose. Now’, 1 do not doubt the truth of the saying: “It pays to advertise,” ' but bulls and opossum poachers being what they are, I cannot imagine the farmer receiving the desired satisfaction for his outlay. A bull complete with ring in his nose and chain attached can look fearsome enough w’ben he raises his head from succulent pastures to gaze at passersby, and there is ample reason to suppose that one w’hose nasal organ was suffering from the pain and indignity of a firmly affixed ’possum trap would not be in the best of moods to regard human attention with any degree of tolerance.

No, I do not think that the trapper will have gone back to claim his property. He will have written if off ns a I OSS -l_4inless, of course, he be of that, enterprising breed which is popularly supposed to have the nerve to steal a man’s shirt and then return to ask for the collar stud. A request for a bull is not likely to meet with a response more sympathetic than a reouest for a collar stud. It can be taken for granted that the farmer and his hoy (if any) will themselves have had to relieve the animal of his untoward burden and find what solace is possible in the thought that they are one opossum trap to the good.

The desire to sec into the future by means of clairvoyance, palmistry, astrology, or the weird use to which tea leaves are sometimes put is based on a very human frailty. Probably there is not a great deal of harm in it—provided one does not become obsessed with the idea that success or happiness in life depends on faithful reaction to any advice that may be so given. There is a simpler, deeper, and more reliable guidance than this. The danger of a slavish belief in the power oi fortune-tellers was strikingly illustrated in an article which 1 read recently. It told of the woes that afflicted a French husband whose wife would not permit him to take any step or make any decision until she had consulted her pet clairvoyant Unfortunately, hubby was not competent to adopt the caveman attitude so essential in dealing with a contingency of this kind. The situation went from bad to worse. The misguided wife's socalled peeps into the future became a daily occurrence. They cost much money. Hubby 7 did not like it, and the story as published left him suing for a divorce. • ~

1 cannot imagine the average gu'd wife of solid old Dunedin going to such lengths. The worst our wives seem able to accomplish is to have their tea cups read now and then. A friend tells me that hie better half contrives this about every fortnight at tea rooms where a non-professional cup-reader is on the job. The results so far, he reports, are not exactly alarming. Whether or not the uplift in wifely spirits is due to the pleasant, inconsequential things that are invariably told her or to the effects- of a wellmade cup of tea he does not pretend to know, but the fact remains, he says, that she generally comes home in a very optimistic frame of mind.

In these circumstances it would appear that fortune-telling as a buck-’em-up is just as effective as a new hat or a frock. And much ' cheaper. That being so, who are we men to bid them nay?

Heard the other day the story of an expert thief who at length was apprehended as a result of one of those little slips which occasionally are made by the best of them. This man was taken to a well-known prison in a North Island country district. He had not been long there when it became evident that his thieving habits amounted to kleptomania. He seemed unable to help himself. Reform to him just meanl a political party. Presumably “ agin ” the day when his liberty would be restored, he kept his hand in with such minor pilferings among the warders and his fellow-prisoners as the conditions permitted. When shirtsj socks, and any other articles went amissing it was usually a case of “ Send for So-and-So.”

One day, being under suspicion, he was haled before the chief with the challenge: “ Look now, for some reason or other about a dozen shovels and picks have gone astray lately. Will you help us to find them? ” “ Why, certainly,” replied the amiable thief. “ I’ll soon get them back for you.” A few days later it was noticed that the pick and shovel strength was back to normal,- but the self-congratu-latory attitude of the authorities, was given a severe set-back when a note was received from the local county council complaining that a number of tools used on its road work had disappeared. Would they be so good as to make investigations, etc, etc.?*

One of the greatest difficulties with which the New Zealand Government is faced appears to be the task of keeping pace with itself. By this I mean that no sooner is certain far-reaching legislation rushed through the House of Representatives than plans have to be laid for moulding subsidiary legislation which will serve to neutralise the incipient ill-effects of the original measures. Mr Savage has repeatedly told us that the people are to receive protection calculated to help them enjoy to the full Labour’s kindly enactments. At the moment, however, it looks -as though Cabinet members will have to consult Mr Semple about running shoes if they are going to catch up on the cost of living and drag it hack to where it was before the last. General Election. Further, they may need stratosphere flying machines if the inflated money system is to be brought back to earth. For the time being the Government may seem to be doing the most good for the most people. But can such benevolence endure? Announcements of a rise in the price of this and that provide a negative answeV. Wherefore I say that if Labour wishes to capture the housewife’s vote in 1938 it will have to ca’ canny.

Each house is fashioned with a door, And most of them, as well— And therewithal, and furthermore— Are furnished with a bell, To notify the inmates that There’s someone standing on the mat With things to say or sell. In bells (and other matters, too) Variety’s the thing. Although installed with one main view, 1.e., that they should ring, Yet house-to-house inquirers find That bells of every sort and kind Awmit their fingering. Some bear the legend, “ Press,” and so You nress, and press again; But nobody arrives, although,You press with might and main. So then, in wild,, impatient mood, You bark your knuckles on the wood. And, possibly, in vain. I’ve seen a German-made concern Inscribed, in courtliness, With “ Bitte dreben ” (kindly turn) “ Zudrucken ” (kindly press). But when the latter stuck, its gong Would ring uncomfortably long, With German thoroughness. One ancient sort performed its job With nothing to desire. Manipulated by a knob, Connected with a wire, Upon the kitchen wail it hung, And went (when vigorously rung) As if it couldn’t tiro. I stood before a house one day And pulled (as per request). The spring w’as strong, the bell “ got gay.” And did its very best. In fact. I’ll swear I heard it chime The hundred-and-eleventh time Before it came to rest. Yet. even so, a wire will break. And, on my weekly round. I always find some bells which make No sort or kind of sound. Remaining obstinately dumb, Like Sammy Small’s historic drum Upon the battle-ground. So, every week, I get a spot Of dumb-bell exercise At unresponsive doors, and what I say is never wise; A sort of '* sotto voce ” swear— And what profundity is there In such soliloquir.' ?