BY THE WAY

Evening Star, Issue 22578, 20 February 1937, Page 2

BY THE WAY

[B, XT.]

“ fhe »iir> has come,” the Walrus said. “To talk of mjmy things ” It was both disturbing and distressing to learn that Venezuela has decided to build two modern destroyers for her navy. The fact that the orders have gone to Germany, is neither here nor there. The important point is that Venezuela has made a start in the armaments race,' thereby departing from the good old South American custom of settling disputes by practically bloodless revolutions and setting goodness only knows how bad an example to other countries in that excitable Continent. The heads of the Venezuelan Navy would have done well to have pinned their faith to the existing fleet of two, one of which is in such a condition that it cannot leave harbour. An obsolete navy would have kept their people out of mischief. Warships that cannot leave port are a boon to all and sundry. They give would-be sailors a chance to wear a uniform. They amuse the kiddies. They can do no harm to anybody. What a pity it ie that the European Powers cannot confine their naval activities to the maintenance of a fleet of innocuous o,ld-timers. The League of Nations will be very much disappointed in Venezuela. » • « .» That Western Park Where children, played. And, after dark. The couples strayed. As couples do And couples did. Whether in new Or old Madrid. Alas, alas I No more one sees Its level grass And towering trees.. Each path and plot And flower-bed Is torn with shot And strewn with dead. What fools men be, Who thus deface With enmity A pleasant place! Who make each glade A little Hell With pick and spado And shot and shell. And, back of all, The city lies, A capital Of medium size. The Spaniard's taste Is fierce and florid. He thinks it chaste. (It’s really horrid.) Its buildings are (I’m being gentle) Peninsular And Oriental. They shriek aloud With paints and gildings. But Spain is proud Of blatant buildings. Now bombs and planes Have told their story. And what remains Of all this glory? And who’ll possess. For all this slaughter, The wilderness Of bricks and mortar? This heap of earth And broken rubble Is hardly worth The toil and trouble. They think it’s fun. So on the fray goes. What else can one Expect from dagoes? • • • •

X have just returned from a short holiday in the Lakes District, where folks worry more about sheep and cows and pigs and fish and rabbits than they do about navies and armies and air forces. When one begins to breathe the soft, dry, upland air outside troubles seem to disappear miraculously. In the case of visitors the holiday spirit doubtless contributes something towards the general feeling of well-being. For the time being the madness in Spain loses its significance. Germany and Italy, one concludes, can do what they jolly well like. They can be attended to later. The armaments race is interesting, but not alarming. Mr Semple can go roaring round the countryside ad lib. If he likes to act like a cross between a petty dictator and a circus clown—well, that is his own business. Such conduct will harm nobody but himself.. The whole Labour Government can do its best or worst. What concerns one at the moment is that there are fish to be caught, rabbits to be shot, mountains to be climbed, and—believe it or _ not—at least some sunshine to be enjoyed.

The people up country are not very well satisfied with their summer this year. But to chilled coast-dwellers their weather seems quite pleasant. By comparing notes with unfortunates who wore in town all last week I find that I am many, many swims to the good, and that I have thrown off a cold, whereas others have been busy contracting them. Wherefore _ and for diverse other reasons, I begin to wonder at the rural drift towards town and the disinclination among some of the urban workless to hie themselves to the benign country. Of course, there are the winters to be faced. 1 know that. But, think you, can the crisp frostiness of an inland winter be more disagreeable than so many Dunedin summers we have experienced in recent years? If any readers want an argument on the point, let them write to “X.Y.”

Before setting out Central Otagowards 1 was warned that it was not now possible to obtain fruit from farms at practically gift prices as in days of yore. My information was that the business instinct had taken such a tight hold on the country mind that travellers were asked to pay as much for fruit as would be demanded in town—even when no _ railage was involved. I was rather relieved to find, however, that the change in the case of those who may be termed the professional growers has been brought about more by reason of essential collaboration with city vendors than through change of heart. The old spirit of hospitality still exists up Central way. Make no mistake about that.

Pigs is pigs and pigs is always likely to bo pigs. Whether or not it is because pigs figure so conspicuously and more romantically perhaps than thty deserve in nursery rhyme and story, the fact remains, as 1 now well know, that children are irresistibly attracted by them. During our occasional visits to farms the “ X.Y. ” offspring simply could not take their eyes off the pigs. The “ little pig that went to market ” and the “ three little pigs ” which ea-

countered the big bad wolf were duly recognised, and not all the doubtful aromas about the styes could rob such visits of their joy. It is good to bo young and appreciative. Cows do not seem to be so popular among juveniles. In the case of our children the old apathy towards cow’s milk still exists. They much prefer milkman’s milk. The General Committee of the City Council, in its hankering for a municipal supply and pasteurisation, might, in view of future propaganda, make a note of this. ♦ * » • Anent this shootin’ and fishin’ business w,.’icn one mee-s ivu.li so irequeiUiy on ho.iday—r am afra.a unu, us I am no. a coii.inc.ug hsaerwau or snot; or sp.nner o. tan yarns these sports, 1 have no very sensational experiences to pass on. U nat little success 1 had against the bunnies reminded me of a story 1 hart previously heard of the Dunedin man who once sallied forth against these pests accompanied by his young son. A tactful son, he was. His father relates with some pride how, after every miss, his admiring hopeful would exclaim: “My word, dad, you gave that one a big fright.” From the land of straw voters, kidnappers, and wooden nutmegs comes a tale of a professor who is carrying out research work on married happiness. Some 200 recently-wed couples have been classified and cross-indexed according to the colour of their hair —that is to say, as to whether blonde has married brunette, or whether brunette has chosen red-head or mousey-coloured, and so on through all the colour permutations. In about the year 1946 it is proposed that inquiries bo made as to how these young couples have weathered the storms. Information is expected to be forthcoming on the point of the most suitable colour combination for the happiest match. An eye will also be kept on Reno and an endeavour made to ascertain in what year the possible breaks come. By their tints shall ye know them seems to be the fashionable advice of the future. When the professor has announced the blend of perfect loving happiness the rest should be easy. Surely we all can “ dye ” for love. • » • • Dear “ X.Y.” (writes “ M'Tavish ”), how soon do the seeds of wisdom in your column grow up and bear fruit! Some time ago, I noticed, you wrote a few modest lines extolling the virtues of the kilt as a dress, and already it is announced that one of our leading girls’ is adopting the Scots dress as its uniform. Such ready acceptance of your suggestion is really encouraging. Just think of it and rejoice—young New Zealanders wearing a Scottish dress and attending a school named after an Irish saint! Geneva! “ X.Y.” has no claim to the inspiration. The best that can be said on his behalf is that he knows a good thing when he sees it. t • t • Our population’s thin and slight, Our area is small; , Our mountains are o,f medium height, Just tolerably tall; Our rivers aren’t a patch upon The Hoang-Ho or Amazon; In fact, we suffer from a dearth Of “ biggest what’s-his names on earth,” Except one waterfall. It doesn’t worry me a bit, Because I’m not allowed! The questionable benefit Of bragging long and loud On puiv.y accidental themes, Like monstrous mountains, lakes, and streams. Gan anybody tell me why A building ninety stories high Should) make a fellow proud? The one exaggerated thing New Zealand e’er possessed Was Nature’s early blundering. That inartistic pest The moa bird, to wit, which grew Too big, and blotted out the view. It spoilt the scenery, and so The moa simply had to go, Extinguished and suppressed. A natural phenomenon . Like wind, or rain, or hail, New Zealand never stages on

A big and blatant scale. No river bursts its banks and drowns A score of villages and towns j No hurricane blows up and rips A city into dust and chips, Careering on the gale.

Conditions in these happy isles Are equable and just. We greet them, now and then, with smiles, And sometimes with disgust. Our rainy spells result in mud. Or, possibly, a minor flood, And, when the weather’s dry and hot, We sweat and swear, as like as not, And execrate the dust.

But weather in the U.S.A. Is unrefined and crude, For ever erring in the way > Of vulgar magnitude. A flood sweeps over half the land; A gale inters the rest in sand; And both disasters supervene Without a fortnight’s space between By way of interlude.

We spend our uneventful days Content and unafraid, Rejoicing that New Zealand’s ways Are sober, small, and staid. No doubt those Yankee methods are Exceedingly spectacular; But, still, for peace and quietness, New Zealand puts the whole U.S. Completely in the shade.