BY THE WAY

Evening Star, Issue 22631, 24 April 1937, Page 2

BY THE WAY

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The time ban come, ’ the Walrus said, To talk ut many things.”

Sundry week-end walking excursions and the spectacles they frequently provide have convinced me that the policy adopted in some private schools of teaching the young idea to ride a horse is a wise one. The equestrian art appears to be one which has to be mastered at a youthful age if anything approaching grace in the saddle is to be obtained. The average city man may be the personification of streamlined confidence when he treads a measure in a Saturday night ballroom, but if he takes to the, saddle next day or any day, he usually bears a distinct ’ resemblance to a sack of potatoes clinging to its perch goodness only knows how. By comparison, the gawkiest country young man when riding can give an admirable imitation of the poetry of motion. But this is not the worst. The City amateur knows little about the care of a horse. Whether or not it is because he is petrol-minded, he almost invariably accelerates when riding up hill and coasts >at a fast clip down bill. When beholding this exasperating sight one feels sorry for the horse and also for the owner who hired him out. It is almost a i matter for the S.P.C.A. to take up. No, the amateur riders of Dunedin, as a body, are not an impressive lot. The only consolation is that, like had .golfers, they are getting more exercise, than, the efficient performer. The city liver must be all the better for the good shake-up it undoubtedly receives.

Mr Neville Chamberlain's Budget was greeted with cheers by the Labour Party. _ It is described as “ brilliant Socialism,” —Cable.

Good people all, of every sort, Attend while I relate About the cat. of Westminster, Which startled folk of late.

A cat there was, as all men know Beyond the slightest doubt; Yet none had heard the creature purr Or seen it walk about.

It dwelt within a secret bag; ; This much was clear and plain. The rest was mystery to all Save ‘Neville Chamberlain. t But soon a rumour, grew apace That this secluded beast, On such a day, at such an hour, Would shortly be released 1 .

And so, when Chamberlain arrived And entered by the, door, Six hundred pairs of eyes were glued Upon the bag he bore. Each member’s heart within that House Was going pit-a-pat; For all men guessed, but no man ' knew, The colour of the cat.

For some unhesitatingly Maintained, with all their might, And wagered many shillings that The animal was white.

Some swore that it was tortoiseshell, Audi some were known to back The theory that puss was grey; . While some pronounced her black, js,till others, of exotic tastes, Proceeded to invoke The Heavens to witness that she was Chinchilla, blue, or smoke. Then Chamberlain before their eyes Arose and pulled the string; And every man beheld a most Unprecedented thing.

For, spite of Nature’s ordinance, And all those men had said, The long-expectedl _ pussy-cat Emerged a brilliant red!

Then some turned pale, and some looked sour, Audi some were moved to tears; But others rent the atmosphere With loud and raucous cheers:

To prophesy the creature’s fate Would not be right or fit; But, anyway, she’s out—and what The Deuce will come of it? • • * *

According to a musical globetrotter of Sydney the people of the United States are .music crazy. Concerts and opera, houses are packed to the doors, and everywhere in the country there are signs of a return to better and deeper fare. We should be very pleased to hear this. For its appears to be a case of “ what America does to-day the rest of the English-speaking countries will do to-morrow.” Soon we may be liberated from this appalling jinglejungle jazz era and_ find ourselves embarked upon a period of better taste in music. Why America copied and elaborated on tho tom-tom motif is difficult to understand, and why Britain and her cubs ever deigned to ape the Americans is quite beyond comprehension. _ Once upon a time I heard jazz music described as “a weird conglomeration of meaningless sounds invented by American fools for British fools to listen to.” It is to be hoped that our fashionleading cousins are making the transition to better taste with a sense of shame and regret that they ever perpetrated such musical atrocities and spread them abroad in a world that, in many respects, is still passing fair. The sign of a return to something more akin to real civilisation is indeed welcome. I have a notion that the move towards a change has been hastened by the widespread use of wireless enters tainment. I • think many people will agree with me that it is an almost superhuman task to listen to modern jazz trash for any length of time without becoming restless and contem-

plating assault and battery on the music box in the corner. Nor is it necessary to be a high-brow to arrive at this conclusion. Only good music or something with at least the semblance of a tune in it will stand the test of time in the sitting room o’ nights. Radio is assuredly speeding the demise of jazz. Therefore radio is thrice blessed.

This mention of modern fashions in music reminds me of modern fashions in painting—painting faces, that is. Only the other day I was hauled over the coals for passing a young lady in the street without extending to her the usual courtesies which signify recognition and friendship. My excuse was this: The last time I had seen the lassie her complexion was natural, fresh, and altogether in keeping with Dunedin’s reputation for fair women. Had she retained the facial status quo I would certainly have known her at once. In the meantime, however, she had fallen a victim to the lipstick and what-not craze, and unfortunately had managed to transform an uncommonly winsome expression into one which made her appear as if she had been turned out of the same beauty parlour mould as hundreds of others. The aii; of distinction was gone. Individuality was lost. We must be reasonable and admit that beauty parlours and their toilet requisites have their uses among, women who refuse to grow old gracefully or who are, with some justification perhaps, dissatisfied with the faces that were apportioned to them. . But I am sure no man views with favour the swing to cosmetics on the part of one wnose face needs only the application of good old soap and water to keep it bright and comely.

Most of us experience times when nothing in this world seems so desirable as a sweet and _ juicy orange. Maybe the “tummy” is out of order, or maybe, we just feel like having something refreshing and thirst-quench-ing. At any rate, the craving for oranges can "be very strong on occasions, and, particularly in the case of sick persons, the lack of tjiem can cause extreme discomfort.

Such features of _the prevailing orange shortage, however, mean nothing to the political brains of the Dominion. According to them, the correct procedure for New Zealanders to follow is one of strict repression of the orange hunger. We must, of course, give the Australian Government a nasty back-hander and punish it for the sin of despising our potatoes by placing an embargo on the most health-giving fruit that Nature can provide. It will be agreed, I think, that this is one of the most puerile and pitiful exhibitions of statesmanship ever conceived in a British country. The matter has developed beyond the farcical stage. The embargo has become nothing short of criminal., This week it has been impossible to buy oranges in Dunedin at all. What have invalids and the people who attend to their wants to say to this? It is high time for national pressure to be organised in the endeavour to show the “ playboys ” of Parliament the error of their ways, for they seem intellectually incapable of thinking deeply for themselves. The- best we can do in the meantime is to wish Cabinet many happy returns of the most painful “ tummy ” ache known to mankind.

The good nature of London busmen is proverbial. They possess a ready wit, t6o. I cannot resist repeating an example of it as told by one who knows them well. One day a small boy took advantage of an all-day passenger ticket such as a thoughtful council provides chiefly for the benefit of sight-seeing visitors. Towards the close of his orgy of travelling the lad presented to a conductor a ticket so frequently punched that it was difficult to find another clear space on it. However, the conductor managed to clip one corner of it, and as he handed it back to the boy he remarked : “ When you get home, son, you’d better put that on the pianola; it’ll play * Little Man, You’ve Had a Busy Day.’ ” * * * * King Farouk, accompanied by his four sisters (Fawsia, Fazia, Faika, and Faithia), has arrived in England for the Coronation. What? .No Fatima among that lot? •** • ‘ The South African representatives at the Coronation have been forbidden to wear knee breeches and silk stockings.—Cable item. To attend the Coronation There arrived a delegation From the Afrikander' nation At the Cape. They were told to dress up nicely, And their orders (not precisely In this shape) Were Beware! Yon may dress in strides or slacks, You may dress in greys or blacks, You may dress in sugar sacks, With binder-twine stitches; You may go in kilts, or bare, But you mustn’t ever dare To assume a service pair Of knee breeches.

Now, the Afrikander’s limb May be shapely,, straight, and trim. Neither barrel-like nor slim,

Just O.K. .' But his mandate is explicit, And he cannot just dismiss it As a gay Bit Of wit. He may clothe his nether pins In a pair of white moleskins Ti,ed with howyangs round his shins (Plus-fours if ho pleases). Frilly “ scanties,” like the Greek s, Or a burnous, like a Sheik’s; But he mustn’t go in breeks

To his kneesesl Now, regarding the protection Of his legs (the lower section). He must dress with circumspection

Lest he err. If his calves are covered wrongly, Well, his Government most strongly Will demur. They Will say That he’s well within his rights When in socks or spats or tights. Never mind if he excites Some ignorant mockings; Or in yellow gartered hos© Like the late Malvolio’s: Anything, in fact, but those Silken stockings. But he’s quite as free as Crusoe In the balance of his trousseau. If he’s really keen to do so,

He can still Have the other gauds and glories Which adorn the upper stories Of Imperialists and Tones. But it will Seem A scream If his form above the waist Is cocked-hatted, golden-laced In the courtliest of taste,

A vision of splendours. And, to show contempt for courts, On his southern half he sports Nothing else but socks and shorts And suspenders.