BY THE WAY

Evening Star, Issue 22881, 12 February 1938, Page 3

BY THE WAY

[By X.Y.] “ The lime has ccme,” the Walrus said, ■“ To talk of many things.’’. It may have been noted by some of you that this week various prominent nations have been engaged upon what appear to be their favourite pastimes. Thus the British Commonwealth of Nations has been following with traditionally keen interest the activities of the Empire’s finest athletes at the Games held in Sydney. In Germany Herr Hitler and the Naziest of the Nazis have been entertaining themselves and their friends with another good old coup. Apparently it has been a jolly fine show, and, with any encouragement from the people, might easily have assumed the dimensions of a cotip d’etat, a purge (in the most drastic sense), or a putsch. Signor Mussolini, of course, has been in a “ dangerous mood.” Mussy is never happier than when he is in a dangerous mood. He scowls magnificently and talks loud and long about forests of bayonets, the might of Fascism, and the glorious achievements of Italian troops here, there, and everywhere. It has been a good week for Mussolini. The merry little Japanese have been celebrating, too. They have had poor old John Bull and Uncle Sam trying to guess the size of the next lot of battleships they are going to build, and, what is more to the point at the present time, have extended the fireworks in real earnest to South China. Furthermore, pirates have again emerged from their lair to play fast and loose with merchant shipping. All we needed to complete a picture of the world at play were a few dozen executions in Russia and a South American revolution. • * * • On the whole, I think that the’ British idea of entertainment is the soundest. I know very well that, even from within our own communities, we are often accused .of giving up too much time to sport. However, sport in itself cannot be harmful except when oyer-participa-tion in it brings on physical strain or neglect of the more serious and mundane activities that provide the bread and butter—oh, and beware of the money factor in sport. , . . Just be a plain sportsman and don’t worry about becoming a flashy “ sport. For the moment I prefer to meditate on the Empire Games in, Sydney than on shellings and bombings and purgings and coupings. The results have proved that New Zealand has some great runners, hut no amateur boxers of outstanding merit. Now why should New Zealanders he better at running than fighting? It was not always so. In the old' days we produced many honnic fighters—men who had the fighting eye and the fighting instinct, the speed, .the punch, the everything. _ It cannot he that there is any deterioration _ in the fighting heart, for it takes spirit to be a champion at anything, including running. Perhaps it is a case of the old, old story, “ Nothing succeeds like success.” It is a long time since we bred boxers of the first flight. The youngsters of to-day have no memories of great predecessors worthy of emulation. If wo could only he blessed with another Bob Fitzsimmons or a Billy Murphy we might shortly find ourselves nourishing a promising crop of Bob Fitzsimmonses and Billy Murphys—just as we have produced successors to the original All Blacks, and just as Australia, since the triumphs of Bradman and M’Cabe, are turning out a more than usually prolific collection of fine young cricketers. * * * « It is agreed that the compulsory retiring age for the (National) Insurance Scheme will be 50, but even if it is set at 55 years. Christchurch paper.. Must I retire When I arrive At fifty, or At fifty-five? Give up my job While strong and sound, And be content To potter round? Must I endure The lofty scorn Of people who Were later-hom? Climb up and squat Upon the shelf, Despised by them And by myself? When folk go by To work in town, Small wonder if I’ll wear a frown, Because I’ll know Their thoughts depict Yours truly, as A derelict. My sons, I know, Will then refer To Father, as “ A pensioner.” Their answer, then To all I say Will simply be “ You’ve had your flay.” One thing I wish They’d specify, To which of us Will this apply? For, if this scheme Is national It should, of course, Apply to all.

M.P.s ■will find Their seats “ To Let,” Especially The Cabinet. (Most frightful, if It comes to pass That M.J.S, Must go to grass.) Just think of all Who’ll be retired, Bumped out and sacked, Dismissed and fired: Bank managers And golfing “pros.,” Solicitors And medicos. Or do they mean This gorgeous plan For no one but The working man?, And even so I view with doubt The reasons why They’ll sort him out. This caucus may For all I know; Enlighten us—(Pm hoping so). The Labour Hen Is sitting tight; I wonder what She’ll bring to light ? *•• • • I notice that the prime apostles of freedom of speech have been at it again. The electors of Dunedin must realise by now what freedom of speech, according to some codes, really means. The idea, as was evidenced when a Nationalist member of Parliament endeavoured to make himself heard in Dunedin, is that everybody in attendance at a political meeting of anti-Labour tone should be allowed to talk. And to talk all at once. If the official speaker on the stage, the man whose supporters have paid for the hall, and who is entitled to put his case and then answer questions afterwards, has the effrontery to become audible above a moderate din it becomes necessary then for the exponents of vocal thuggery to shout and stamp. It’s fine fun. So clever. So witty. So conducive to gaining sympathy for the Labour cause. However, much as many of us think we can justifiably criticise the legislation of the Labour Government, I am sure we have a better opinion of the personal qualities of its leaders than to think that for one moment they approve of this kind of hooliganism from a section of their supporters. A successful Labour candidate once told me, “ Our party will have nothing to fear during the next election campaign—except from our own crowd.” At the time his Remark sounded a trifle cryptic. Its meaning is already perfectly clear. * » » * An ecclesiastical friend and goodnatured critic of the Oxford Group Movement, who, by the way, objects to “ the rather unscrupulous appropriation of the name of Oxford by the Buchmanite Movement,” has forwarded two limericks which “ the movement, to its credit, has provoked.” Here is the first: — There was a young lady called Coop, Who said, “ Well, I’m in the soop. I can’t think of a sin That is worth putting in, And I’m due at a Buchmanite Groop.” Now for No. 2:— There was a young man of Pretoria, Whose sins grew goria and goria; But by guidance and sharing, And some savoir-faireing, He now lives at the Waldorf Astoria. • » * '• Extract from a newspaper article:— “M. Van Zeeland’s voluntary labours will be appreciated in the democratic countries that are trying to find a way out of the maize.” It is to be hoped that the nations concerned will also make a success of “ cornin’ through the rye.” • * • • The personal touch in local body administration as revealed through another newspaper extract:— “ The question of the dirty state of the town clerk was discussed, and it was generally agreed that the necessity existed for greater vigilance both by those living in proximity to the creek and by the council.” It was no use discussing this matter aimlessly. Obviously the town ojerk should have been instructed to make more use of the creek. ’ * # * • I bought her in December,; •With cautious eagerness, And paid—as I remember, Quite twenty pounds—no less. I drove her homewards proudly To park her by the gate; Her springs and hinges loudly Protested “Lubricate!” She bore a silent witness, A sticker, sickly green, To answer for her fitness At least, till June (fourteen); Which safely guaranteed her, Particularly when I thought I’d only need her Till January (ten). As far as I could gather, Behind the grease and dust,- , Her tint was red—reds, rather—* One paint, and t’other rust. Her seats were split and gaping, Her hood bedaubed with stains, And lengths of sticky taping Adorned her curtain-panes. The tyres were merely so-so; Not bad, but hardly new; And yet the price was low, so I thought that she might do. With Fortune’s kind assistance • (Self _ and/or wife to drive) •For quite a tidy distance, And bring us home alive. We spent our joint vacation In lumbering up and down. Surmounting elevations (The Lindis and the Crown), At times we simply shivered, , Not knowing what might come, Yet safely she delivered Her thankful owners home. It grieved us much, forsaking' That ancient rattle-trap, Which bore us, pleasure making, So far, without mishap. We both had grown to love her, And yet—ungrateful wretch! Hard-heartedly I drove her To see what she would fetch. Now, no one should have sought me To take her off my hands (Which same, it has been taught me, Stern Nemesis demands) Because, you see, I took her; She slaved that I might play; And then—for filthy lucre I traded her away. Yet luckily—for thus ’tis That Baseness takes the tridk— For once Poetic Justice Forbore to hurl the brick; And —though the queerness of it A moralist might feel, I made, by way of profit, A fiver on the deal.