By the Way

Evening Star, Issue 23829, 8 March 1941, Page 3

By the Way

(By X.Y.)

The fundamental principles of National Socialism and Marxism are identical. Hitler’s latest speech. It is a Thing remarkable, But none the loss, it’s True, That Bed is Brown, and Brown is Bed, And both are One, not Two; And (most remarkable of all) That Marx was not a Jew. This last is a Deduction from The former Theorem ; If Nazi equals Marxist—well, It proves that N is M, By cancelling on either side, The Progeny of Shem. For Marx was born at Treves, and so, As anyone could tell, That Slander on his Origin Was something which might well Arise from mixing up the Names Of Moses and Moselle. And. meditating thereupon, All Publishers will fold ‘ Mein Kampf ’ beside ‘ Das Kapital,’ And both will soon bo sold As one united Book of Books (New Testament and/Old). I cannot now prognosticate Exactly what they’ll call This Narxian Compendium, This Mazi All-in-All. ‘ Mein Kap ’ might be suggested, or Perhaps ‘ Das Kampfital.’ The naming of an Emblem I Must leave to someone quicker. My own Imagination shows A tendency to flicker. It sometimes .points to Swasticklo And sometimes Hammertickcr. Great Stalin looms up in the East, And if he were offended, A certain ranting Fnhrer’s Plans Would promptly be up-ended; Some Harm, through getting Stalin’s Goat, Might well be apprehended. For Marx, you see, is Stalin’s Goal, The end for which he’s seeking. Ho quotes him Morning, Noon, and Night And. in a way of speaking, His Personality with Marx Is absolutely reeking. Oh. Karl, if Fate had brought you here Two Generations later, Would you, by any kind of Chance, Have put your Imprimatur Upon the funny Goings-On Of either Big Dictator ? • • • • The appearance before military appeal boards recently of so many conscientious objectors, Communists,, Socialists, and members of little-known religious bodies, provides food, for reflection. Most of them must have kept these views a dark secret in times of peace, for little was heard of them. However, the British are a tolerant people, and these young men, many of them barely matured, were allowed to place their views on the rights and wrongs of a war in which our existence is at stake before the tribunal; and in .some cases exemption was granted. Is their attitude more of a self-regarded quixotic pose than anything else? At any rate, the writer knows of several men, one of whom holds a high official position, who were pacifists during 1914-18, and who now admit they were mistaken in the views they then held. Perhaps one can afford to be charitable and hope that some of the fledglings who appeared before the boards may change their views before long. Perhaps if a greater sense of humour were cultivated in the coniunity there would be fewer Communists, pacifists, and fewer cranks, in fact, of all kinds. Three local lads who are known to have “ Bed ” tendencies were observed recently at a street corner, seriously discussing the ballot in which one of them bad been drawn for military service. No doubt it was a “ bad war ” for which he was asked to prepare, despite the fact that in its early stages the Communists of Britain were all out for the blood of the Nazis and Fascists. Mental acrobatics seem easy to them. But the amusing side of the picture was the appearance and attire of the three lads. Each wore his hair twice as long as the average young fellow. two of them sported ties of extraordinary shapes and colours, and the suits of all were of a different cut from the ordinary. A sketch of the trio would have made a laughable item for a comic paper. Let us begin to laugh out our parlour “ Reds,” our pinks, and our extreme Radicals. There is no weapon so effective as ridicule.

A Kipling would find a wealth of material for modern barrack-room yarns among the .ex-servicemen of the National Military Reserve who have again donned the uniform and who are regularly training for anything they may be called upon to do. The old stories of army life are told again and enjoyed with relish. One concerned the New Zealand guard which had been mounted at the main entrance at a large British military camp in England. A stern old English general, accompanied by his staff, rode ipast the New Zealand guard,' but to his amazement and chagrin no notice was taken of him. Just back from London leave the “ diggers ” did not feel in the mood for paying compliments to anyone. Almost snorting with rage, the general galloped to New Zealand headquarters, complained'that the guard had not turned out to salute him and that even the sentries on duty had disregarded his presence altogether. Threatened with dire punishment when they came off duty, the members of the guard were doubly alert. When a bright red band on a cap was espied some distance away, out turned the guard, and “ present arms ” was the order. The soldiers’ feelings may well be imagined when a Salvation Army officer walked past with :t broad smile, wondering wily such an unexpected and unprecedented compliment was being paid him! “Log pulling ” of reinforcements by older soldiers was popular in the Army, and there was the story of the company of reinforcements who had arrived in the camp only the night before parading the next morning for breakfast; with full packs and arms. The orderly officer looked with amazement, and then remembered there were a lot of old soldiers in the camp.

Poised agonisingly on the peak of a past Deep Stream decision, with one eye open for leaky taps and the other on the May elections, the City Council is spared one responsibility—the watering of a floral clock. Yet with all the ingenuous enthusiasm of the maybeelect, it -has by no means abandoned the idea for all time, The main argument for this unholy vision of flowerbedrekod mechanism, set redundantly in position, in the Octagon, is that the contrivance has found a place elsewhere. At that, it is not / such a bad argument. The thought,' applied to

“ The time has come,” ifie ■ Walrus said, O “ To talk of many things' *

West Coast “ schooners,” might well find a place in the cogitations of tho local Licensed Victuallers Association. But on. sober reflection it_ is fortunate indeed tba't the argument is a comparatively new one. Paris has an Eiffel Tower, and the fearful consequences ofi imitation can best be left to the imagination. Perhaps, however, Dunedin is unique in relying on the achievements of other centres for inspiration for its purely aesthetic works. Certainly there is little in the_ city which would suggest any original enterprise on the part of the inhabitants. The saltwater hatha at , St. Clair provided a happy thought. That it was the exception to the rule was practically proved by the neglect—commented upon in council not so long ago—which was the fate of the amenity for many years. The Duke street plantings might have been copied, from Oamaru, the name “ Municipal Chambers ” which decorates the Town. Hall is a direct American steal, and there have been statues of Queen Victoria and even Babbie Burns elsewhere, • • * • In this imitative frenzy, which in lighter moments strains the powers of invention of Dunedin’s leaders of activity, may possibly be found a solution of the problem of “ The Blackout—and Why?” Other countries have a black-out, and why not we? Consequently there has been a rushing to and’ fro, a putting out of clocks and other lights, while the Town Hall windows and the plateglass of the Post Office blaze merrily unshuttered. But 'the principle of the thing is there. No one could wish that the residential quarters of the town b© bombed or shelled while such large tracks of land as those occupied by the railway station, the wharves, and the oil 'tanks, not to mention the flood-lighted areas of Hillside, go practically unpopulated.So suburban windows are darkened and officials caution the . householders _of Tennyson street, while the lights shina on the radio station and the train sheds. A city firm was warned to darken windows which shone, on occasion, into a blind, area. A thought that one of those Post Office windows might mark the Income Tax Department raises a doubt whether criticism be wise, but let it pass. • a < • Till taught by pain, Men really know not what good water’s worth.

Had he been living in Dunedin in this year of disgrace and turmoil, one inclines to the belief that Lord Byron, would have penned his lines rather differently. t Dunedinites have had no need to be taught by anguish just what good , water is worth; the lesson has, been brought home less pleasantly even than might be done by a bed of pain. For with Jupiter Piuvius withholding his hand the wheels of industry are threatened with stoppage, gardens are drying up, and in divers ways there is being brought to all a realisation of the extreme value of that chemical compound known as H2O. There have been in the past wars for water; races have died out for want of it; there are vast areas of fruitless desert because of tha lack of it; yet only when we are forced to abandon our daily showers, or to bath in three inches of water, do we begin to think that it is after all a precious gift. For a long time now those of us who have not to depend from year’s end to year’s end on rain-filled tanks have been accustomed to turning on a tap and heedlessly permitting gallons to gurgle down the waste pipe. . Water has come to us without effort on our part, and, like inost things acquired in that manner, its importance has not been appreciated. Now that the use of every pint has to be considered, some lesson surely has been learnt, but many things learnt are not long remembered, and one fears that th« lesson of the water shortage will also soon become a memory of little significance. In the meantime there are compensations; sud-filled dish water poured over wilting _ plants will kill blight, and bathing in three inches of water allows for speedy recovery of the soap. • • • • My Income Tax is paid, My Levy and the Lot; And I am much afraid I’m not A brimming overflowing Cup Of patriotic Pride. This Rigmarole of paying up Hurts me inside. Admittedly I should Be beaming with Delight; For what I’ve done is good And right; An Action which, in any Case, Entitles me, I trust, - To occupy my lawful Place Among the Just. My Payment will provide Social Security. And Lots of Things beside; ’Twill be A Panacea to heal Disease In those who cannot pay, If Legislators can appease The B.M.A. That Florin in the Pound, And all my other Taxes, Will notably confound The Axis. The Deed I’ve been and gone and don« Will generate a Fit Of Shivers in the hostile Hun (No doubt of it!) I pocket my Receipt; But do I then proceed With Joy along 'the Street? Indeed, Quite honestly I wish that I Could cheer and jubilate At having done my Duty by My native State. But ah! my stolid Heart Experiences no Thrill. My Cash and I must part; And still It makes my inmost Being grieve. And lacerates ray Mind, To think that I’m compelled to leav# So much behind. 0 Powers that be! think not That Reason's in the Air. 1 am a Patriot, So there! I loathe the Fuhrer and his Works, I execrate the Wop; May Britons, Frenchmen, Greeks, and t Turks, Como out on Top! “ Britannia rules the Wave,” Whole-heartedly I sing." I gladly chant “ God save The King.” _ But this Effusion, last and first. My Loyal Heart reveals; When Taxes have to be disbursed Just hoar my Squeals. There is the true-blue Briton’s Bent, * Ho loves to tell his Government Exactly how he feels.