By the Way

Evening Star, Issue 23881, 10 May 1941, Page 3

By the Way

(By X.Y.)

A sudden noise upon my lawn Arouses me before the dawn. I wake and stretch myself, and yawn. And go to sleep again. It’s just my ginger cat, no doubt, Indulging in a private bout, And no one will be slain. In half an hour, or, maybe, more, I’ll hear a yowl outside the door From Pussy, who is thirsting for His early moraine; “ spot.” Undoubtedly he’s feeling dry; He wants the “ doings ” now—and why The dickens should he not? My Tommy is the 'worse for wear. His usually silky hauls somewhat ruffled here and there; One ear is bleeding, too. Such indications surely mean That last night’s battle must have been A pretty fierce to-do. Still, after he has had his drink Some earnest tongue-work will, I think, ’ Bestore old Ginger to “ the pink ” Of cat-like elegance; . And doubtless he’ll be out to-night In search of yet another fight, If he can get the chance. If Tom were blessed with intellect Like human beings, I expect He’d call a meeting, and collect All gingers, near and far, Exhorting them to make a stand, And trust their fortunes to the grand Arbitrament of war. “ Arise,” he’d yowl, “ and arch your backs; Combine in resolute attacks On tabbies, piebalds, greys, and blacks, And all the feline scum. Lay back your ears, and bare your claws, Prick up your whiskers in the cause Of sacred Gingerdom.” Then all the yellow-coated crowd, Ilace-conscious now, and colour-proud. Would utter cat-calls, long and loud. A storm of feline “ Heils ” ; Presenting to the midnight gales A forest of uplifted tails In serried ranks and files. With mews, and yowls, and swears, and spits Begins the mighty ginger Blitz Of tearing claws, and scattered bits Of fur on every side : Kilkenny fashion, either host Contending to the uttermost ! Till all of them have died. This 1 verse is merely Tommy-rot; For Pussy, as you know, is not A sharer in the lofty lot Of human sense and brain. He’s just a common quadruped. And so he’s purring on his bed Instead of being slain. * Hr * * A week hence it is highly probable that readers of the “ By the Way ” column will be much less concerned about its contents than about the result of the mayoral election. The burning question, as set forth by the more voluble of the two candidates, is whether Dunedin’s Chief Magistrate will possess the attribute of dignity. The dictionary definition of dignity is open for. consultation by those who feel so disposed. For ourselves, we prefer the pictorial method, and recommend Landseer’s once übiquitous picture of a | bloodhound and a terrier, entitled ‘ Dig- I nity and Impudence.’

♦ * «. * ( ■■ However. the mayoral robes—often irreverently referred to by permanent corporation officials as “ the rabbitskins ” —can have their own effect in lending an air of dignity. Let us pass on to another attribute not yet mentioned by Dr M‘Millfm—impartiality. From his platform speeches and ambitious programme of municipal ■activities one might gather the impression that the new mayor is to he everything and the City Council a cypher. That is a mistaken idea; Dunedin might as well have a Gauleiter. Not the least of the mayoral functions is to preside at the fortnightly meetings.of the City Council, and the first quality requisite in a chairman is impartiality. Councillors appreciate it and ratepayers expect it. And along with it should go urbanity, quite compatible with dignity and impartiality, and highly desirable in mayoral relations with the j chief municipal officers and heads of departments. ■» * * *' Having convinced himself that all these desiderata will be fulfilled if the principle of the rolling office is affirmed at the polls next week, the ratepayer is at liberty to .examine details of the stunendous progress which will then confront Dunedin. He may well rub his eyes and ask if the war is over and paid for and the public purse everflowing with (Mac! millions. Exactly what the “ scientific,” irrigation of Central Otago has to do with the ratepayers of Dunedin, as such, is not altogether obvious, or the repatriation of New Zealand’s oversea soldiers either; but evidcntlv there is some connection between the two. since fhe worthy doctor advocates irrigation blocks in the Upper Clutha Valley for returned soldiers. Is he too juvenile to hare hoard of Victoria's big but i strikingly unsuccessful post-war effort in that line ('somewhere near Mildura) and it; prodigious cast. Dr M'Millan is in an excellent position to appreciate the acute shortage of medical men due to the war’s requirements, and must surely realise that shortage of man power precludes the inception, let alone ' the completion, of such schemes just now.. Did he learn really nothing of engineering projects and construction during his sojourn at Knrow, despite there being available such an admirable mentor as Mr Packwond?

But pursuit of such inquiries may render “ X.Y.” open to M'Millenitfl castigation as one' of those “ myopic persons with a stopwatch ” seeking to ti« N a progress-booster down to mere considerations of time and space and pence and practicability. Let us turn to a more congenial subject. Mr Gordon Coates has broken a massive silence by his alluring advocacy of women cooks at Pnpakura, Trentham, Burnham, ,and other camps where sol-diers-in-the-making do congregate. If Mr Jones could see his way to fall in with the suggestion, the labours of Mr Bartholomew and other adjudicators of appeals for exemption from military service -would be immensely lightened. The playing of the bugle call, ‘ Come to the Cookhouse Door,’ would be an anachronism. Instead, those desirable portals would have to be proclaimed as in a state of siege, and notice boards would have to be erected bearing an inscription equivalent to the “ Keep Clear of Propellers ” decorating the sterns of twin-screw vessels when in port. Then would the term “ cupboard love ” take on a new significance. On the grounds of economy the inno- —*«.- rtttaMAw ...

“ The time hat come” the Walrus said, “To talk of many things.”

vation may be recommended to the Minister of Defence. Hurling the discus has not yet been included in the list of field events for women athletes, so there should be a great saving in the item 1 breakages of crockery.”

By all accounts there is ample room for the exercise of economy iby the defence authorities. Some of the stories iu circulation concerning military methods of transacting business- are next door to incredible; but as they are mostly related iu a confidential undertone and appear to be regarded as the creamiest of jokes, they are unlikely to reach the aloof ear of the self-effacing( Minister of Defence. The least compromising of them may be entitled ‘ The Flying Gang.’ It appears that someone somewhere was notified that there was an acute shortage of cooks in a certain camp. A unit was assembled and despatched without delay. On arrival at destination they were told emphatically that they were “ de trop ” and. were promptly forwarded to another camp. Here the same procedure was repeated, and at latest advice those in the know are anxious as to whether the final hop has been accomplished and whether it -was a “ pancake ” landing.

New Zealand has never been free from difficulties in the realm of military commissariat. The oldest and most authoritative Maori resident of our small community recalls a punitive expedition which set out from Kaiapoi for Otakon. The routine was that the warriors went in advance each day, selected and prepared a camping place for the night’s rest, and caught and cooked eels for the big meal, by which time the old men and the women and children put in an appearance with the impedimenta. There was ’ growing dissatisfaction among these camp followers because their portion was the head section of the eels, while the warriors appropriated the far more succulent and satisfying tail sections. Matters came to a head at Moeraki; but, on the advice of an aged ex-warrior, the strike method was adopted without notification. When the storm troops set out next morning the rearguard let thejn get well on their way, then struck camp and marched in the opposite direction—northward, homeward. Thus was a promising expedition crippled and vengeance on the southerners averted—at least for the time being.

Among Adolf Hitler’s “ kite ” peace terms is one dealing with the Suez Canal. The whole of North Africa, from the Atlantic Ocean to the Red Sea, is to be divided between Germany and Italy, but Britain is to share with the Axis in the control of the Suez Canal! The hook in this bait is so “ audible ” that even a voracious barracouta would spurn it. It is an oversight that Hitler did not announce a provisional list of directors. Would he give Admiral Harlan a seat on the board for services rendered? Or would he merely find him a job as a Canal pilot? A seat on the directorate of the Suez Canal has always been one of the plums in the realm of lucrative sinecures. The duties and responsibilities are no more onerous than those of the directors of the Reserve Bank of New Zealand. One of those fortunate gentlemen long ago described them as consisting of a periodical trip to Wellington for a morning cup of tea and biscuit with the governor of the bank (Mr Leslie Lefeaux), all references to banking being strictly ruled out of order. Possibly Mr Silverstone will confirm or refute this concise summary.

I have a wife, who has an aunt, Of past threescore and ten. This ancient lady sends from Home A letter now and then. In spite of Goebbels’ blasts of bunk Concerning ships that Fritz has sunk Her missives still arrive; Which fact is most significant— We know onr mail boats and this aunt Are'very much alive.

Her letters never register War jitters in the least. She hasn’t flitted from her home. Although it’s in the East. Exactly where, I mustn’t tell, But still, she manages to dwell. I And sleep and eat and write; Although a vagrant bomb, one day, Blew up n house not far away. And jammed her front door tight. I shall not indicate the name Or nature of her, town (Although it happens to be one . Of Empire-wide renown! For if be-medalled Goering got Intelligence about this spot His Nibs might take a fad For framing up a frightful Blitz To blow its buildings "into bits; And that would be too bad. Returning to my aunt-in-law. That dame of seventy-two, She sends us ‘ Punch ’ by every ‘mail When she has read it through ; Which tells us one important thing— Her local P.O.'s functioning Despite the spleenful Hun; And likewise—which intrigues me most— That neither ‘Punch ’ (nor she! has lost Their love for honest, fun. And so, ye croaking frogs, who talk Of “ propaganda stuff.” And call this “ thumbs-up ” attitude A piece of hollow bluff. My weekly dose of ‘ Punch ’ supplies The answer to your theories; And if you ask for more, I’ll show you all about that bomb And other correspondence, from My ancient aunt-in-law.

Let Goebbcls gabble as he will And Goering send his planes; There’ll always be an England while The British race remains; While ‘ Punch ’ still sounds his notes of cheer, And aunts can scud him over here. Be very sure of this : That though the Briton’s home he downed The Briton’s heart and hand are sound— There isn’t much amiss!