All Sort of People

Free Lance, Volume VI, Issue 290, 20 January 1906, Page 3

All Sort of People

ONE of the most interested spectators at the tad end of the bowling tournament was "Tommy" Adair, of Gisborne, who cam© dowin to see his reps, win the champion banner, only to witness it wrenched away on the last day. The shook was a severe one, but "Tommy" is a perky little chap, and a good sport, and soon recovered from the blow. He is head of the firm of Adair Brothers, of Gisborne (the Kirkcaldie and Stanns of Poverty Bay), a business that has put "Tommy" beyond the want of a crust for the rest of his days. • • • Rather amusing to read in London "Daily Mail," which gives a List of the "All Blacks' " nick-names, and the origin, that "Mr. Dixon (manager) — No one dares to address ham familiarly.' For twenty years New Zealand footballers have called this terrible persion "George," and the awful ogre has battled against his disposition to slay and maim and use a olub by appearing to have the sweetest temper and by extending "the glad haind" to all his fel-low-creatures. It is just because "George" is one of those lovable sort of chaps that he doesn't have to throw rocks at his team, and that mo man of them all would do anything to anmoy a manager who hates to get angry, and has never succeeded in our recollection. Young Holmes, who has, with hock-ey-player Allen, jointly invented a new (and they hope an improved) kind of trolley-head' for electric cars — the little manganese wheel and fitting that travels along the electric wire at the end of the trolley-pole — is a son of Mr. John Holmes, of this city, the flax expert. These young men have been working for many months at their idea, which tney have at length perfected, and with which they are about to astound the tramway world. What witih Hutchison's milking machine, Brown and Dickie's stamp-«ellmg slot-machine arrangement, and Holmes' trolley-head, inventing seems to be a popular pastime among the native youth of this city"One of the whitest m the profession" is "Jack" Leete, the genial manager of the Leroy, Bosoo, and Talma attraction, at the Theatre Royal. "Jack" — and this is not generally known — us a full-brother to Harry Rickards, the man who established the vaudeville business in the colonies, and who has introduced more stage "stars ' to this country than anyone knows of, for both Puller and Dix, in the hey-dey of their boom, depended almost solely on Mr. Rickards for new "turns." • • ♦ Mr. John Leete was not born in a dressing-room, and did not breathe the hot air of the footlights from infancy. No fear ! "Jack" is an engineer by profession, and has seen some wonderful service in Egypt, where he was decorated deservedly for that same service. He can tell yarns about "moonlight on the Nile." mad mullahs, Assouan dams, and Arab circs, in a mervellously fascinating way, but eventually he threw in his lot with his brother Harry, and at present is really the chief controlling agent of his many ventures. Mr. Rickards bias made much money with Lerov, Bosoo, and Talma, and he is not done with them yet. Allez — hoop-la!

There seems to be a curse on. the Tyson money. Tyson was an Australian squatter millionaire bachelor, who died intestate, and whose money was consequently divided among a large number of relatives. One of the legatees has suicided, on© lost a, child under tragic circumstances, several had been involved in law court cases, and the twelfth addition to the family trouble is the shooting of a sister by her brother. Poor old "Jimmy" Tyson himself was never known to commit an offenoe of any description. "I never stole in my life, not even a kiss," he was once heard to remark. • • • Not quite correct, perhaps, for "Jimmy" often "stole a march" on his own employees. His huge properties weie far apart, and he was m the habit of turning up to the runs with a swag on his back — his appearance did not "give him away" — and asking for food and shelter. If his managers were too good to him in the way of charity he just "sacked" them on the spot. But, TVson was mostly mean in a businesslike way. A lady who approached him as a canvasser for a charity once did so tremblingly, as she expected to be dismissed with a refusal. The old man, however, wrote a cheque for a thousand pounds. She gazed l at it in astonishment. "Haven't you made a mistake, Mr. Tyson?" she asked. "P'raps I 'aye!" roared the old' man, snatching it back and tearing it up. "Good day, missus!" It was she who made the mistake. Mr. Richard Barnes, whose brilliant play in the chess tournament at Auckland won Mm, for the fifth time, the championship of New Zealand, is a man who makes chess his principal pastime. He is a clerk in a Wellington financial office, and, out of Business hours, anyone who fancies himself sufficiently to tackle a player of such celebrity can generally reckon upon arranging a game with the enthusiast of the Working Men's Club. Mr. Barnes's chess record is a splendid' one, for out of seventeen congresses he has only four times failed to win a place, and besides his five championships he has several times only missed the honour by the narrowest shave. • • » Wellington, by the way, did conspicuously well in the late tournament, four of her representatives, Messrs. Barnes, Mason, James, and Davis, heading the list of winners, in the order given. Mr. James is assistant librarian at the Parliamentary Library, and had bis schooling in Auckland. An interesting figure at the competitions was a Wanganui College boy named E. S. Rutherford, who it> still in his teens, but played a game that forced chess veterans to respect him. » ♦ • "Fortissimo Teddy," the robustest tenor of these parts that ever reached for a top "A," has an organ that, like wine and bowlers, improves with age. He brought it along to the bowlers' "smoker," the other evening, and just lifted the visitors off their seats with his virile vocalisation. "Teddy" Hill has been before the public in Wellington for over a score of years, and yet we express a doubt asi to whether he ever declaimed "Rule Britannia" better than he did on Thursday evening of last week. • • • We can conceive a little, old, frosted patriarch, answering to the name of E. J. Hill, 25 years hence, belching out the fiery music of that grand old lie, "Britons never shall be Slaves," with all his present-day vehemence, and bowlers on the Wellington green shall, with dear affection, call him "Dad," and he will tell, in piping accents, how he led the team who won the "Moonlight Sonata" in the tournament of '06.

A country paper remarks that "Lord Roberts is the greatest military authority extant," which is quite as true as my assertion that '"Mr. Fisher, M.H.R., is the most profound statesman of modern times," or that "Lord Kitchener plays knifey with the bugler boys." • • • Mr. A. Whyte, the tall, fresh-com-plexioned gentleman who handles the nib for the Wellington Racing Club, was in no sad mood on Saturday last. He and a railway-carriage load 1 of other celebrities, mostly connected with the club, fared forth to have a look at the olub's racecourse, at Trentham. As Mr. Whyte was sole negotiator for a large chunk of rough, stump-covered country, the onus was on him to show the club what was in him. The Trentham course is going to be the finest course in the colonies make no mistake. No need to go into; the question of buildings, or the immense stands, or the patent "totes," or anything, except to say that the whole place is an eye-opener. • * • Quamt that auctioneer should be so greatly attracted by racing. You see, there is always "going" in it. That 'cheerful knight of the hammer, Mr. Wilson, of Macdonald, Wilson, and Co., allowed the cigar-box to pass him by. He, like the Premier, will smoke no more. As for "Kennedy Mac" himself, he was, as ever, in fine fettle. Driving from Trentham behind the whip of oldl "Dad" Peters and his four bonny bays, we heardl a rich, fruity voice. We thought it was a lamd sale in progress, but it was only Kennedy Mac's eloquence rising above the rattle of the wheels, and percolating through the dusty atmosphere. Showed us where Te Rauparaha chopped the bugler's wrist off, land said! he was going to get the Government to erect a facsimile of the old chief's house on the bloody spot. Said, that all the historical spots should be marked. • • • Kennedy Mac also defied the dust, to tell a story about Sir Maurice O'Rorke. The story is simple, although Mr. Macdlonald invested it with a large, luminous halo of poetic imagery. Sir George Grey was speaking in the House, and Sir Maurice called him to order. The voice of Sir George boomed on, and it was here that Sir Maurice administered a rebuke which, for real shine and biting humour, has not been equalled either in New Zealand or any other part of the Empire. We were surprised, when Mr. Macdonald ceased, to find he hadn't sold anything. • • • About "Dad" Peters, the man who still has the trace of an English dialect sticking to his palate. "Dad" drove the horsey folks from Trentham to the Hutt. "Dad" has been heard of in racing. In fact, he has owned a few triers. Anybody who doesn't know, will be surprised to hear that "Dad" was a diver at Napier when the bieakwater was being constructed, and that he didn't know a horse from an ironbark stringer, but took to going to a stable near-by and watching the g ee _g ees . That is how he got his love for the noble equine, and still keeps it. Struck us that the opinions of Trainer Mason, who was aboard the home-bound train, are listened to with rapt interest by racy men, and that Neil McLean nuzzled up against him to hear the words of wisdom. A keen eye has Mr. Mason, and a face that tells you he comes from the baok-country. Don't know whether he does, but he is typical anyhow. » Ought to say that Handicapper Po Ilock was there, and ought not to forget that poloist and racing man Mr. Harold Johnston- also started — and got there. If you don't believe the Trentham course is the best in Australasia, go and 1 have a look at it.

All, without exception who knew Mr. W., R. Symons (deceased), of the old grey firm of W. andl G. Turnbull and Co., knew a man. of worth. He was a quiet, unassuming gentleman, quite unostentatious in every way, but behind was a lovable personality and a keen insight into men, and things that stamped him as a man of firm character. Kindly grey eyes looked out from under projecting; eyebrows into a world he thought a very fine place, and that he was called elsewhere so suddenly will be a matter for profound regret. i Years ago Mr. Symons shared with his principal (Mr. Alex. Turnbull) in ardent love of yachting, but of late heattached himself to a camera, and almost every Saturday last winter h« was to be found at Day's Bay snapshotting the hockey-players, or gathering in bits of the neigubourhood into his picture-box. Mr. Symons, who was forty-five years of age, was * brother of Mrs. Herbert P. Rawson, of Wellington Terrace, and his wife is a daughter of Mr. W. S. Reid (late Solicitor-General). The late-lamented gentleman occupied the position of shipping manager to the big Customhouse Quay firm, and, as a mark of esteem, the flags fluttered at half-mast on the day of his death. - » * Mr. Sydney Hoben, formerly of Napier, but for the past three or four years musical oritio for the "Sydney Mail" (which his brother sub-edits), is ' holiday-making in Hawke's Bay. He confesses that he is rather full of Sydney, and it is on the cards that he may desert the great city, andl once again reside in Napier. It all depends. Mr. Ernest Hoben, formerly a ruddy "Evening Post" reporter, also threatens to re-visit New Zealand, but only for a holiday. He is one of the many New Zealand pressmen who have done well in the New Soutlh Wales metropolis. • • • Mr. John Gunn, part proprietor of the Knight-Jeffries Company, arrived from Sydney la&t week to take on the shirt-front business in the bosom, of the house. John is a smart young man, wiho struck luck when he bought into the show, a venture that caused! Clyde x.xeynell and himself to dive deeper into theatrical management, and to import the "J.P." Company, that kept people giggling for a week in Wellington recently. The next venture is to be the production in Melbourne, on a lavish scale, of the great melodrama, "The Fatal Wedding," for which they are importing English artiste. • • » There are many theatre-goers who will remember that quaint odditjr, "Little Gulliver," who has been associated with the vaudeville stage in Australasia for the past eight or ten years. "Little Gulliver," like his famous namesake, was a great -traveller, but came to the end of his journeyings at Dunedin the other day, being then a member of the Sheridan Company, and engaged in the pantomime production that has tickled the sober Scotchmen during the festive season. • • • "Gulliver's" correct name was John Riumblelow, and 1 he was a native of Melbourne — a midget native, only 3ft. 4in. in height, and 4st 31b in weight. He will be best remembered in Wellington by a ridiculous parody be iised to sing on "Home, Sweety Home." Indeed his chief talent was his misfortune in being a curtailed edition of a man. "Little Gulliver" travelled in Africa once, and bis especial pride when he got back was an immense Boer pipe which he smoked in public. It if* somewhat of an enigma to ascertain the reason of this moving timber until one discovered "Little Gulliver" behindit as the means of propulsion.

There seems to be a reasonable prospect that New Zealand will be made happy in. the near future by the repatriation and permanent residence of Mr. Geo. Hutchison, ex-M.H.R. for Patea. Mr. W. Gordon Hutchison, the son ot George, remarked in Sydney that his father was selling out, and that South Africa was in the grip of the mine-owners and business stagnant. It is presumed, of course, that the business Mr. Geo. Hutchison is selling out isn't stagnant, or he won't be able to sell it. Also, that the mine-owners didn't grip all the country, but left a bit for George. George, if you remember, fired up like anything about the Clunese in ths mines, and was, in fact, one of tha leaders of a movement to keep the Chows out. But, George is *>owerles> to fight Bullionstein and Co. Anyhow, George is only British, and a British nerson is extremely small stuff in Africa. * * * Two hoary veterans of the Maori war, each aged eighty- two, have been saying that January 11th is the anniversary of the taking of Ruapekapeka Pa, in the Bay of Islands. Sergeanb Sage and Private Hoban, who took part in the action, are not the only survivors of the famous action that ended the first Maori war. A body of Maoris, on that far - away day — January 11th, 184b — of unknown strength, were fortified in their pa on a hill, savagely defying the British troops. A flagstaff had been erected, and on the staff hung a large bell — a spoil of a former victory — on: which at intervals the Maori warr.ors boomed out a challenge to their enemies, shouting, "Send the pakeha to the front — the big ones, the fat ones — for kaikai." * * * The pa was stoimed on a Sunday morning, in showery weather. About a thousand British were engaged, and the pa was captured within an hour, at a cost of thirty-six men. The assault took the enemy bv surprise, and, but for the impetuosity of a Jack Tar. it would probabiv have been effected almost without bloodshed. Jack, however, so soon as he reached the flagstaff, ran up his blue shirt as an emblem of possession, and then made the bell resound triumphantly. The well-meant act was calamitous. The sound ailarmed the Maoris. There are thirteen survivors of the fight, and all live in Auckland. * * * The licensee of a New Plymouth hotel was out to "drag the leg" of a poor stranger to his city the other day, and the poor stranger fell in. The licensee had recently learned to play chess, and he challenged this poor stranger to a game. The licensee • winked his eye with tremendous vigour at the thought of demolishing this poor stranger at one fell swoop. That poor stranger wasn't demolished, which may be owing to the fact that he was Mr. Barnes, the champ-on of New Zealand, who wa>= on his way back to Wellington. * * * Mr. A. J. Balfour, formerly Premier of Grelat Britain, will possibly not be requiied in British polities for seven years or so. He has the choice of several jobs. He oan either drive about in a motor car (and get fined for riotous driving), play golf (at which he iis not inexpert), or he may come to New Zealand to settle down. He has an "estate" at Pahiatua, or Eketahuna, or some hau-d word like that, and is an absentee New Zealand landlord. If it is a big estate : it is up to the Lioeral Premier of thus Liberal land to seize it and chop it up into smallness for settlement. * * * Great singers are not usually great business people, but great singers frequently have skilled advisers. Antbnia Dolores, the great singer, had a skilled adviser in Mr. John Prouse, when he bought for her at Kelburne a fine chunk of land, with some of her "notes." We are reminded of the circumstance by the fact that Mdlle. Dolores is about to build nine or ten houses on the wind-swept heights of Kelburne. She chose the wind-swept heiehts so that her tenants might listen to the music of the breeze. * * * Please note that Winston Churqhill has won a seat in the Commons as a. Liberal. This is the red-headed young chap who has been doing things for years, and is going on for thirty. He went to South Africa, to "do" the war, and the papers were full of the exploits of this young marvel, for dkd he not get captured by the Boers on an armoured train, and did he not escape from them, encounter enormous perils, and get away? He did not — according to the Boer papers of the time. Their version was that the little, red-headed fellow couldn't possibly do the least harm in the world, and that he would eat a lot if they kept him. They therefore imprinted a caress witih a yeidschoon about the southern extremity of his khaki jacket, and 1 told him to go away home. He may be a hero. Anyhow, he is rich, so why not?

The Marquis of Linlithgow (Lord Hopetotin) i& a most unfoitunate> young man. His latest is to< be heaved from his fiery broncho, and to hay© his shoulder-blade broken, besides sustaining, other injuries. Lord Hopetoun didn't know much about horses while m Australia, although be learnt to ride fairly weJl. Anyhow, when he took to polo once, a man brought a clinking though unshorn animal for his ludsihip to see. His ludsElp dismissed it with a haughty word. Lady Hopeitoun bought it before it got out of the ground for £20. had it clipped, hogmaned, and dock-tailed at once, and sold it, per a dealer, to his ludshipnext day for £375! True bill. Lord Hopetoun arrived in Australia ill, he- was frequently ill in Australia, he was ill when he left, has been ill ever since, off and on, and then the fates throw him off a horse. He is an excessively neirvous man, and was often accused of hiani'ghtiness when he was fit to drop through the ground wibh fright. * * * New Australasia Admiral Fawkes will get himself much liked if he isn't careful. He objects to having salutes fired for him, merely because he isn't the King, and that saluting is sally anyhow, and gives the sailors a lot of work that is useless. Likewise, black powder (the smoke is the real "show" part of saluting) makes the guns dirty. Then, again, one ship of the squadron came into port at lunchtime. The Admiral signalled l her that she muist never do it again, as coming into port entailed 1 work, and, where possible, the men were to have their lunch at the proper time. "Jack" doesn't think anything wicked of the Admiral for "bavin' a bit o' common." • • • That eccentric individual, Massey Watson, of bull-dog and Highland costume fame, the "owner" of enormous wealth, and a great name, is in trouble again, and doesn't seem to mind. The tall, distinguished-looking person appeared before the Gisborne court the other day, charged with obtaining money under false pretences. He was looking very fit, very welldressed, and' very happy ; his manners were perfect, his button-hole choice, and hds collar unexceptionable. Probably, because Poverty Bay people had heard of George before, George has been able to live a life of ease with "the best families" for quite a while. When this eccentric character overcomes his recurring: eccentricity, he goes away into the North, and works at gum-digging with great vigour, but when the feeling that he is a great person breaks out on him, he has a bright time while the fates are kind. There doesn't appear to be anything really evil about the man.

Poor Patrick McG-ain has gone to rest in New South Wales. He drank whisky and smoked, and so he couldn't expect to go on being Patrick McGairi any longer. This latest victim was 103 years old, and had been killing himself with alcohol in wee doses for eighty years.