SALT, SAND AND SUN.

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXV, Issue 19857, 30 January 1928, Page 14

SALT, SAND AND SUN.

MORNING ON THE BEACH. REFLECTIONS OF. BROWN. HEALTH AND HELIOTHERAPY. MAKING RACING BRIGHTER. In an exceedingly languid state, Brown, of Auckland, lay on the beach and basked. He displayed no surprise when a fat jellyfish,, thrown by one of the children at Pat, the' dog, landed flop upon the small of his back. He was in a kind of a delectable stupor, but a small part of his brain was acting and it reminded him that he was not gratifying a slothful nature, but was practising the oldest method of improving health. "They call it heliotherapy now," he reflected. "Lots of people pay large fees for the opportunity of practising it upon the Alps, and mafty more take a course of it in the rooms of doctors who have the equipment for administering ultra-violet rays. 'Well! The beach for me. Suppose when I have something malignant it will be a case of the medico's studio and his light-manufacturing instrument. But the only malignant things I suffer from are the frills of civilisation and the necessity to work in this weather. Curing the Thick Head. "Of-course," resumed Brown to himself, after a hiatus in his thinking effort, during which wet and sandy Pat used him as a nurdle and a sandhopper did a bit of mountaineering over his neck, "these things can't bo cured." Profound thought. " But I ha,ve a notion that their effects upon body, mind and soul may be partially corrected by beach heliotherapy. Now, when 1 came down here I had the hot, dull pain m the back of the head which the doctors hear so much about from people who reach the point when they imagine that physic may cure their weariness. Simply brain fag, of course, and perhaps the price of unscientific eating, and perhaps of too little exercise, and perhaps the habit of worrying and fretting about nothing in particular. Now -it nas gone—the headache I mean. Salt water and the exercise of swimming, and the joyful beauty of this bay and the light rays that do penetrate the skin, make the blood nubble. Fine." Call ol Duty. It put Brown on splendid terms with himself to convince himself, that he was not indulging indolence but performing an important duty to himself. Alf was of the same frame of mind. But instead of lying on the hot sand he chose to lie on tjie edge of the lapping water and look like a stranded creature of the deep. The boys were paddling between the shore and their boat, which was being given the finishing touches for to-day's regatta, and one vigorously-pulled dinghy came inshore and was directed straight for the after end of Alf. The collision was averted by a narrow margin and Alf, half awash, went on dreaming of the bright yesterdays of the holidays and the stern tasks of the morrow.

Pali unfortunately aroused the displeasure of the gaysome collie that barks up and down the beach from sheer delight and usually laughs at life. The collie went for him and poor Pat, who is young and not of a fighting strain, learned that even on the beach it is possible for all things not to be the best in the best of worlds. Pat rejoined his party and complained that he had been more than eaten and was quite unhappy until one of the wee mites screamed in terror at his cheerful approach. After that he recovered his self-respect. "That sort of thing has been known in the human kingdom," reflected Brown. " Racing is Dull. The visitor man from the faraway then said a surprising thing. " I think that horse-racing in New Zealand is extremely dull," he said. Brown, who is not a racing man by any means, sat up and gasped. It w%s quite a new point of view. Dull! The great sporting industry dull! Picking winners dull! Collecting the straight wire dull! "Yes," said the man, "very dull indeed. You spend a few "minutes watching the horses go out, then you stand in front of the betting machine for a long time, then you watch the race that is only a flash, and then you tear up your ticket or collect your winnings and repeat the process eight times. That's all; dull as dish water." "What did he want? "Sideshows," he said. "The man with the three-card trick and the thimble and the pea. The gipsy to tell fortunes and one thing and another of that sort. They are great fun. Yes. I miss the sideshows and all the clever scoundrels, and even the feeling of uncertainty whether the bookmaker that took your winning bet will 'welsh' or not. It's all too tame here." The man did not realise that he was speaking the sporting equivalent of sacrilege. He went on cheerfully. The Irish Way. "Now my idea of a good day's racing is the sort you get at a point-to-point meeting among the Irish mountains. You get all the fun of the fair and more. You can't find a man in a dozen who cares much whether he wins or loses. They are all out to be amused. There's laughter in the air and a lilt in it. Here you're too serious. Have some sideshows and fun and now and. agin (yes, he said 'agin') got your minds off the speed of the horses and the money they're likely to cost you." How he shocked them! Even Brown, whoso mind does not run to times, weights and the places at the barrier, felt that the fair fame of his country had been assailed. But the visitor was not conscious of the enormity of his speech, and no one told him that iff he talked like that ho might be brought before the stewards and severely dealt with. Not he. He started off on a new tack. Told of fine times he had had in cruising a yacht round Dublin and among the Scottish lochs, and what the man from Aberdeen said' on one of the many occasions that worthy has been reported.