THE COMMON ROUND

Otago Daily Times, Issue 18787, 14 February 1923, Page 2

THE COMMON ROUND

By Wavfabeb. ‘‘Good ,morrow: ’(is Saint Valentino's Day, All in die morning helime.” it is also Ash Wednesday, the first day of Lent; but me significance of that circumstance may becomingly be left to the reverend clolh. 'Twero incongruous to impart a Lenten flavour to ibis irresponsible column. But on felt. Valentine, albeit a. canonised bishop, a word of commemorative observance may be ventured. That word is not addressed “virgiuibus puerisque,” for the maidens and youths of this generation wot nothing of the jocund and tender associations of a festival which their forbears delighted to honour. Sam Weller would not easily procure a valentine to send to his Mary in these degenerate days. His dainty choice was an emblematic presentment of two skewered hearts roasting before a slow lire. “Hail to thy returning festival, old Bishop Valentine!” wrote Charles Lamb just about a century ago. ‘"Thou comost attended by thousands and ten thousands of Little Loves, and the air is ‘brush’d with the hiss of rustling wings.’ Singing Cupids arc thy choristers and thy precentors; and instead of the crosier the mystical arrow is borne before thee.” An impertinently pragmatic philologist would have us believe that “valentine” is a corruption of the T'rench “galontin” (diminutive of “galant”) and has nothing to do with Bishop V. Away with such iconoclastic pedantries! With the eye of faith let us look forward to a day when the Valentinian rites 01 Mcrrio England and Merrier New Zealand will be restored to their pristine jollity.

‘‘At the going-down of the snn and in the morning wo will remember them.” Eight years and u-half have gone by since the outbreak of the Groat War, nearly eight years since the Landing on Gallipoli, four years and a-quarter since “Cease firing” was signalled; but Dunedin’s memorial of her martial dead is still, as the phrase goes, conspicuous by its absence, and there is. or well might be, a look of reproachful wonderment on the sculptured faces of Queen Victoria and Dr fetuart. It is never too late to do one’s duty, however, and the commemorative project is showing signs of restored vitality. May one diffidently offer a .suggestion'.' It may seem a trivial point, a distinction without a difference; yet in my humble judgment it is not devoid of psychological import in relation to the ingathering of contributions. Let the enterprise be styled a Memorial to our Fallen Soldiers, not a War Memorial. The “War” suggests controversy, disillusionment, some things better forgotten than memorialised. On the other hand, the thought of our lelf-surrendered fighters is free of controversial taint, free of the heaviness of weary futility. It is transfigure d with the bright aura of their unselfish valour and our unworthy but not wholly worthless gratitude; it is a pure sentiment of admiration and pride and love. You may say that the word “War,” rightly understood. covers iheso emotional considerations ; but how if it should be wrongly understood? Sure lam that to many unsophisticated folk it will make a great difference, ns regards monetary contribution, whether the appeal is for a War Memorial or a Fallen Soldiers’ Memorial.

It seems that in the North Island there is a place called Palmerston North, which in bygone years usurped the name worthily homo by our Otago Palmerston. This light-fingered community, tardily remorseful, now desires to cancel its usurpation and (presumably in token of humiliation) to take to itself a Maori name. So be it; the inhabitants of Palmerston —the authentic Palmerston-—will he glad, for the restoration of lifted goods is always welcome, however belated it may ho. lago is not a very reputable witness, but his remarks about the conveyance of good names are unchangeably apposite.

Amazingly enough, the pseudo-Pahner-stonians aver that the name which they were once too ready to steal “has no bislorical meaning.” It ‘is certainly time that history assumed a more prominent place in the curriculum of the schools—at any rate in tho North.- Let us trust that the people of the genuine Palmerston know and realise that their place-name derives from tho great Prime and Foreign Minister of Victorian days,'—Lord Palmerston.- the engaging, audacious, exuberant, patriotic "Pam” of many a vivid tradition. “Pam” had his faults and foibles, but (writes Lytton Strachey) ho “was English through and through : there was something in him that expressed, with extraordinary vigour, tho fundamental qualities of the English race. . . . His immense popularity was (he result. chiefly of the genuine intensity with which ho responded to the feelings and supported the interests of his countrymen.” And yet, we are told that the name 'Palme: .-ton” has no historical moaning'!.

Without grudging Ponsford. the Victorian batsmen, ihe kudos attached to his unique feat of scoring 429 against Tasmania and annexing the first-class individual

“record,” it may be permissible to regret, in a sentimental sort of fashion, that A. C. MacLaren has to take second place,— - just as, 28 years ago, some people were inclined to be sorry when MacLaren captured Hie laurel from W. G. Grace. Perhaps one has a feeling that Tasmanian matches, though nominally first-class, are not quite the real_ thing, and that a world’s barling record is rather, cheaply earned with only Tasmanian bowling to conquer. This remark applies to ihe team record of 1059 as well as to (ho individual 42u. It may be that, in some English or Australian or South African nursery there is even now a youngster, making his first, baiting essays (like the Lyttelton brotherhood) with a hairbrush, who is destined to outstrip Ponsfordian prowess and place the fifth century against his name. Let us hope that it will bo in a less equivocal contest. There is no limit to “the vision of the world and the wonder that shall be.” In the twentyfirst, century New Zealand —nay. even Otago - cricket may rank ns -‘first-class.” What for no? Wilder dreams have come true.

A few weeks .ago an extract from one of Lord WolseloyV, letters appeared in this column. The recently-published book from which it was taken isentitled “The Letters of Lord and Lady Wolseley’’ : so now the distinguished soldier's wife shall have her turn with, a vivacious story. Mrs Gladstone, I am told, went the other day to see Sir Andrew Clark: the servant who opened the door said she must wait, as Sir A. was engaged with a gent lonian. She said it was preposterous she should wait for nnyono when the health of the Prime Minister was in question, so she pushed past, (lie footman, opened the doctor's door, and boldly entered, to find Sir Andrew kneeling beside a man, examining him all over iho patient, had his shirt rolled up so that liis face could not, lie seen, but he retained his gaiters on his legs, and Mrs Gladstone declared she recognised the Bishop of I -ondon. Given a glimpse of (he episcopal gaiters, it m ight not, take a Sherlock Iltflmes to guess that Sir Andrew’s patient was a bishop (though deans .-Mid archdeacons also Weir gaiters—perhaps with a recognisable difference), but since the face was covered by a rolled-up shirt it must he admitted that the wife of (ho Grand Old Man displayed renin rkablc acumen in carrying (ho identification from ihc general to the particular and fixing o n his Lordship of London. The atmosphere of the story does not. quite savour of the prim reticence which wc associate with the Victorian epoch to which it belongs.

'.There is just one incidental .advantage attaching to the inclemency of tho present summer. '1 ho flics arc not such an unmitigated nuisance ns in sultrier seasons. Tills sapient remark may serve to usher in a story related by Judge Parry in his entertaining hook, “What tho Judge thought.’'—a story in which a fly figures prominently. it illustrates a certain lypo of Irish psychology or moral casuistry. In a law-suit about, a will Daniel U’Connoll was cross-examining a witness who swore that, 'life was in the testator” when the will was signed.

‘‘Now,” continued O'Connell, with groat, solemnity and assuming a.n air of inspiration, “I call on yon, in the presence of your Maker, before Whom yon must one day he judged for the evidence vou give here to-day, I solemnly ask—and answer mo at, your peril—was it, not a live fly that was in Ine dead man's mouth when his hand was placed on the will?” The witness fell on his knees, and confessed that they had indeed placed a fly in the month of the deceased, that they might, swear “that life was in him.” .More subtle was the justificatory pica of another irishman who pointed to his left breast, and declared that ho had been shot “just, there.” He was fold that ho must, he lying, for the hnliet, would have gone through his heart. "Faitit,_ sorr, my heart was in my month at the toime.”