PASSING NOTES.

Otago Daily Times, Issue 19904, 25 September 1926, Page 6

PASSING NOTES.

Old-time weather wisdom, based c age-long experience, has still somethin to say for itself. The Rev. Mr Bate our official weather prophet, dispenst from Wellington a daily forecast. Do< Mr Bates connect changes of weathc with changes of the moon ? Does li know anything of equinoctial gales Has he any reverence for St. Swithi .and the legend that rain on St. Swithin day, July 15, means rain on the fort days following; or, again, does he kee in mind the rhyme which every Englis farmer repeats when in spring-time th trees are putting forth: Oak before ash, look out for a splash; Ash before oak, look out for a soak, —does Mr Bates care for these things Not in the least. Mr Bates is meteorologist—ugly word!—and metcoi ology is a science that takes no accoun of folk lore. The same was true of hi predecessor in office, Captain Edwin derided by coastal skippers as “ Captai: Headwind ”; and the same may hav been true of the unofficial weathe prophet, Mr Wragge, commonly know] as “ Wet Rag.” But, coming to th point and purpose of this note, folk lor has amply vindicated itself in the matte: of equinoctial gales. We have jus passed the September'equinox; with wha atmospheric phenomena? In Nev Zealand a winter outburst when then should have been spring. The same ii the British Isles, when there should have been autumnal warmth and peace. Ii Canada, Arctic snow storms threatening ruin to the harvest. And in Florid: wholesale destruction by tempest am tidal wave. Explain it how you will the world at this equinoctial time sccmi to have been abandoned to the Princi of the Power of the Air. It was the Prince of the Power of the Air that ruled and raged in the Uppei House when there me up for a third reading (on its way to rejection) the Bill for Religious Exercises in Schools Normally, a langorous calm is the atmosphere of the Upper House, wherein our patres conscripti doze and drone, drone and eloze, with a sedate and befitting gravity. But on the third reading of the Bill for Religious Exercises in Schools they might have been a Synod in riot, or a Presbytery engaged in a heresy hunt. Theology and Bible criticism inspired them to speeches two hours long (there is no time limit in a land in which it always seemeth afternoon) speeches mostly rant, but relieved by

lively interjections: The Hon. the Speaker. —Let me say to honourable members that this is a very important matter that is under discussion, and I wish to have a debate that will be to the credit of the Council. It is not to the credit of the Council that we should have so many interjections as I hear from honourable members. I shall take strong steps if they are persisted in. They come mostly from a certain quarter. “ Quarter ” not indicated, but a severe snub. The proceedings took a turn that would be highly gratifying to the Prince of the Power of the Air. Nothing pleases him more than to hear his existence denied: Have wo not here the declared statement that the children are to believe in Satan. Does Dean Inge, one of the most learned Deans in the

Anglican Church, believe in Satan? How many of the Bishops believe in Satan? How many of the clergymen of the various Churches believe in Satan? How many Methodist ministers believe in Satan? I know many who do not; yet we arc to tell the children to believe in an “ Evil One,” and they must recite that as a creed. If that belief is untrue or unwarranted, what chance is there of teaching morality if that untruth is taught? There is none. It would he a relief indeed if we could dismiss as “ that untruth-” the existence of the Devil. But, in default of this relief, I fall hack on the faith and charity of Robert Burns: Then fare-you-weel, auld "Nlcklo-hon ” ! O wad ye tak a thought an’ men’! Ye alblins might—l dinna ken—

Still hae a stake: I'm wao to think upo’ yon den, Ev’n tor your sake ! “ The Return of the Native,” though not quite an apt phrase for Sir James Allen’s home-coming, is the next thing to it. Honouring him by a civic reception, his Worship the Mayor said, and was not corrected, “ Sir James had come to Dunedin as a very small child —he was only one year old when he arrived with

his parents.” He couldn’t have begun a career of distinguished citizenship much earlier, and Dunedin is undoubtedly Sir James Allen’s “ homo town.” At the civic reception, praise from his fellowcitizens would sound pleasant in his ears; not less pleasant should be the following paragraph which I offer as my personal tribute, copying it from an Australian paper: —

A wonderful triumph over physical disability is represented in the production of three fantasies by Mr C. R. Allen, son of Sir James Allen (the former New Zealand High Commissioner) at the Ertlinger Theatre. The short plays, a cable message from London states, displayed marked originality and promising dramatic ability, and were well received by an

appreciative audience. Mr Allen, though blind, helped to plan the scenery and costumes, and select the company by touch and by listening to the voices. He attended rehearsal and moved about freely, and seemed to know, and even see, everything that was going on. He types all his on u manuscripts. Sir James Allen will be glad to see this paragraph reproduced in his homo town. Referring to his successor in London,

Sir James said kind things; but anything so flattering as this that follows he did not say:— The King has approved of St. James Parr retaining the title of “ honourable,” as he has served for a period of more than three years as a member of the Executive Council of the Dominion.

Naturally the honorific prefix would come from the fount of honour; A king can mak a belted knight, A marquis, duke, an' a* that; hut the new High Commissioner’s beatification—St. James Parr—must have been the happy thought of our printer’s devil. The Hon. G. J. Anderson, Minister of Labour, passing through Dunedin from

the south, has proceeded to Christchurch, Poor man! —the unemployed arc waiting for him there, at their head a ofessed Communist with the strikingly English name of Fournier. It is Mr I ournicr who organises them in processions and harangues them in mass meetings, his text, “Wc won’t see our children skeletons in their clothes when the Government deliberately created the situation that caused it.” The other day Mr Anderson

rejected an appeal for Government monej’ to subsidise unemployment relief funds in Christchurch. Imports exceeded

exports; motor cars were too numerous ; unemployment was this year worse than usual .‘‘on account of the ridiculous spending of the people.” "The Government subsidised a f of

things, hut it was not going to subsidise money spent on local work.” Thus Mr Anderson, and I admire his courage. He will now meet Mr Fournier and his clients face to face and learn in what spirit these academical doctrines were received. The fundamental fact at the hock of all this unemployed problem is that no man can be allowed to go hungry, not even a wastrel, not even a seditious Communist. Following the English example, shall we establish a dole? If we do, wc will improve on the English example by exacting I work in return. P,nt there is no work. I Jh, yes, there is; John Stuart Mill sng-

gested long ago that you can always set men to dig holes and fill hem up again. A full day’s work for a full day’s pay, even on the dole, n S Where is “Otama”? “Somewhere in the backblocks,” I hazarded the other week, ’ s and was rebuked in a saucy letter resenting the imputation. Backblocks, indeed! r The rich and prosperous district of Otama, ° fifteen miles from Gore, was cast of the • Mataura River. But on that point there n seems a doubt:— y Dear “Civis,” —Your correspondent ‘ from Otama concedes that you ara P “sometimes humorous.” So is he, h though I don’t know if ha meant to be C in his letter to you. I, myself, live on the east side of the Mataura River, within 15 miles of Gore, and I did not know that Otama was also on the east side of the river. And I’ve been to Stewart Island in the south, Herekino a. in the north, Milford Sound in the west, and Dunedin in the oast, so I think I t know the points of the compass, s East or west of the Mataura, and, as Kip1, ling says, 11 Bast is East and West Is West, E And never the twain shall meet—r the rich and prosperous Otama settlers 1 may all be good friends, which is pretty 8 nearly what this correspondent goes on 3 say: f You serve a useful function, dear c “Civis,” I don’t know how you will t lake this, but you act often as a safety 7 valve for over-wrought nerves in the j backblocks. i don’t think a reader , of your column will ever commit eui- , cide. i Suicide, quotha, felo de se! —Give your r days and nights to the study of Passing i Notes, and I don’t say you will live for [ ever, but you may laugh at doctors and , throw physic to the dogs. 3 3 Fairy stories in the School Journal: “What am I to do about it?” asks a ’ bemused and anxious father. “They are all lies.” . 1 would like to shako hands across [ your page with Colonel Allan Lynch, , who says in the School Journal that j children get over the fairies as they get over the measles. Away here in the backblocks my children have escaped tho measles so far but fairy talcs in their school books pursue them here. I toll them they are not true, but it is not right that they should bo taught disrespect for their books. “Disrespect for their books.” Nonsense! The more fairy stories the more welcome the books that bring them. But fairy stories are “not true.” Exactly, and therein their charm. They are an escape from the limited world of f act to the limitless realms of fancy. Poetry for the most part is “not true”; Homer, Virgil, Dante, Shakespeare are all in the same

condemnation. Nursery rhymes must go —“not true” rules them out. “Hey, diddle, diddle, the cat’s in the fiddle, the cow jumped over the moon; the little dog laughed to see such sport, and the dish ran away with the spoon”; this delectable nonsense, a nursery joy because “not true,” is perhaps the child's nearest approach to The light that never was on land or sen, The consecration, and the I’oct’s dream. Thank Heaven for the world of imagination. When it comes to Magic casements opening on the foam Of perilous seas in faery lands forlorn, I myself am but a child of larger growth. Take a Tennyson rfgnetto: A summer afternoon, calm mid still, in an Alpine region where the splendour falls on castle

walls, and snowy summits old in story; where the long light shakes across the lakes, and the wild cataract leaps in glory—a vision of things seen, in secret kinship with things unseen: 0 hark, 0 hear I bow thin and clear, Ai*d thinner, clearer, farther going! 0 sweet and for from cliff and soar The horns of Elfland faintly blowing! The children of my inquiring friend have escaped the measles; well and good. The sooner may come to them in the airy spaces of the backblocks a. happy moment when they too shall hear “the horns of Elfland faintly blowing.” Civis.