THE COMMON ROUND

Otago Daily Times, Issue 21612, 6 April 1932, Page 2

THE COMMON ROUND

By Wayfarer,

Venerable elders of our city doubtless clapped gnarled hands loudly last weekend when the most distinguished citizenry deferred to the leader of a movement which once was the sport of our wits and our rowdies. They might recall the days, some fifty years ago, when General Booth first sent his vanguard into the" highways, and the dust in Dowling street frequently rose in swirling storms as Salvation Army and Skeleton Army came into argument. They might recollect those riotous scenes when Salvation Army meetings were made hideous by the din of opposition bands of irregulars. They might contrast the throngs which filled the Town Hall on Sunday and listened raptly to the Army’s leader with the crowds which forced their way into places of assembly at Oamaru and any . other town of consequence and howled the Army speakers down, piled high the Army’s furniture in broken heaps, and in no quavering tones denounced the Army’s Grand Old Man.

■ We arc to-day a peaceful people, quick to acknowledge the good that our neighbours do, willing to tolerate that which we cannot approve. Fortified by .our recognition of its social ministrations, empowered by our contributions,. the Salvation Army has grown great in prestige and good works. Tolerance is extended to its more flamboyant activities as a tribute to its quiet, efficient service in the succouring of the unfortunate. We appreciate the Army’s work, and we hope the Army appreciates the public generosity which makes the performance of that work possible —generosity that is extended not alone in coin but also in endurance. How many dwellers in city flats, how many guests at hotels, how many strollers in village streets, have not been generous in their restraint? For it must be written that the musical aspirations and vocal ambitions of the Army are not always fulfilled in the noise that issues from its street-corner bands and choirs. The spirit is always willing, but sometimes the brass is weak in harmony, the quartette lacking the vocal beauty of those angel voices of which it sings.

Tolerance, we repeat, is the sinner’s gift to the Salvation Army as well as pennies. For instance: It is evening at a holiday resort that shad 1 be nameless. Round the pier extending from the main thoroughfare of the town holiday-makers are assembled in amiable groups. They are pleasantly tired by the day’s excursions, and gaze dreamily towards the hills, or talk quietly and contentedly w’th their friends. As the sun sinks the water becomes luminous and the grey clouds are shot with an ethereal glory of gold and pink. Even the most insensitive idlers respond to the quiet charm of those minutes. At such times the most thoughtless are very near to Beauty, and the most harsh are spiritually uplifted. . . . From the end of the pier issues a sudden startling clash of discord. Shrill voices, gruff voices, and a cornet split the veil of peace, and the night becomes loud with noise. It is the Salvation Army raising in challenge its lurid banner where Nature flaunts her ineffable mantle, and in throe minutes the Army has triumphed. The peaceful holidaymakers, shaken rudely back into their mundane frames, have lost in a trice the spell that moved them, and are soon arguing about football, squabbling with their wives, or trudging homeward on tired feet. Yet when the collection box confronts them they regard its bearer without rancour while they produce their sixpenny piece. Tolerance, we say again, the Salvation Army receives as well as pennies.

Ourself, we think a brass instrument an improvement on a moonlight-flooded dream any day. Let us have trombones in the city reserves, loud-speakers attached to the hoardings at every scenic resort, and the quiet bays of the Peninsula fitted with automatic barrelorgans. As for the Salvation Army band, it should be subsidised to play in the city streets eight hours a day. Our only unfavourable reaction towards it is one of envy. Hearing those cheerful, strident notes, that booming of the big drum, wc experience the same longing which assailed the poet:—

Since life contains for mo no plan I’d like to bo the trombone man, I crave the chance, you understand, To blow one devastating blast When least expected by the band! While' we should bo the last to suggest material considerations should influence the seeker after Salvation, there must be something solacing to body and soul alike in such a performance.

General Higgins, in one of his Dunedin addresses, mentioned that the Army turned no one away from its doors save the “ politically sick or distressed.” Parliamentarians, who enjoy so many privileges, will probably deplore this exception, but both the professional and the nmateur politician have so many schemes of their own for bringing salvation to the world that they would scarcely be interested in the Army’s plans. There is another class which, according to a Fleet street story, is beyond redemption. It relates to a great rally at the Albert Hall, with General William Booth at his oratorical best:

The old general was a positive bearded prophet of retribution. He stamped up and down the platform, eyes flashing, arms gesticulating, and painted an inimitable picture of the torments that await the unconverted. From a thousand throats echoed pious “ amens ’’ and “ Praise the Lords ” as his magic fired his listeners to repentance. Suddenly the general’s fiery eye detected a young man sitting immediately below him, apparently unmoved by his fervent admonitions. Levelling an accusing linger at him he cried, like a wrathful Moses:—

“Young man. are you saved? ” “What, me?” asked the other in a shocked, incredulous voice," “ I’m a reporter.”

Doubtless it is their search for such unregeneratc sinners, not to mention publicans, which leads the Army lassies into the public bars, otherwise abandoned to garrulous masculinity save for the occasional fraciousness of a barmaid’s ministrations. Their abhorrence of such a haunt well-concealed behind a collection box and a pile of newspapers, they lighten many an habitue of his ability, if not his inclination, to purchase what is within the casks. It would seem that there is an obligation, not fully recognised by the frequenters of public-houses as yet, to return the compliment by attending at the haunts of their uniformed visitors. This line spirit of reciprocity would surely add to the gladness of mankind, so long as the callers did not attempt to carry the principle too far by reaching into the collection boxes for a return of the goods whereof they parted unguardedly in their natural element.

Lord Badcn-Powell says that every man in New Zealand is a gentleman. We trust hon. members will remember this during the debate on the economy proposals.

All New Zealanders, he added, describe American films as tripe. This word is indeed a genteel addition to our vocabulary.

The late William Stoney left £II,OOO for distribution by the New Zealand public trustee to poor immigrants. We anticipate a host of applications from the Stoney-broke.

A woman who applied for the post of public executioner at Budapest said she

wanted to avenge herself on men for the disillusionment they had brought her. But there would soon be a lack of population if a man was executed every time a woman lost her head.