THE COMMON ROUND

Otago Daily Times, Issue 22365, 12 September 1934, Page 2

THE COMMON ROUND

By Wayfarer.

An air-minded (or should we say light-minded?) contributor, enclosing “that fearful and wonderful and aweinspiring picture the Times published the other day’ 1 depicting the wily Mr Post in the tin-plate garb with which he intends to fly at 350 m.p.h. to Australia through the stratosphere, reveals certain thoughts which it provoked: — A screw drives a ship because of the resistance of the water (perhaps it doesn’t?). A screw drives a plane because of the resistance of the air (perhaps it doesn’t?). In the stratosphere, where resistance apparently is to cease, to all intents and purposes, can a screw—at any rate we can drive it—get a move on a piano at all, let alone 350 miles an hour? What a giddy jest if Post remains stationary in the stratpsphere! Practically pipped at the post! What a joke if he continues to rise —becomes detached from the earth “ pull,” and drifts at large in space . . , a grim joke! What if Tie gets himself into Einstein space-time, or whatever it is called, and arrives at Melbourne the day—or week —before the race starts! Would even a Philadelphia lawyer be able to say whether he won or didn’t? Diverting conjectures indeed! We, whose thought like our feet remain firmly planted on earth, cannot permit ourself to follow our correspondent in his flights of fancy. Happily, by rising early but not high, we shall without inconvenience be able to follow Mr Post in the morning paper. The last tongue-tanglcr which we printed in this column was based on the name Leveson-Gower. To assist readers in its translation wc referred them to the current issue of an English periodical. We regret to state that in consequence of this gracious recommendation we, who have hitherto kept onr name as unsullied as the spotless ink wherewith we commit our divers lucubrations to the stainless sheet, have been subjected to a most dire and malicious campaign of calumny. Hear this: — "Wayfarer.”—lt ia no doubt a clever stunt for you and your Englsh magazine to collaborate in boosting its sales, . but I'm d——d if I’m going to aid and abet you by spending a shilling on it. I pay good money for the 0.D.T., and I don’t expect to have to spend more in finding the answer to your conundrums. Either you provide it or apologise.— l am, etc., ScOttie. Another informs ns: “I haven’t any spare cash to spend in well-known periodicals, nor have I had time to visit the Library. Don’t you think it’s up to you Dir ‘ 'Wayfarer ’ to finish what you start?” The gross insinuations contained in these documents we refute with a gasp of indignation which should have been heard even in Kai-korai,-but we can always respond to a request for some of that information we possess so much of.

Here, then, we lay our secrets bare. Writing in the last issue of the Strand upon his cricketing reminiscences, H. G. D. Leveson-Gower says:— And so that no reader need be left in doubt on a quite unimportant matter, let me say that Leveson-Gower is pronounced, not “ Lawson-Gewer,” not “Levson-Gour,” not “ Leeson-Gair,” not even the “Levis and Glover” which one provincial mayor made it, but simply Looson-Gore. Or if not simply, traditionally. With this formula the veriest dolt can understand how it came about that a taximan named Leveson-Gower, to a fare of his own cheveson-swower (choosin’ swore) and so on. As a final bait to our ravening public—at least it is to be hoped there is eome finality to these exercises—permit us to present the sad epic of the girl who over-dieted. This, then, is a very cautionary rhymelet, which should have the warmest commendation of the medical profession:— A portly young woman of Lympno. Endeavoured successfully to slympne; Her little dog mirencester. And so did tier Cirencester, While the mourners gave voice In a hympne. A kinema record of Imperial Airways activities recently screened locally, and the name of a market town in Gloucestershire, are the only assistance the dullard requires here. The vexed problem, when is a male resident of Dunedin not a gentleman (if ever not, which seems incredible), which was ventilated in this forum a week ago, still lacks an authoritative answer. Our reply was—and we stick to it —that the Dunedin male, travelling in a crowded tram, will recognise the gentle obligations which tradition demands, so long as the Dunedin female remembers that she is a lady, and makes no demands upon the seating accommodation not sanctioned by tradition. But at least one correspondent disagrees:— Dear “Wayfarer,”—A lady, according to you, should defer to the vainglorious male even when he stretches his legs and disposes his corporation over all the seats in a hill tram and expects women burdened with infants and parcels to stand and cling. Well, I beg to differ with you, dear, egoistieaj male that you are. No decent woman, I think, would permit an old or infirm man to give up his seat to her, but women are constitutionally weaker than men, and any Man would recognise that and act accordingly when he sees one who is neither young nor robust standing. Really, you men seem, in many respects, to expect us to greet all yoqr boorishness and lack of consideration with an angelic smile. I can assure you that, for one. I'm No Angel.

The missive left us under no such misapprehension, may we add with a grace equalling that of our correspondent.

Let us admit that “ I’m No Angel has some ground for her riposte. Wo have seen the blind rush, when a tram approaches the stopping place, which leaves the women passengers a breathless rearguard while male-kind appropriates its favourite seats; we have seen young gentlewomen make way for embarrassed old gentlemen when tram seating is at a premium; and women, armed with babies, parcels and like encumbrances, left standing while the seated males cloak their gentlemanly instincts with newspapers. A little story which we heard the other day, perhaps most succinctly sets forth the pros, and cons, of the position. Perpend A gentleman iu a crowded Dunedin tranicar rose and offered a lady his seat. The lady fainted. When she had recovered she accepted the seat. “Thank you,” she said. The gentleman fainted. The host answer for those who are worried by such questions of etiquette is probably “ Hide a bicycle.” The researches of an investigator at the University of Michigan, as reported locally the other day, pay a back-handed compliment to scholastic attainment. The investigations . . . led to the conclusion that students with many academic honours are usually better memorisers of details than they arc problem solvers, and that successful gatherers of facts are, iu general, often poor in reasoning powers. Ten tests reinforce the idea that intelligence in humans is essentially the ability to solve problems. . . .

Interesting confirmatory evidence cornea from the purple pages of our favourite whimsy-merchant, Arthur (“ WomanHater ”) Schopenhauer:— There is nothing rarer than original opinion. Least of all must we look for it from the learned professions; their heads are filled,with traditions to which all original thought seems dangerous. Personally, we have long been suspicious of the copy-book axiom: “There is nothing either good or had, but thinking

makes it so.” Lack of an adequate thought mechanism has been responsible for some pretty nasty Budgets and a few unpleasant strikes and revolutions in this modern world.

Here is a list, in part, of the most popular subjects of conversation noted by British Medical Besearch Council observers in a toffee factory, where girls were employed in the monotonous task of wrapping confectionery in paper: — Subject. Frequency. The Opposite Sex 42 Films and Film Stars 27 Local Gossip and Scandal .... 34 Suicides, Murders, Accidents .. 10 Local Events 11 Conditions of Work (features disliked) 32 (Features liked) 5 Outside Activities (rambles, dirt-track racing, swimming, Rugby, dancing, holidays, etc.) 72 Home Life 7 Personal (photographs 7, c|othcs 12, food a. money 9) 33 Girls, of course, will be girls; but, applying their conversational score to our own particular average of small talk, aren’t we all?

The Mayor of Onelmnga, stressing the suitability of that up-and-coming metropolis for the establishment of the Pacific steel works, emphasises that the site inspected has harbour access and lies between the cemetery and the railway. Ashes to ashes and rust to rust: if the train don’t get you, the cemetery must.