WITHOUT DEFEAT

Otago Daily Times, Issue 22628, 20 July 1935, Page 23

WITHOUT DEFEAT

A STORY WITH A CALL TO A NATION By Oliver Black. Chapter Three. (Continued.) V. A FARM TO BE ASHAMED OF Oliver pushed open the gate and walked op the wild neglected path to the little house. He could see at a glance this was a very different type of farm from Mr Wilson’s, end that he would have to use considerable tact if he wanted to be taken over it. The house itself badly needed a coat of paint; the veranda railing was broken in two places and a green creeper, running riot for want of attention, hung around the front windows almost entirely excluding the light and air. He rapped on the door and it was opened by a small, grey-haired, dejected woman in an apron. Oliver asked if he could have a glass o 4 milk and the woman invited him in. He followed her into a poor, bare living room. In the middle of the room stood a large table covered with a red cloth and on the table reposed an aspidistra in a pot. The woman asked Oliver to ait down and brought him his milk. ‘‘Things pretty bad around here?" he ventured.

The woman shrugged her shoulders. The only thing we have to be thankful for ia that they couldn’t be worse.” Oliver started in desultory conversation about the climate and weather. He finished his, milk and stood up. “I’m a stranger in this country. I wonder if you’d let me look over your farm? ”

The woman laughed bitterly. “ There isn’t much to see; but if you’re interested in the pass that people like Us to have come to, you’re welcome.” They went oat into the yard. Oliver picked hio way through puddles of waiter and piles of mud. The woman 1 smiled grimly: “ This ia nothing. It gets much worse in the winter."

“It only needs a bit of cleaning up and draining,” suggested Oliver. "You’re right. And who’s to pay for it? I can’t, and we don’t get time for cleaning up.” A few wretched chickens were stalking about in the mud and filth of the yard. Oliver looked into the milking shed and caught his breath. The place was like a pig-sty—the proverbial pig-sty, not one of Mr Wilsons. The milking machines looked old and neglected. The separator, covered with dust, was standing in a small storeroom' amidst a Jitter of dirty sacks, rusty tools, and odds and ends. Oliver retreated rapidly. "Any pigs? ” he inquired. “ Only three.” She led him behind the milking shed. The stench and filth of the sty in which three miserable pigs were wading in inches of mud and droppings nearly turned his stomach. He could not refrain from remarking—- : “ Now I know why they’re called pigs!-” , v- The woman took no notice. Oliver fan his eye over the paddock beyond the yard. Even to.his. inexperience it was obvious that the land was going back. He asked the woman how long she had been on the farm.

“ Six years or so—since my husband died. Wnen he was alive we were over near New Pljunouth. After his death we sold the old farm and came here.”

“Why did you do that? ” “ Well, my brother is in this district and we wanted to be near him, and it seemed good business, too. We sold for £67 an acre and bought this place for £73/

“That was a-pretty high price,” commented Oliver.

“It wasn’t at the time. With butterfat near 2s we could make a good living, but with it down where it is to-day we’re broke.”

“Who helps you? ” ■My son. And we have a boy in to lend a hand.” : ‘ . They strolled round to the front of the house. >

■ “Do you and your son like farming? ’ asked Oliver.

“That’s a good one. Does a miner like workigg in a coal mine? If my boy could get a iob in town we’d be off this place in a moment. .' We’ve lost heart, and no one does anything to help us —not even the Government.” Oliver remarked that he understood the Government had given and was giving considerable assistance to the farming community. He mentioned Ottawa. “Quotas and such like? That doesn’t help the dairy farmer.” ' ■ \ , “ I’m sure you’re wrong there. Britain agreed to receive dairy produce from the Dominion free, while putting a duty from foreign countries. You think that it would have been better for- the dairy farmers if Britain had put a heavy duty on New Zealand'butter ? ” “ Oh well, nerhaps you are right.” ; “Isn’t it obvious? ” replied Oliver. He lit a cigarette and went on: “ Your chief trouble is your mortgage, I suppose? ” • “ One of them, but even if there wasn’t a mortgage at all I still couldn’t make a living.” Oliver pointed out that the Government’s proposals with regard to mortgages would at any rate lighten the burden which had been created by the inflation of land values.' " Well, all I know is that I shall be worse off than ever under them.”

Oliver expressed his surprise. “Look here, I haven’t paid any interest for years. My mortgagee knows that I can’t. Now the Government is going to reduce interest rates, but it seems I’m going to be compelled to pay some interest.”

“You mean that it’s better to go oh owing £IOO a year and not paying it, than to have the debt reduced to £SO, but have to pay up?” The woman assented. Oliver, slightly appalled by such barefaced dishonesty, remained silent. A big, truculent-looking lad of twenty-three or twenty-four came up the path. He greeted Oliver with a surly word. His mother patted his arm: " I’ve just been telling this gentleman we don’t know where to turn,” she said.

“ That’s right,” answered the son. “Often as not we don’t know where our next meal is coming from. Working day and night for nothing, we are. The only thing that can save us is for the Government to guarantee us a fair price.” “ What, About 2s!” asked Oliver. “That’s right.” “And where is, the money to come from,." “ Oh,” replied the lad confidently, “that’s their jb. They can find it come way.- I’ll tell you what they should do. They ought to pay a national dividend to every man, woman, and child on the land of £1 a -week each. Let the new bank print special money for it.” “A national dole for farmers, eh? ” asked Oliver.

"And why not?" replied the woman. "The financiers are trafficking in the bodies and souls of people like us. Let them pay us for it.” Oliver decided that it would be waste of time to argue with people like this. He decided on one final thrust: “ I see you didn’t starve last year.” "We’re likely to starve any time,” said the son. “ I should be very interested to have a look at your farm accounts for last year, if you would allow me,” said Oliver. "Accounts! ” replied the son, contemptuously. “If we kept accounts for last year they’d only show losses.” “Ah, I rather thought so. Well, I won’t keep you from your work any longer. Thank you so much for showing me round.”

He paid for his milk and left them. "Those people come into my Levin friend’s 20 per cent, of hopelessly involved and inefficient farmers,” said Oliver to himself. "Yes, I think that the sooner people like this are off the land the better for all concerned. I donT suppose they would do any good in anything, but away from the land they would probably do less harm.” VI. IRELAND FOR EVER It was past G and getting dark. Oliver was tired and, giving up all idea of reaching Wanganui that night, decided to stop at the first place ho came to where be could find food and a bed. He topped a rise and saw before him a group of twinkling lights. As he drew near he found that it was a tiny village—not more

than a group of cottages and a couple of shops. On the right-hand side of the road stood a weather-beaten hotel bearing over the door the name “ Finnigan’s.” Oliver pulled in and got out of the car. In the dilapidated hall a dim light was burning, but no one was about. He rang a bell let into the wall beside the hole that did duty for an office. There was no result. He coughed and stamped noisily but no one appeared. He looked into two sitting rooms, but the whole place was deserted. He was about to make his way into the kitchen in search of somebody, if it was only the cook, when his ear caught the low murmur of voices behind a door in the smoking room. Oliver tried the door but found that it was locked. In desperation he knocked loudly. The voices ceased at once. The door opened, and a man's head, covered with a mop of unruly black hair appeared round it. “Eh! Oh! Come in,” said the head, and the door was pushed open a few feet. Oliver squeezed through. He found himself in a long bar. Some dozen or more men were leaning against it, their hats pulled over their eyes. The only illumination was provided by a candle stuck into the neck of a bottle on the counter. Oliver wondered whether he had struck a secret meeting of smugglers, or what it was. A moment’s reflection, however, convinced him that he was wrong and that the assembly was only the normal ritual indulged in after 6 o’clock by the thirsty. He asked if he could have a room for the night. , , “ Number six,” said the shock-headed fentleman whom Oliver took to be Mr 'innigan himself. “ Tea’s on now.” He turned to serve one of the_ smugglers. That seemed to be that, so Oliver backed out into the smoking room, fetched his bags, and went upstairs in search of number six. The landing was in complete darkness and he had to strike matches to see the numbers of the doors. He found his number six and opened the door. ... A person in a long black coat and knee breeches was washing his hands in the basin. Oliver retreated hastily and returned to the smugglers’ den to report progress. . ‘ , ~ “ Try number eight,’ suggested Mr Fihnigan. “Likely there’s no one in there,” Oliver sat on the smoking room table and laughed till he cried. He might have been back in Ireland again. He pulled himself together, went upstairs once more, and found number eight not only unoccupied, but clearly expecting no occupant. There was no wash basin, no towels, and the bed was unmade. He looked in vain for a bell. Taking his courage in both hands he shouted; a tousled chambermaiid appeared, and Oliver explained what hp wanted. . “Oh!” said the maid; “We wash in the bathroom.” She departed indicating the pasage to the left. Oliver found the bathroom, washed, and descended to the dining room. VII. THE SCIENCE OF ’CHRISTIANITY As Oliver finished his soup the parson came and took his seat at the table. Oliver apologised for his intrusion into number six and explained how it had happened. “ Finnigan’a a great character, saul the parson. “As Irish as they . make them, and he’s been out here for many years now and never lost it! ” Oliver asked about the sphere of his companion’s work and learned that it lay in a poor district near Wanganui. “ It makes one’s heart bleed,” said the parson, “to see such poverty and distress around here. And in a country such as this, where food should be plentiful. There must be something wrong when there is distress and hunger in New Zealand.” ' ' . “ You would like some kind of Christian Communism, perhaps?” “ Perhaps. At all events I think that the rich are too rich and the poor too poor. There ought to be some kind of levelling up.” "I thought the churches were opposed to Communism on principle? ” asked Oliver. “Oh, I don’t suggest any form of Russian Communism, though it seems to me that most people are no better off here than in Russia. The masses are oppressed and controlled; the majority are dependent upon others for their daily bread; we have over 50,000 men for whom no work or wages is allowed —they live on charity. I doubt if we compare too favdbrably with Russia.”

Oliver looked at him speculatively, and ate some bread.

“If I may say so,” said he, “ I have rarely heard such remarkable sentiments. By whom are the masses oppressed? ” “ I would say by big business.” “ That’s a good phrase, but I don’t think it means much. I don’t suppose there’s a single country in the world where what you call ‘the masses’ (Which, I suppose, means the ordinary man in the street) are less oppressed than in this country. I would love to see you go out into the road and ask, anyone if he thinks he’s oppressed! ” The parson laughed. “ I dare say you’re right. Perhaps I spoke thoughtlessly.” “It’s rather dangerous for people in your position to speak without thinking, isn’t (t? And you say we are 1 controlled ’ here. But that is necessary in any circumstances. Personally, I think a_ little more control, a little more discipline in every walk of life would do us all a lot of good.”

“Again I must agree. It certainly would in church.”

“And in the State. Are you interested in politics at all? ”

“I try to keep out of them. But I hear a good deal of murmuring against the Government by men who are out of employment through no fault of their own and for whom tbe Government has not found jobs.” “ But,” said Oliver, “ the Government cannot find jobs by passing Acts of Parliament. It can create work, no doubt, by borrowing and condemning the country tonile up debts on the shoulders of your children. Unless you want the Government to shuffle the solution of the. unemployment question on to your children, as they’re doing in Australia, it can only indirectly stimulate emnloyment, while providing the best relief the country can afford for those who are out of work. And .that this Government has done—and employment had fallen by a sixth.” “ Nevertheless, if you saw the distress that I sometimes see you would wonder whether one could not do- more . . .” Oliver pushed back his chair. '

“I’ll tell you what you can do,” he said. “You can preach against envy and covetousness. Also against uncharitableness. You can encourage people to be content with their lot, with the station to which it has pleased God to cal] them. And you can remind them that Christ turned to the poor, to the underdog—and that it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter into the Kingdom of Heaven. Good-night to you. Sir.” (To be continued.)