WITHOUT DEFEAT

Otago Daily Times, Issue 22631, 24 July 1935, Page 3

WITHOUT DEFEAT

A STORY WITH A CALL TO A NATION By Oliver Black. Chapter Five. I. EVIDENCE OF PROSPERITY Oliver drove gladly and sadly out of the town; gladly because he was leaving Wanganui, sadly because he was leaving Mary. Still, she had promised to meet him in New Plymouth, and had given him a telephone number there. He might have hung about in Wanganui until she was ready to leave and have travelled with her to New Plymouth, but ho felt that he could not stand another day in Wanganui. The place had an uncanny effect on him. He must get back to mountains at all costs. And they told him that New Plymouth was at the foot of the famous and wonderful Mount Egmont. Not even for Mary could he resist its call. He passed the reservoir, and paused to admire its Eetting_ amidst shrubs and flowers with the circle of trees at the back. Wanganui had at least one thing to be proud of, then. He drove on through sheep country, with its undulating green downland, and, at a small township at the edge of the country where the sheep were giving place to cattle, he stopped at a bowser for petrol. At the sound of his horn a middle-aged man came out of a store adjoining the petrol pumps. Oliver chatted to him while the tank was being filled. The man said that he was the manager of a seed and grain business, and only ran the bowser as a sideline. “A profitable sideline,” commented Oliver. “ Oh, it all helps, you know,” said the man. “And business is pretty good these prise me. .1 thought farmers were in such a bad way.” “ Not nearly aa bad as you d think. Farmers, that is the established farmers who know what they are about, have money to put back into their land still. Why, look here, we sold over 1000 pounds of grass seed last month! That takes a bit of doing, you know'. And last year we sold 1750 tons of fertiliser. I can cell you this, the turnover of this business is un 40 per cent, on last year.” Oliver agreed that the figures showed a greatly increasing business, and in o business confined to the farming commun lt3 “But when you talk about the diffi eulties of farmers,” said the manager man. “ you don’t want to forget that of necessity a farmer has to put back a good deal of his profits into his land, so it’s not easy for him to accumulate capital to see him through bad times. You can do that in a business, but I do think it’s pretty hard for the farmer. That is unless he made a packet of money during the boom, which a lot of them ought to have done." , . ,' , Oliver paid for the petrol and prepared to continue ,on his wav. “ See here,” said the manager, shutting the door of the car. “ there’s a man here who bought 1100 acres of rotten .bad liuid some years ago—before the boom._ Today he’s paying his way and putting a bit of money in the bank, too. Of course, he’s a real farmer, and knows what he s doing; not like sofne of them. Well, so 10 Oliver drove off. It seemed to him that what he had just heard was at least some evidence that some New Zealanders were on the road back to national prosperity. 11. " - WHAT OF OUR SONS? Oliver had lunch at Hawera. A delightful lunch in a charming white hotel. After lunch he smoked a pipe in the doorway and fell into casual conversation with a long, lean man whose appearance sug* gested the athlete. After a while Oliver tried to draw him on the general situation. , ~ T , ,1 ■- “Look here,” said the man, I dont know who you are, hut I never talk politics or generalities. . I have to work hard, and I have little time for anything else, certainly not idle chatter. At the moment I’m waiting for my son, so ill just say this to you; There are too many people going about the country talking instead of working—you appear to be one. Seventeen years ago I bought land near here which .was so poor that it had been condemned by every stock and station agent in the country. Ive farmed the land for 16 years, 1 had to carry very heavy overheads—l was a widower then, and my boy’s only 16 now, so I had a wages bill to meet. And J paid my men good wages, too, for good work. My land required a special, exceptionally expensive type of fertiliser which I had to discover by experiment. Last year I made a living for myself, but I couldn’t pay the whole of the interest du e on my mortgage; my mortgagee treated me fairly, and this year I have paid the current interest, wiped off all the arrears, and made a profit of nearly £2OO. Now you see why I haven’t time to talk." Oliver was silent for a moment. JLnen he asked: “And your son, is he going to farm, too? ” “He is. He loves the land as I love it; and he’s a better farmer at 16 than some folk I know at 60.” A tall stripling with fair curly hair and his father’s upright carriage ran up. “Sorry I’m a bit late, father,” he panted. “Right, my sbn. Let’s get along.” He nodded to Oliver. Oliver watched the pair as they crossed the road to an ancient, Weather-beaten motor car. There came into his mind the words of the little writer he had met at Levin: “ Show us the future for our children and we are content.” The man across the road seemed to have answered the question for himself. 111. BACK UP THE SKIPPER! Oliver, stopping every now and then to feast his eyes on Mount Egmont, drove round its base towards New Plymouth. He hated comparing mountains—ever, mountain has a distinct individuality of its own and is like nothing but itself — but there certainly was something about the towering cone with the sprinkle of snow on its peak strongly reminiscent of Fujiyama. He could understand the tales of how the Japanese sailors venerated Egmont. Passing over a hump and coasting down a steep incline, Oliver turned to the left and found himself in Devon street, New Plymouth. He was disappointed to find that the contours precluded a view of the mountain. He drove down to what he anticipated would be the seafront, only to find the railway station and warehouses interposed between the town and the sea. “ I suppose,” he thought, “ that they were so darn glad to get the railway here at all that no one bothered where the station was built! ” It was a pity, however, for the site of the station undoubtedly detracted from the beauty ol the township. Oliver got out of the car and sat on a wall above t|ie sea. An elderly bearded man was leaning against the wall smoking peacefully. ' “A great day,” he observed. Oliver agreed, and asked about _ the town. He learnt, among other things, that it was at New Plymouth that the first settlers had landed. His companion walked him along to the monument which marks the site of their landing. Oliver found it easy to picture to himself the emotion that must have risen in their breasts as the grandeur of Mount Egmont drew ever nearer; the feelings oi high hope and great expectations so nobly to be realised. The man with the beard informed Oliver that he was a captain lately retired from the coastal service to spend the evening of his life in New Plymouth; “ because,” said he, “ it’s the finest town in the North Island. You can grow flowers hereabouts.” Oliver, drawing a bow at a venture, observed that he was surprised that the captain had not retired to a farm. “Nay,” said the other, “you can’t teach an old dog new tricks, especially an old sea dog. You can’t serve the sea unless you’ve cot the sea in your blood, and it’s the same with the land: only too manv of ’em don’t know it.”

He accepted Oliver’s tobacco poucb with an absent air and continued; —

“ When the young fellows came back from the war, and a lot of 'em managed to fool the Government committee and get on the land when all they knew about fanning was which end of the cow the milk came from, I told ’em what would happen. I got up at a meeting in this very town and protested, particularly at the way the ex-service men were being put on improved land. And they called me a damned pro-German, they did. Now they know I was right."

“Why, what happened?" asked Oliver. "Some of them thought they’d done their bit for the country and that the country was going to keep them for the rest of their lives, so they sat still and let the richness of the land keep them as long as it would. Then they found trouble. Some of them just didn’t know and didn’t or wouldn’t learn.” “You’re not suggesting that the exservice nien are responsible for the farming position to-day, are you?” “ Oh, I don’t eay that,” answered the captain. “ Lots of them made good. The only thing wrong with the farmers to-day is the amount of their mortgages. And when the Government scales the mortgages down they’ll be fine.”

Oliver remarked that the captain seemed to be a supporter of the Government “Why, of course I am!_ Mr Forbes and Mr Coatee are good skippers. They make up their mind« about a thing and then they get on .with it and do it. We want more like that. There’s a sight too much quarrelling and complaining among people who ought to be supporting ’em; people who pretend to be their supporters. What I eay is, choose your leaders, and then let them get on with the job and back 'em up—and don t keep on criticising ’em and calling ’em names behind their backs. A fine way you’d be in if you didn’t have discipline in a ship! Seems to me a Government s the same; they talk about the Ship of State, don’t they? ” A clock struck 12. “ Well, I must be getting along to my dinner," said the captain. “Good-day to you." Oliver, left alone, stared at the sea. . . . What a wise old man! IV. ANY COMPLAINTS it Oliver was sitting in the hotel after lunch, sipping his coffee, and listening with ill-concealed interest to three men arguing heatedly. It appeared that one of them had advanced money to a farmer on the security of his land some years ago; the others were sympathising with him loudly, and Oliver caught the words “ mortgagor ” and “ monstrous with monotonous regularity. In the far corner a grey-haired man of sedate appearance was regarding the trio with a quizzical eye. Presently the three men went out in a final burst of lamentation. The man in the corner caught Oliver’s eye. He moved across the room. “Very stimulating,” he remarked. “ Now, I, myself, happen to be one of the monstrous mortgagors.” Oliver observed that the three seemed to bo .suffering from a grievance. . “Grievance!" exploded the other with a violence quite out of keeping with the mildness of his appearance.lt’s we mortgagors who have the grievance! ” He embarked upon a long dissertation of the injustice of the Government to mortgagor farmers. Oliver expressed polite disbelief.

“Thou you don’t know anything about It.” Oliver intimated that he was ready arid anxious to leaim. "You are? Well, see here. I’m going to see my solicitor this very moment about my position. If you care to come along, you’ll learn something.” Oliver said he was unwilling to embarrass by his presence a consultation between solicitor and client, but hie protests were waved aside. "You’re welcome; we’re not going to talk secrets. name is Smith." Oliver introduced himself. “ Come along, then,” said Mr Smith. V. PITY THE POOR MORTGAGOR The solicitor’s office was small, neat, and businesslike. So was the solicitor. His name was Davis. Smith explained Oliver and launched out into a considerable indictment of the Government on account of its rural finance legislation. “And what I want to know is just where I stand,” he finished. Davis placed his finger tips together in the approved style of the stage lawyer. “Let us start at the beginning, then,” he said. “In 1928 you borrowed seven thousand pounds on a contributory mortgage. You wanted to buy a farm. You have not paid off any of the capital and you are considerably in arrears with your interest. The crude position, therefore, is that you owe over seven thousand pounds.” “ Well, but —”

The solicitor sighed. "I spend so much of my time trying to make people realise that a mortgagee is not a sort of partner of the mortgagor for the purpose of sharing losses. The relationship is purely one of debtor and creditor; yon are the debtor. Now, unless the present price of butterfat rises about 300 per cent, you cannot make a living and pay the mortgage interest as it becomes due —much less repay any of the principal.” “ You’re right,” assented Smith. "Accordingly, the Government has come to your assistance. In the first place it encourages you and your mortgagees to come to a friendly settlement between yourselves.” " But haven’t we tried —? ’ Davis waved a slender hand. "In your case there can be no agreement because, unfortunately, your mortgagees are 11 widows.” "Tchk! Tchk! ” Oliver giggled helplessly into his handkerchief. Davis regarded him with a disapproving eye. He went on: "The truth of the position is that you are insolvent, Mr Smith. The Government has provided a sort of special, and I may add, specially favourable form of bankruptcy proceedings for you —that’s really what it comes to. You will continue to work for five years; the Government will keep an eye on you during that time. You will be allowed reasonable living and working expenses and, as is only fair, if any income remains after that, it will go to your creditors. At the end of the five years the amount of your mortgage will be scaled down to the productive value. of your land; and, mark this, the productive value is the net income after deducting living and working expenses, and rates and taxes and interest on the average value of your farm stock and chattels. A very generous treatment, I think.” “Hm,” said Smith. “And what about my other creditors? ” "If you have any assets other than your farm property, they will be distributed among them and you will then be able to ask for an order wiping out all your remaining debts.” “And what do I get out of it? ” Oliver smiled grimly. He seemed to have heard those significant words before. “You will get a living and get out of debt at the same time,” replied Davis. "And at the present moment,” Oliver put in, “you owe far more than your laud is worth, so you haven’t anything at all! ” Smith rose to his feet.

“Thank you, Mr Davis, for explaining. But if you or the bloody Government think that I’m going to slave for five years for my mortgagees working on a budget on my own land, you're damn well mistaken. I’ll take pretty good care to see that, after my living and working expenses have been paid, there’s no income left at all. And all the Government inspectors and accountants and busybodies in the world won’t find out where the leakage is, either! ” He stamped out of the room. (To be continued.)