THE COMMON ROUND

Otago Daily Times, Issue 23081, 6 January 1937, Page 2

THE COMMON ROUND

By Wayfarer

Being in the nature of a travelled person, well able to recall the time of the Great Frost (when not a single reader was even remotely amused by this column for three months) and the Great Explosion (when the wind blew up the Dunedin Harbour) —being, as we were about to remark, much-travelled, we thought readers might be interested in some reminiscences of New Years we have spent previous to this one, and in the way we spent them. Those who are not interested may here skip to the paragraph immediately below.

It was in ’4B (or was it ’49, the year Gladstone said what Gladstone said in 1849?) that we happened to see the New Year in on the Great Arctic Continent. With true British patriotic fervour we had painted the Pole red, white and blue for the festivities, and what a time we had on New Year’s Eve breaking off our icicle-coated whiskers in its shadow, just as if, true Britons and gentlemen that we were, we were receiving our annual shave at old Whiskems, whose little barber shop will be remembered by its coloured pole, just round the corner from St. James’s street! Good old Whiskems, many a time as bright young undergrads. we had filled his mouth with a soapy brush and tied him upside down in his barber’s chair, to the amusement of the passing constabulary!

But we digress. Having broken off our whiskers, we put on our dickies and black ties over our stout Arctic rig, and shook hands all round. The night was very still. Not even a polar bear was to be seen, as they were holding their annual poll on the other side of the North Pole, and the silence was unbroken even by the bark of a prairie dog. We had brought paper caps, false noses and a magnum of champagne with us for the event, that it might be celebrated in the true British tradition. These former we now donned, with many a wayward and whimsical melody from our little penny squeakers and tin trumpets. Then, with a sudden solemnity as the realisation of this truly British ceremony came to us in the desolate waste, we broke the champagne up with an ice pick and passed it around. And there fell a silence deeper than before, disturbed only by the sussuration as each true Briton licked at his portion of the bottle,, and the burn of the myriad insect-life of the Arctic.

It was in nineteen-o-five, as near as we can remember (the year of the Great Flood in the brewery cellars at Kidderminster), that we spent the New Year on the lonely, lovely island of Peppercorn, in the Tropic of Capricorn. On this occasion, too, we had kept a bottle of fizz for the occasion, and instructed our native manservant, Umpopo, in the preparation of champagne cup. But alas, just as we had finished our modest tiffin of chota-peg, Umpopo came to us. visibly much affected, to tell us that the champagne had evaporated owing to the extreme tropical heat. We were scarcely able to believe it, but, staggering after him, we observed thi£ had indeed occurred, the champagne bowl being entirely empty ' and the • underservants lying with their faces on the floor in attitudes of the deepest remorse.

In the end, however, the New Year’s Eve passed out pleasantly enough, as we were shortly visited by our nearest neighbour, a man named Smithers or Brown, and his native wife, Huji-Muji (meaning in the native tongue “ Little-Crab-Apple - of - a - Squinting - Planter sEye”), Who had travelled for seven months across the impenetrable Peppercorn hinterland to be with us for this night. Smithers or Brown was not what we should call a pukka-sahib, since there was one occasion when he came to dinner wearing a black tie with tails, but with true British hospitality we made him welcome, especially as he had carried some festive spirit with him. It was, in consequence, a happy night, and we can still vaguely recall how Huji-Muji danced the famous native dance, the Hootchie-Kootjie, quite unperturbed by the gin bottles playfully hurled by Smithers or Brown and ourself.

In the summer 9! ’29 we spent New Year in Dunedin, New Zealand, a small sub-Antarctic village rarely visited except by financiers from the north seeking to raise loans or lift their mortgages. Therd was dancing by the primitive native males, who wear a gaily-coloured skirt exposing the knees, in the village meeting place, the Octagon, the music being supplied from inflated skin bags which, when punched and prodded, emitted excruciating sounds resembling revelry. Next morning we were called before the village tribunal of Justices, who were looking severe. They were soon mollified, however, by our present of small,- coin-shaped silver trinkets, in payment for our board overnight, and our offer to replace the effigy of the local god, Rabbie, which, it seemed, in the excitement of the celebration, we had lifted from its pedestal to join us in the Highland Fling.

Last week with many a groan (echoed, no doubt, in the sympathetic but long-suffering minds of our Public) we proceeded with our adaptation of the Surrealistic Alphabet as far as N. Not to disappoint the thousands of our gifted readers who, knowing their A-B-C, (not to mention their P’s and Q’s and O-N-I-O-N-S) have clamoured for our final thoughts on this matter, we herewith complete the sar} reckoning. The alphabet, should we add as a reminder to late-comers, unable to obtain copies of last year’s last “ Common Round ” on account of the rush for papers to see who had won at the winter trots, should be read aloud phonetically and, if this is possible, eupeptically. Perpend: O for Methodist inspecting Auckland Domain athletic statue [Qh!] P for Knife [Though not in the best society] O for. Shopkeeper accepting payment [Note what any colonial shopkeeper says when he wants to say u Thank-you ”1 R for Guinivere's Spouse [Or Balfour if you prefer.] . S for Tida [lt leaves a taste in the mouth] . , , T for Chewing [Artificial or natural —it’s optional] U for an Indulgent Reader [U d need to bel V for Eight Cylinders W for a Bike Hike to Tomahawk (Pillion Riding being permissible] X for Kaiser Wilhelm II Y for a Welsh singer Z for Expression of Incredulity in Zomerset [Zed you?] At this stage we were informed by our lettered collaborator that we had come to the end of our letters. It is as well, as we had long reached the end of our tether.

It is suggested that a rule should be passed restricting the number of clubs used in golf to fourteen. But

what of the enthusiast we know who sometimes uses t\vice that number to get out of the first bunker? A visitor says the hours arc long and remuneration is small in Scotland compared with New Zealand. But think how much longer they can moke a small remuneration like saxpence go! “Don’t rock the boat,” says a Health Department circular. Transtasman travellers say they find no need to. “ Water is not man’s natural element. Respect it," says the Health Department further. But we would remind our New Year callers that a little poured into the top of the glass indicates no disrespect for our hospitality.