PASSING NOTES.

Otago Witness, Issue 3519, 23 August 1921, Page 3

PASSING NOTES.

(From Saturday’s Daily Times.) The tumult and the shouting after our win in the football test match —New Zealand 13 points, South Africa s—has been i followed at no great interval by heart- j searchings and self-criticism. The South | Africans had all the bad luck that was j going ; our men distinguished themselves j 1 by doing what they ought not to have done and not doing what they ought to have done ; the game as a whole lacked ■ this and that by fault of the referee, an ► official of special competence' for whom we j had ransacked New Zealand. This kind of talk, to which we have been treated : from some quarters, is an inverted boast- 1 ing. We won, O yes, —we won ; —but we ought to have lost; if we had done this I and had not done that we should have ! won twice over. Inverted boastings! ' Then there is the affectation of self-dis- j paragement which in matters national is with some people the higher patriotism. By all the rules of the game, Wellington ought to have lost at Waterloo. Napoleon i had caught him napping. “Is it true, Duke, that at Waterloo you were sur- ■ prised?” asked a society dame, lightly, | . across the dinner table, echoing talk she i had heard. “No, madam,” was the i , answer; “but I am now.” Jellicoe at ; i Jutland didn’t do what he ought to have ; done. He ought to have pursued in the i dark the flying (.Hermans at the risk of ; j running his ships on to the Herman mine- ] fields. And might have lost the Grand Fleet, and with it the whole war, —grimly continents Admiral Sims. If the Grand Fleet had boon wiped ' out, nothing in God’s world could have ■ saved the Allied cause. America might have enlisted, equipped, and trained J 10,000,000 men. built a thousand destroyers, and all the transports liccess snry, but it would have been no use. If it had not been for the Grand Fleet the people hero would now he speaking German with a strong' British accent. i „ < After Waterloo and Jutland comes Carisi brook. On the merits we ought to have i lost at Carisforook. But we didn’t. On | the facts we left off at 13 to 5. r i

For the multitude no outdoor game i approaches football in power of appeal. Chiefly because it retains an element of brutality that other games have lost or never had. The people at Carisbrook on Saturday may have been 20.000, may have been 25,000, —nobody knows ; anyhow they were a prodigious crowd. Perhaps Dempsey and Carpentier would

be as big a draw ; or —if we had them—a pair of ancient Roman gladiators booked for a fight to a finish; but no other spectacle at our command has the compelling power of a great football match, which, though not exactly hand to hand fighting, is tiro next thing to it. There are no dea.d and wounded strewn about the field; but not uncommonly a player is “laid out” for the moment and disabled. Cricket is a parlour game in comparison; in lawn tennis, girls are a-s good as men. But what the mob of gentle and simple gather to see in football is a battle of strength, agility, violent endeavour, stopping just short of assault and battery. In Rome of old, when the populace crammed the Coliseum, there was no stopping point: For here the buzz of eager nations ran, In murmured pity, or loud-roared applause, As man was slaughtered by bis fellowman. But we needn’t go back to old Rome. Tyburn ’Tree, whenever there was an execution, drew all London that could get within sight and hearing. Lord Tomnoddy in the “Ingoldsbv Legends,” feeling himself bored to extinction and unable to answer the question ‘What may a nobleman find to do?” is suddenly recalled to life and animation: “An’t nlease you my Lord, there’s a man to be hanged.” My Lord Tomnoddy jump’d up at the news, “Run to MeFuzo, And Lieutenant; Tregooze, And run to Sir Carnaby Jenks, of the Blues. . . for a theatre party where the play is—a man to be hanged. A football match might have served as well. We are saying all the nice things we can of football just now (I am saying them in this note !) ; but I don’t think we can say of it—as the Latin Grammar used to say of a polite education —that it softens manners nor permits them to bo ferocious (I give the schoolboy translation) — Emollit mores, nec sinit esse foros. “While- the country is on the verge of bankruptcy”—writes the Saturday Review of June the 11th—“we read that Ascot next week is to be the most glorious society pageant for a long time; as much as 60 guineas can be paid for on Ascot gown.” If the country is on the verge of bankruptcy—owing a prodigious war debt, and, in order to reduce it, taxing everybody to the bone —if that is so, Ascot itself ought to be ruled out as well as 60 guinea Ascot gowns. But that is not our way. When the British Empire goes into liquidation and the bailiffs are in, Ascot will still be Ascot and the Derby the Derby; we shall still be holding test matches, still be telegraphing cricket and football scores from sphere to sphere. Not seldom the hopeless are also the reckless. In the Farrow’s Bank wash-up, : Crotch, a director, giving evidence in his i own defence, mentioned some share transactions with a Mr So-and-so, member of | “a most reputable firm of brokers.” Counsel inquired whether this man was not an undischarged bankrupt. Crotch: 1 do not think so. He had a. house in South Audley street and another in Maidenhead. lie lives in fine style. Counsel: All the indications of an undischarged bankrupt.—(Laughter.) Bankruptcy or not, it is the women that rule the situation when the question is of dress. The 'Saturday Review continues : “The drapers and makers of women’s clothes go from strength to strength with the absurdities which fashion invents, and j which can he sold at any price because I smart women must wear them.” Fashion j invents what the restless vanity of women j demands; —womanhood itself, according to I Virgil, is a fickle thing and changeable. | Tiling, he calls it, in neuter adjectives VaRTUM F.T lIDTAIUI.E SEMI'KIt. “She wore a wreath of roses.” She wore a knitted jersey The <Uiy when first we met; Iler woollen skirt, though shortish, Showed nothing to regret. Of figure trim, of height not more Than low-heeled boots could grant her;

Hands bare, sleeves short, and topping aU A homely Tam O’Shanter. I saw her but a moment, Yet methinks I see her now, A simple-seeming factory girl, No care upo-n. her brow. But, 10, a sealskin jacket When next we met she wore; And stilted lieels and silken hose Set off her calves the more. A V-shaped opening bared her chest To all the winds of heaven; Her head displayed a “sale price” hat At two-nineteen-eleven. I saw her just a. moment, But methinks I see her yet, As to the Sunday boat they sped—'Arry and ’Arrict. In Rugby short 3 and motl&v hue (Perchance ’twas in a dream!) I next behold her captaining The T'other-Sex football team. She would dribble or pass with any, Was a better kick than some. Could show them all a turn of speed And a graceful curve in scrum. The latest glimpse I had of lier — 'Twas in the second, spell— She held the bull, dashed for the lino, Was collared low, and fell. I saw her but a moment, Yet still I see her there—-Spread-eagled in the slushy mud, And both legs in the air. Without note or comment I readily make room for the communication given below, sent to me by the M.P. whose name occurs in it, and who, as he tells me, has been for some months past “a pretty frequent visitor to Otago.” The late Sir Joshua Williams was such a revered figure in Dunedin that etorieg of him are much appreciated by many who knew and loved the man. -tlere is one : At the conclusion of the luncheon tendered to Admiral Halsey by the City Council of Wellington when the battleship, New Zealand, was first brought to these shores, the Judge and Mr M'Callum, M.P., for Wairau, happened to be leaving the cloak-room together when the former made a friendly reference to Blenheim and its progress. Said Mr M'Callum: “Y'ou have only paid us three visits so far, Sir Joshua,” On being asked how ho came to remember them, Mr M'Callum said, “Well, the first time you visited us was before, you were appointed a judge—that was about 1873 or 1874—when you came as RegistrarGeneral of Lands to put the Land Transfer Act or Torrens system into proper working order. The next occasion, when I, as Crown Prosecutor, presented you with a pair of white gloves, and you said it was your first experience of a clean criminal calendar.” “Yes,” said Sir Joshua, with a merry twinkle in his eye, “I remember; and the third time was when I went up to whitewash you.” Politicians and those interested in politics will remember the well-known Wairau election petition case heard before Justices Williams and Chapman, which lasted many days and created considerable interest owing to the closeness of the numbers of each party. Dear “Civis,” —If the truce does not extend to yourself and tiie Tablet editor, might i ask your judgment on the enclosed stanza? I do not desire to set in motion a controversy such as the stanza of Bridges occasioned, but perhaps you or one of the sapient authorities who discoursed so learnedly on the Poet Laureate’s effort, might be able to ckstil from the Gaelic stanza the “rich glory” (in English) which sends the erudite editor into rhapsodies. At a first glance it looks as it the office cat had scampered across the linotype keyboard. “Of the new Gaelic, Hyde goes on to say: “This is to my mind the rich glory of the modem Irish nation; this is the sweetest creation of Gaelic literature; this is the truest note of the enchanting Gaelic syren, and he who lias once heard it and remains deaf to its charm has neither heart for song nor soul for music. The Gaelic poetry of the last two centuries is the most sensuous attempt to convey music in words ever made by man. it is absolutely impossible to convey the lusciousness of sound, the richness of rhythm and perfection of harmony in another language.” One example of this modern song is the song : Ba bhronach an la ud a.r sgaras oni cheud gradh ’s a mhuirnin dilis Kibhlin o;r ! Do phogas a deora, ’ s mo chroidhe ’stig dh’ a gheurchradh, ’s a mhuirnin dilis Kibhlin og.” Presumably this represents the vernacular of Brian Born. 1 am not acquainted with Chinese : but 1 should expect that the vernacular of John Chinaman, being at least a living language, would, if transliterated. into English, wear a less inhuman look. If it i-t a question of “lu.o'iousiies.s,” etc., I should prefer to put my money on Choctaw and Pawnee. There are tnanv proofs of Sinn Fein craziness. This attempt to break away from civilisation and universal literature by reviving the defunct and hopeless speech of barbarians long forgotten caps tits lot. “After members entered, Mr Do Valera commenced speaking in Irish, but relapsed into English.’’---Cable of Friday.

Which relapse is what we should expect of an Irishman who was born in New York and whose father was a Spaniard. At best, Mr De X alera’s excursion into Trish could be only a donkey’s gallop. And that is a pity. In discussing terms of submission, Mr De Valera has all along been bluffing, and it were better that he bluffed in Irish than in English; there would be less to recant and repent of when his bluff is called. Even now ho must be quaking in his shoes. For it is part of his bluff that to a “mutilated” Ireland, an “Ireland in two pieces.” Sinn. Fein will never reconcile itself. Ah, so! —remarks-an Ulster newspaper, giimly;that means civil war. Which war would not be a war of roadside ambushes and midnight murders. Imagine the Dominion of Ulster .confronted by a militant Sinn Fein Republic. The‘cables tell us that British returned soldiers are volunteering for fine Spanish service and the war in Morocco. Imagine the torrent of volunteers that would stream into Ulster. Mr De Valera is capable of imagining that before the year ran out Ulster regiments would be marching through Dublin streets, and is asking himself how an Orange camp would look in Phoenix Park. Neither does he forget that a Sinn Fein Republic at war with Ulster would necessarily lie blockaded by the British Fleet and compelled to stew in its own grease. If Mr De Valera has any further bluffing audacities to put forth, it would be erect to express them in Irish. Some scraps : Dear “Civis,”---It is said somewhere that “the greatest critic of the sinner is the sinner himself.” I am wondering if at any time this could have described the card-denouncing Baptist minister? Do you think he cheated at school or stole his widowed neighbour’s apples? I am a card player, but do not give, nor am I given, “the slv wink,” etc. It. is “not done.” Played properly, cards make one a good sport. C’ard-playing as a recreation needs no defence. Granted that a gambler mav gamble at cards; equally he may gamble at draughts or clicas. Where dees the Puritan kill-joy draw the line? From Invercargill : Dear “Civis,” —Your note on (he razor advertisement reminds me of a rather ingenious barber's attraction. “What do yon think I will shave you for nothing and give you a drink.” After the scraping operation was over, the victim, with an apologetic cough, would refer to the sign. The tonsorial artist was ever ready with : “Oh, I always read it like this, ‘What ! ! Do you think I will shave you for nothing and give you a drink ?’ ” Next a wheel problem, already familiar to this column. This time it "comes associated with some saucy remarks, which I omit, having no mind to break a butterfly upon the wheel. Does the top of a cartwheel, travelling on tbq ground, turn faster than the bottom ? Let this inquirier get two facts into Ilia head. First, in a revolving wheel all parts of the circumference move round the axle at the same rate. Next, all parts of the cart, together with the horse that draws it , move over the ground at the same rate. Only a lunatic would quarrel with either of these facts. But the cart wheel has two motions, —as a whole it moves along the ground with the rest of the cart, whilst its circumference moves in a circle through the air ; so that in each revolution any point, A, in tile circumference ia alternately in front, of the axle and behind it. And yet, considered apart from the rest of the universe, no point in the circumference of the wheel moves faster than am- other point. Only a lunatic, etc., aa before. C’rvrQ