WITH PIPE ALIGHT

Southland Times, Issue 20002, 16 October 1926, Page 13 (Supplement)

WITH PIPE ALIGHT

PAPERHANGING

(By

“Criticus.”)

When Maurice entered I was half-way through a crammed pipe-bowl, enjoying the more heavily charged fumes that belong to the later moments of the ceremony, tired, but. recovering from the soul-tumult associated with bitter wrestling against those deficiencies of technique which make the amateur’s first attack on paperhanging so destructive of domestic amity. I was conscious of paste on my trousers, in my hair, yea, even in my teeth and mayhap smeared across my heart. I had not fallen into the paste-bucket, but I had tumbled into every other error available to my blundering hands and clumsy feet: the paperhanger’s scaffold is the place where the pride of great men suffers an ignominious death. Maurice was sympathetic and inquisitive—the one often cloaks the other: “You look tired, old man (I felt both old and tired) ; what have you been doing with yourself?” “Maurice,” I said earnestly and sepulchrally, “I have been paperhanging. After a struggle, beside which the siege of Troy, the penal repetitions of Sisyphus, the stablework of Hercules, jointly or severally, are as the flicking of a ash from a cigarette, I have compelled two strips of paper to adhere to a ceiling. And now I take my rest.” “But, good Heavens, man, why do these things?” broke in Maurice with interrogatory astonishment. “Why this heroic effort?” I had no desire to dodge the issue; I wanted to talk ... to talk and find peace again in loquacity. “The cost of living, Maurice, is a terrible thing and the influence of domestic economy is more profound than all the decrees born of tyrannic whims. A great industrialist who discovered that if rubber tyres could be affixed to jam-tins the world could be put on wheels, once said that if the wages of bricklayers went too high people would stop building houses; but if it is true of bricklayers, the statement is not sound when it is applied to paperhangers. because when their wages are too high, when the cost of hanging paper on walls and ceilings mounts beyond the line of domestic acceptability, people do not stop papering their rooms —they do it themselves. Socially, economically, Maurice, the results are full of interest for the student. The paperhanger, putting too high a value on his services to his fellows—in a comparative sense because the effects of his self-valuation are only destructive to his own interests when other influences, which also press on him, steal overmuch from the purchasing power of the shrinking sovereign—the paperhanger drives his ron-papering fellows into competition with him and thus curtails his own returns, necessitating his invasion of spheres reserved to other professionals. , . .” “This is very interesting, but ...” said Maurice, but I was not to be checked. “It is part of the social revolution, my friend,” I continued, “Part of that chain of change which has been dragging us forward in what we are pleased to call Progress. Cause and Effect chase each other in a turntable door, neither escaping from the wheel, neither overtaking the other. The domestic servant who deserted a strange scullery for something more to her ambitious taste, brought in the devices which save labour in the home and laid the foundations of the Monowai hydro-electric scheme and public afternoon-tea places; she encouraged the bungalow and the canning industry. I don’t blame her; I merely state these things as illustrative facts. You may include her in the grand company of the social revolutionists, unconscious of her part but still a portion of the ruthless force driving up onward to new pursuits, new schemes, new organisations. “As the price of boots ascends, men think more of the menders of soles, and, as the boot-repairers raise the cost of patching footwear, the owner of the boots thinks of renewing their worn parks himself. He fumbles at first, but he acquires skill, sustaining himself during the period of irregular welts, and blackened thumb-nails by the pride of achievement, the satisfaction of saving and the thrill of self-preservation. Later he emerges as proficient as the professional cobbler and seeks new worlds to conquer. ...” z‘“But where is all this leading?” Maurice intervened, giving me new impetus. “Leading, you innocent?” I responded nobly to the suggestion, “Back to the selfsustaining individual, back to the personal ingenuity and courage of the pioneer. Necessity made those early settlers fend for themselves, developing home industry, the hearth factory, and necessity will make, and is making, us veer from inter-depend-ence to independence. High prices are doing it —even a consumer will turn—and as they go up, the effects will be more marked. Socially the praspects are astounding. Jack may think himself as good as his Master in these days, but before long we will find that the reverse is true, that the Master thinks himself as good as Jack, astonishing though that may seem. But as men and women find need for self-help in trades to which they are not accustomed, as the amateur competes with the professional, they will find themselves making greater inroads into their spare time and they will either sacrifice other amusements or demand shorter hours at their own employment in order to poach on the employment of others: even the Daylight Saving Act cannot prevent that.” “I fancy the trade unions will have something to say,” said Maurice nervously, but I disposed of him quickly. “They can do nothing. They may combine with the Capitalists, who assuredly will concentrate to fight the enemy, but having no one to employ they will be driven to doing their own work to rescue themselves from ennui, and the aristocracies of leisure and lucre alike will have disappeared. Liberte, Egalite, Fraternite! I shall meet the paperhanger as a brother, his equal and no longer his inferior; the duke will slaughter an ox as well as carve it; the charwoman will double the Spades of the financier's wife and discuss with her the making of soap for the scrubbing of floors.” Maurice was impressed. “But .. . but this cannot go on,” he spluttered. ‘lt is the social revolution, Maurice,” I assured him, “the turning of the wheel and naturally the wheel will continue revolving—the chain of change is a treadmill.” “But what about your paperhanging—now?” Maurice is a persistent fellow. I refilled my pipe slowly. “You may hear something of that later; at present my thoughts are concerned with greater problems and I’ve already had three hours of the beastly business.”

(To be Continued.)