FROM THE WATCH TOWER

Sun (Auckland), Volume 1, Issue 14, 7 April 1927, Page 8

FROM THE WATCH TOWER

By

the LOOK-OUT MAN

THE WRONG NAME When a man gives a wrong name, it is evident that he has some unpraiseworthy motive in doing so. Therefore, the man who said his name was “Jack Ritchie” and drove away when approached by an officer who desired to know why liis motor lights were out was lucky to escape with a fine of 10s. In fact, that sum seems altogether inadequate when it is considered that the locating and identifying of a “wrong ’un” might easily use up £lO worth of policeman. THE NOBLE SMOKE Lord Birkenhead, smoking a threequarter ounce cigar, said that pipe and cigarette smokers were men of crude palates. If the noble lord was compelled to smoke some of the “submarines” sold in Auckland as cigars he would acquire a palate which no adjective could describe —not even an Australian adjective, which is in the fullest sense comprehensive—and might thereafter regard pipes and cigarettes of the humblest degree as smokes of the gods. HA NOROME GEORGES Georges Carpentier, who was a great boxer before Dempsey and Siki made him an astronomer, has had his cauliflower ear restored to normal and the bulge placed upon his nose by Dempsey removed by a beauty specialist. Following these glad tidings, prominent boxers will doubtless in the future have beautifiers attached % to their staff of managers, publicity men, trainers, masseurs, sparring partners, seconds and towel-holders. Judging by the fierce controversy raging be tween Purdy and Trowern, and the threats of what they will do to each other when they meet again within the ropes, one or both will badly need repairing when the scrap is over, so the local beautifying industry should re ceive a much-needed stimulus. BE YOUR OWN BUTCHER If we had a mayor of the calibre of Mussolini, the citizens would not forever be complaining of the price of meat and murmuring of “rings.” Every man could be his own butcher. Mussolini countered the middlemen, who were inflating pieces by providing a market to which farmers (every farmer his own slaughterman) could deliver carcases, the result being that the public bought their joints 25 percent. cheaper. Mussolini is a man of action, and Auckland’s new mayor (Mr. Baildon —Mr. Bloodworth—Mr. Warnock —Mr. Schmidt) might do well to keep in touch with him by wireless, and, having emulated him in foiling the rapacity of the butcher, consult him on reducing the price of bread and milk. Perhaps, also, the Italian Dictator might be asked to decide the question of the Civic Square. No one here seems able to. * * 3jt SYDNEY CHIMES At 8.30 last night I heard the chimes of Sydney Post Office, followed by the striking of 7 —that was Sydney time, an hour and a-half behind Auckland. “Alas. Those Chimes!” I heard them in reality, but I saw in fancy the clock in the tall tower of the G.P.O. had made audible the swift rush and clang of the trams in Pitt and George Streets—smelt the perfume of boronia and violets, and felt the velvet petals of the flannel-flowers on the stalls in Martin Place. And the “Southerly” flushed the city streets with its cooling draught and in it was borne the tang of the Pacific and the soft murmur of the surf —like that which sounds when you put a shell to your ear—pounding on to the silver beaches, to where hurried the people of the city in their tens of thousands, though it was the month of March. Sydney! The soul stirred with its memories—and the wireless expert broke in to inform us that the sound of the Post Office clock was heard on the wireless receiver in Sydney before it reached the ear of the citizens, and that, consequently, we listeners-in, here in Auckland, beat the Sydneyites in hearing their own chimes. It was awfully interesting information—but —it broke my reveries—and I was back in Auckland! * * * WHAT'S IN A RECORD? What’s in a record, anyway? Here’s a girl been awarded a letter by the Auckland Education Board because she had a record of six years’ unbroken school attendance. Previously a similar reward was given a pupil who had put up an eight years’ record. Some people might argue that a pupil might easily learn all there is to be learned in our primary schools in half the time —and that letters of commendation might more properly be awarded children who qualified to leave school without taking up so much teaching time. Anyway there are grown-ups who can beat these school records easily. Some of our best-known citizens have not been known to miss a single day’s attendance at the bar—barring Sundays—for twenty years, and more. And they aren’t lawyers, either. RAILWAY EXCURSIONS The announcement that the Railway Department is to arrange excursion fares for those who wish to visit Mt. Cook is interesting. But only the New Zealand equivalent to an American dollar millionaire can afford trips to Mt. Cook. What about cheap excursions to some mounts a little nearer, or to any one of the many places along the Southern and Northern lines, within reasonable reach of the city, which have scenic attractions, even if they are not mountains? In other countries weekend tickets, at low excursion fares, are the regular thing all the year round, and the railways do well out of it, while the people are enabled to get around their countryside a bit and see something more than can be seen from their front verandahs. The Department is declaredly out for business. Here is its chance. The most it has so far done is to run week-end excursions to Rotorua, Te Aroha and Helensville in the summer months.