FROM THE WATCH TOWER

Sun (Auckland), Volume III, Issue 689, 14 June 1929, Page 8

FROM THE WATCH TOWER

By “THE LOOK-OUT MAN.” THE KNOCK-OUT At Znaim, in Czechoslovakia, tlie local champion, Jirsa, heat the Austrian, Fristensky, by hitting him with a chair. Enter the pugilists. Here r s noble Jirsa, The idol of the populace of Znaim, "Where, like the Stone Age scrapper 3 his precursor, He scorns conventions , and eschews the tame Routine of rounds , and referees, and gloves. IPs all-in stuff that gentle Jirsa loves. He seised a chair. It may have been a wheelbaclc, A Chippendale, or just a humble stool, Which made that stalwart champ. , Fristensky t reel back Beneath the impact of the homely tool. Plainly the pug must fight with more than fists. Who takes a pop at Jirsa in the lists. With lefts and rights he might do all he could, f nd Use all the guile and science of the ring. Yet by the artful Jirsa he’d be woodened Out to the wide, and hear the birdies sing. So bold Fristensky’s battered brow they lave, While turns old Queensberry in his honoured grave. Jack Demski. * * * THE SPORTS GIRL Did fellow-Aucklanders never hear of Miss Emily Boecker? No? Well, that’s strange, because, according to a recent number of the “,San Francisco Examiner,” she is “a crack shot, expert swimmer, and is known as one of the champion girl athletes of New Zealand.” Arriving at 'Frisco three months ago on a round-the-world trip, the versatile Miss Boecker, “of Auckland, New Zealand,” switched from her first purpose and set off for Guatemala to study the ancient civilisation of the Mayas. Photograph of Miss Boecker accompanied the article. She is comely. It seems a pity so few of us have met her. * * * AT THE GRILL An interesting development in social life is the tendency of bright youngpeople to congregate after their dances and parties at restaurants which in the ordinary course they would politely shun. It is no longer the thing to take your partner with gravity and formality by the elbow, and march her between dances to a sitting of chicken, oyster pate, or even buttered toast. Instead you wait until the party is o’er, and then hasten city-ward, where large red steaks sizzle among their subordinate chips, and eggs shelter coyly between rashers of bacon. Soon, no doubt, it will become necessary for these popular places to be “covered” along with other centres of life and gaiety. The mythical gentleman once known as “Dirty Dick” will then rise to his proper plane in the social firmament. MO VNTAINEERS Sometimes one is impelled to meditate on the steepness of Auckland hills, and wonder whether the muchdiscussed processes of evolution will help in later generations to breed a race with massive calves. Masculine legs being- swathed in tubes of worsted or flannel, and thus hidden from the gaze of the investigator, it is necessary to pay attention to others. Wellington is supposed to be a very hilly city, where exercise on the hillsides would be compulsory, yet Wellington girls are slim-shanked. Christchurch girls, on the other hand, get little exercise for the calves unless by following that popular Christchurch pastime, pedalling a bicycle. But the Southerner will back Christchurch calves against any others. Here in Auckland the prevalence of hills seems to be offset by the popularity of tramcars and Baby Austins. Instead of evolving a race of ponder-ously-underpinned wenches v-e shall produce a race of straphangers and gear-changers. SHIP AFIRE

Longshoremen in the Bay of Plenty have had interesting offshore phenomena to study lately. First, there was a deposit of tar, or what looked like tar, along 15 miles of coast. An officer of a tanker that was at Auckland this week suggests that this looks suspiciously like some submarine discharge of crude petroleum, and might be an indication of valuable deposits. Frantic efforts to float a company called, say, Bay of Plenty Ocean Oil Co., may be expected. The company should be easily enough floated, but keeping it afloat is another matter — even in the Bay of Plenty. Then yesterday there were hectic moments at Lottin’s Point, near East Cape, when what looked like a steamer on fire was seen out to sea. The fears of the populace were fortunately unfounded, but at least they had their thrill. Memories of the spectacular burning of the Moa off Wanganui in 1914 come to mind. The only victim was a man killed while stropping his razor when the after-hatch blew up underneath him. That homely process has ever since been invested with a sinister flavour. Yes, there are thrills for watchers when ships burn at sea; but there are greater thrills for the people on board.