SHADE PIRATES

Timaru Herald, Volume CXXXVIII, Issue 19941, 27 October 1934, Page 24

SHADE PIRATES

WHEN THE DOG DAYS ARRIVE

EXODUS FROM ROME In the dog days Rome is a wilderness. Cats take possession of her torrid squares, rows of shuttered shops bear the legend “Chiusura Estiva” (summer closing), writes Beatrice Baskerville in the ' Daily Telegraph.” Even provincial honeymooners go elsewhere, and the public parks are left to the blackbirds, the lizards, and the grasshoppers. Like his ancestors, the Roman has gone to bathe. He is not far off. If impecunious and a good swimmer, he strolls betimes to the river which has a peculiar fascination for him. Tawny, swift, treacherous, full of holes and whirlpools, Father Tiber takes his yearly toll of devotees. But he is cooler than the seas, and so the floats are huddled close together between the city’s bridges. There is Ostia; it means safety to say nothing of bright young athletes, large mammas with enormous families, diplomatists who rashly took their leave earlier in the year, and members of the permanent staffs at the Government office. In ten minutes your car is clear of the city, heading for the Mediterranean. Ostia, which sprang up as in the night near Tiber's mouth, caters for all. It is an odd mixture of Margate and Cowes, forty minutes from town by electric train, twenty by the autostrada, a broad, smooth road reserved for motor traffic. It lies a couple of miles beyond the dead Ostian Port of Ancient Rome, beloved of archaelologists. The tideless beach is dark with the iron in its sand, and teems with humanity. Ostia caters for one and all. from those who can afford exclusive huts at the southern end to children in camps at the other extreme. Between them are restaurants, oyster bars, a pier, and a mile of bathing huts, tents, and umbrellas let out by the day, week, or month. All Go Bathing It might be a thousand miles from the Vatican, whence come sonorous condemnations of scanty bathing apparel, varnished nails, mixed sun-bath-ing, and such like customs. The Victorian bathing dress, recently designed within the shadow of St. Peter's Square, has not yet been seen at Ostia. Bronzed, statuesque figures there are; and fat ones, too. All go bathing in sun, sand, and sea. This section of the beach is a happy, noisy place, a where Mrs Grundy is flouted with impunity and stout fathers teach their children how to swim. On this stretch of the coast the sun is extremely powerful; but sun-bathing seems even more popular than swimming and surf-riding. From morn till late afternoon the Romans think about getting as black as can be. Then, then take their midday meal, brought from home and enlarged with ices and pastry hawked on the spot. And, of course, they flavour it with wine from the Sabine Hills. The next thing is the siesta—unless they happen to be the victims of shade pirates. Then the neighbourhood will ring with the sounds of battle. A shade pirate is a man, siren or plain woman who surreptitiously and with many followers sits when you are looking the other way on the spot of precious shade thrown by your hut. It is the only place for miles around where you can sleep in comfort. Recognised Game Shade piracy is a recognised game. Everybody may fall to its allurement, no matter what they think and say when they themselves happen to be its victim. The temporary owner of the shade-giving hut or tent, makes a fuss and orders off the intruders. But they refuse to budge. ‘ The shade like the sun, is the gift of Heaven and free to all,” they declare. “It comes from the hut which I paid for,” shouts the injured party, and this starts the wordy war. All legitimate shade owners back the victim; all pirtes support their own kind. The inevitable lawyer, wearing little more than a sun hat, comes along and argues against and in favour of each side in turn. The equally inevitable attendants, grasping brooms in bronzed hands, listen open-mouthed, and remain severely neutral. Are not tire tips of pirates equal to the tips of their victims? A policeman hopes somebody will strike the first blow, but refrains from giving his opinion. Arguments rain hot and furious; friendships are made and broken; the pirates rise in their excitement; but the victims are too busy talking to snatch their rightful shade, and the game proceeds until some bright lad discovers that it is time for an after-dinner swim. Everybody rushes into the sea; the fight ends for lack of spectators. But it will start again to-morrow. Feeling runs high; for the ownership of shade is a fine problem. One distinguished foreign journalist has been known to mount guard over his shade all the afternoon. He prefers the sun, but it is a question of principle. He does not believe his shade belongs to all; he has paid for it. Not So Lively Things are not so lively at the south end of the beach. There is a legend in the tent-and-hut territory that diplomatic protocols are taken there with the bathing kit, and followed to the bitter end; that a Minister-plenipoten-tiary-extraordinary, for instance, could not rescue a mere secretary from sharks until he had consulted the protocal on this point. This may be sheer gossip. Tents and protocols do not go together, and there are no sharks at Ostia, anyway. , Out at Acque Albule things are less cut and dried. An ex-monarch has been known to dive off the same board as his barber. These sulphur baths are on the Tivoli road, and have been popular with Romans since the Caesars went there. They consist of open pools, hot baths for invalids, sun-bathing terraces, restaurants, outdoor amenities, and a special pool for dogs. There are no pirates, because there is shade in plenty. The opalescent water flows straight through the pools from tufa rocks a short distance away. Its temperature is 73 degrees Fahrenheit all the year round. The atmosphere is restful. The greatest excitement on record is when a dog invaded one of the pools reserved for humans. But the water is so charged with sulphur that it is unwise to linger after sunset. All the same, Acque Albule is one of the best spas within a hundred miles of Rome.

Government maps for the use cf airmen in Britain, bear special signs indicating airship stations, overhead electric cables and pylons, airway beacons, and “danger areas.”