PARS ABOUT PEOPLE

Observer, Volume XXXIII, Issue 4, 5 October 1912, Page 4

PARS ABOUT PEOPLE

ALBERT EDWARD GLOVER, M.P., not being, a Labour member, is hereby cautioned not to adopt the common labour method of making a distinction between workers and the people. We have never doubted that Albert has the interests of " his dear, good people of Auckland" close to his heart, but he must not forget the less favoured others. Last Friday night Minister James Allen had the State Advances up for discussion and was explaining why his power to issue further loans was limited. During the explanation he exuded a list of County Councils, Borough Councils and Harbour Boards which had received, since the Advances office had been established, a total of nearly two millions. • • ■ •

Then arose Albert Edward, and one can imagine his democratic indignation as he wailed, "They are all wealthy interests. Why don't you give it to the workers ?" Therein was Albert Edward indiscreet, for assuredly he should not suggest that he believes Habour Boards and Councils to be malignant trusts. If Mr Glover, M.P., needs an explanation, it's easy. The money is borrowed by the people (workers), who elect Boards and Councils (composed of workers) to spend the money for the benefit of the people. It is really quite simple, and it does not befit the dignity of Auckland Central that it should speak with the voice of Grey Lynn.

Captaiu R. Saxon Matthews, who has just been appointed assistant adjutant and quarter-master general for the Auckland district, is an Englishman belonging to an old military family, but who has done all his soldiering with the New Zealand forces and done it well. He was one of a small bunch of excellent subalterns who went on service with the First Contingent, joining from the Hawera Mounted Rifles and wading into his job with the utmost enthusiasm and courage. He was a great favourite with the First, and Colonel Davies (now Brigadier General), who also came from the Haweras, and who commanded a column in Africa, had a particularly high opinion of him. Captain Matthews was so keen on the service that he proceeded to England at his own expense and undertook the qualifying examination for inclusion in the Staff Corps. * * *

He had the remarkable faculty while on service in Africa of being absolutely " well groomed " under any circumstanGes. When the general mass of ■flroops was under a thick coating of grime, "Bob J, looked as his brother officers remarked "as if he was just out of a bandbox." One incident is worth recalling, showing that Boers were not the only enemies to be reckoned with in South Africa. A cock ostrich " took to " the officer one day, and bird and man fought an unequal contest until some New Zealanders, thinking that their highly esteemed officer might "lose the number of his mess," rushed to the rescue and stopped the unequal contest of beak and armed feet against hands and head.

Little Harry Bedford, who gave a little talk about the sinfulness of absorbing alcohol at the East-street Mission Hall on Sunday, is the same little man who bounced into the House for the Dunedin seat with the biggest majority ever heard of in this country. Indeed, little Harry " went up like a rocket and down like a stick." Mr Bedford is a little chap with the doorknob eye, so noticeable in bookworms or emotionalists, and he has the ex--traordinary gift of being able to bring tears to his eyes at the slightest pretext. On the political heath he was a sort of oratorical David, out to knock the head off any Goliath who showed up, but unfortunately his aeal was so much greater than his discretion that after a while ho was not taken seriously. He has given indications that he will again woo the suffrages of the people, and in the meantime he gets turned on wherever there is- a gap for a speaker on social subjects, or in any place where a tearful eye may move the tinregenerate.

The fact that Commissioner 0. Jerusalem (which must not be written !) will represent a Southern body on a road commission recalls the fact that the firm of Jerusalem and Co. are installed at the top of an exceedingly high building in Wellington. The flats are, of course, served by an elevator, and if one wants to go as far as Jerusalem, one merely remarks "Holy City \" to the lift boy. He knows.

The serious expression on the face of Canadian Trade Commissioner Beddoe is not due to threats of annexation of Canada by the United States, but to the forthcoming visit of the Canadian cadets. As the Commissibner gravely points out (with the suspicion of a wink in the other eye), there is so much local bidding for the pleasure of putting up these youngsters, so evident an intention of giving them a great time, that they may never get home again and may be absorbed into the local matrimonial market. The boys are quite big enough to sit up and take notice, and as their pas in most cases are merchants with a hefty swag of Canadian dollars lying around in Vancouver and elsewhere, the situation becomes even more critical.

Joe MacMahon had ■ read in the papers that a chilling blight fell on the Canadian cadets in Sydney, and it is since discovered that the apparent coldness was only due to official forgetfulness. Anyhow, since that time the cadets have been simply overwhelmed with kindness. So Joe de-

cided that he'd mark off a chunk of his pictxire palace for Canadian cadets, give them the freedom of the house and put on special programmes for their behoof and entertainment. Wherefore Commissioner Beddoe emits a series of loud hurrahs.

Malcolm Koss, the exceedingly young pressman of fifty, has been given a job by the Government to "make the necessary arrangements for evidence to be taken by the Imperial Trade Commissioners while they are in New Zealand." Malcolm is the stremious youth whose photo generally appears in the weeklies playing a game of golf with the Governor, or climbing the Southern Alps, and his native modesty is the special joy of all scribblers. He manages in his newspaper articles to convey the impression that he alone was on the spot at the moment the post office was burnt down, and the Penguin wreck took place, or the House resigned—and it is a very good asset for a public writer. He has been in his time chairman of the Parliamentary Press gallery, and is still, it is believed, London " Times ' correspondent in New Zealand, a billet that does not entail much loss of sleep and is not unrewarded. Mrs Malcolm Eoss is also a press writer, and together they shoo the wolf a very long distance from the doorstep. By the way, Malcolm is the only pressman in the memory of the writer who turns up at afternoon functions in the belltopper and fro<jk coat of ultra-re-spectability, although at most other times his sinewy underpinning is clothed in golf socks.

Mr Justice Edwards is not the most courteous lord of the New Zealand Bench and this being generally realised by the members of the bar they do not expect much. Therefore when he hustled the lawyers down in Napier a few days ago, they may have been annoyed but they couldn't have been surprised. A libel case which was to have come up for hearing and which was expected to last two days, was postponed on account of Sir John Findlay, one of the counsel, being detained in Gis~ borne. Counsel in other cases didn't get notification of the postponement, and so didn't appear on the eventful day, which gave Mr Justice Edwards a chance to jump with both feet upon the offending barristers.

He informed those who happened to be in the Court that the barristers could assume what they liked but they must take the consequences. He didn't strike out their cases, however (which was surprising magnanimity), he just had them rounded up by electric telegraph and intimated that they should be informed that the world was not going to stand still because they were not on the spot. Evidently Mr Justice Edwards' court is all the world to him, though it is frequently Sheol to other folk. Then this jovial judge was informed that some of the parties in the civil cases might require juries and replied that he couldn't understand such a way of doing business, dismissed the waiting jurymen and then probably settled down with the prospect of having an enjoyable time all on his own.

One of the most illuminating references mad,e by Canon Garland locally regarding the chrome coloured menace was that the Chinaman was coming out of the "gluttonous East." Wherefore, oh brethren, the following extract from the letter of an ex-Auck-land engineer, now on railway business in the Republic (ye gods, the Republic !) is of interest : "The appalling misery of tens of millions of Chinese is due to hunger, old man, sheer grinding hunger that strews the corpses of little children around and makes it impossible for any domestic animal in vast districts to survive. I have seen a horde of famished people rush into a pestilent street to scramble for an old European boot, have seen them tear it to shreds and devour it. , ' These dear brethren are the gluttonous Orientals to whom our friend refers.

Sir Robert Stout lias reiterated his periodical plaint that the New Zealander ia not a thrifty person, and that he ought to eat more simply, dress more simply, and take less amusement. The thriftless New Zealander isn't really the dreadful person the Chief Justice imagines him to be. He has a bigger per head savings bank account than in any other country, he gives more to charity than anybody else, and he works quite hard enough to deserve all the amusement he gets. Sir Kobert says it would be a good thing if we in New Zealand " were made poor so as to learn what thrift means." His panacea is poverty for his fellow countrymen. It certainly might enforce thrift. It would also enforce hunger, and the building of more gaols,.more asylums, the appointment of more judges—and more social problems. It is perhaps an easy matter for a man with upwards of <£1000 a year to insist that the <£100 man should be thrifty.

Cabled that Major General Kobey was bowled over by a London motorcar and injured the other day. Also that he is chirping up and will be fit for duty (on crutches) in a day or two. The gallant officer is best remembered as a Maori head gatherer, a gruesome if interesting hobby for a gentleman who has assisted in making quite a number of Maoris have no use for a tattooed, head. He has (or had) the largest collection of pickled warriors , heads on earth. Some years ago he offered a choice selection to the New Zealand Government. The price was too high or something, and nothing was doing. It is believed that the gallant general has done a good trade of late years with preserved Maori fragments in Germany — for Germany never knows when she might rule at Wellington and is interested in all native races. Germany, in fact, has # a much better collection of Maori curios than New Zealand has, And it is said that the finest Maori house on earth is in Berlin ! General Eobey is understood to have a couple of dozen Maori countenances still glaring at him from the cupboards in his library.

Mr James Shanaghan, head of the of the Auckland branch of the Labour Department, is put out of harness, under the superannuation scheme. As a matter of fact, the cheery Aucklander (for he was born in this city) looks, feels, and is fitter than he was forty odd years ago—of which anon. Mr Shanaghan was the first inspector of factories appointed in Auckland—in February, 1892, and not the late Mr Ferguson, as has been incorrectly stated. He, however, relieved Mr Ferguson at Christchurch, and as he smilingly remarks, " spent 15 years of exile in the South." He returned to Auckland from exile in March, 1907, and his connection with the Department has been most agreeable to everyone who knows the genial inspector.

Mr Shanaghan, asked to disclose an odd chapter of his life, remarked that although he had been a soldier, he was a " poor trumpeter," but as he has but half-a-thuinb on his left hand, a deep indendation on right hand, and other evidences thereabout of the work of a large rotund bullet, he was begged to disclose the story. Mr Shanaghan mentioned that on July 31, 1867, being in Auckland, he, with three other Aucklanders, shipped aboard the old " Mount Eden," and went to the Thames goldfields at a time when there were only 100 men on the ground. He enlisted in the armed constabulary before he was 21, and thereafter for a brief period saw real life and grim death. "My service," he said, " totted up 3 months in garrison, 3 months on active service, and 8 moaths in hospital."

It was a stirring three months for during it the brave Prussian soldier of fortune, Yon Tempsky, was killed at Te Ngutu o te Manu, at which place is now erected a fine memorial to the men who fell, and where thousands of people gather for an anniversary service. Mr Shanaghan, explaining how trifling a circumstance affects a man's life, mentioned that he was on guard at the Waihi camp on the night previous to the famous action in the bush, and that a comrade who was not well, and who was detailed to join the expedition asked, him to become a substitute, although Constable Shanaghan had been on duty for 28 hours, he applied to Yon Tempsky for substitution,- and that officer pointing out the danger of the enterprise, at last consented to the exchange. The rest is

history. Yon Tempsky was killed and his body burnt, Constable Shanaghan was desperately wounded (and history says performed wonders in rescue work before being carried out himself), spent the best part of a year in hospital, and was discharged medically unfit and pensioned. He has been (in a military sense) physically unfit for 44 years, and he mentions the fact with a smile. There is nothing ethereal about the veteran, although that half a thumb and the deep depression in the right hand are eloquent reminders of a vivid page in New Zealand history. The silver tea service given him by his friends of the Department will remind him of a long period of peace, the silver medal of the far off day when he escaped the fate of the brave Yon Tempsky by a hair's breath.

Barnum Powell, the Boy Skite, who hurled a few self adulating words at Auckland a few months ago and rushed away to catch the Wellington train, has, it is cheering to observe, married a young woman in the West Indies. The chief note of interest is that "she is very wealthy," and the words of the Mafficking hero, " I will never leave the Scouts." It is cheering to know that the terrific stream of limelight that has poured on Barunm for years will how have to be shared by Mrs 8.-P., and it will perhaps give the earth a rest from him for a bit. He has during the last few years been an obsession—almost a complaint.

No marked symptoms of surprise were displayed when the news percolated through that Auckland's Coal Baron and Cartage King had denoted ■£500 towards the V.M.C.A. building fund, because it is known that J. J. is frequently on the look-out for a chance to do the good old Haroun Al Raschid act in an unostentatious manner, and no doubt it was only the lack of discrimination common to kind hearts and simple faith (which are more than coronets and Norman blood) which led him to believe the V.M.C.A. to be a charity. But when it was learned that he had actually joined the youthful band of coin beseechers one could have knocked a lot of the population over with a spade. The venerable J. J. Craig is league with youth and armed with a receipt book and a won't-you-buy-my-pretty-flowers expression is an apparition calculated to startle the kiangas. It must be the Spring. Or is it a desperate attempt to white-wash coal ?

A paragraph is rushing through the press and will continue to gyrate for the next eighteen months, stating, that Sir Joseph Wai'd is older than he looks. Although the Right Hon. is absurdly juvenile in appearance, he has been claiming that he is a pioneer, since he landed on this patch of scoria 53 years ago. That is to say, young Joseph was a baby of three when he came from Emerald Hill (begorra !), Victoria. It is his good fortune that the cares of office have slid off his sleek back without (if one is permitted to relapse into Irish) carving a single wrinkle in the smooth brow. Since the ex-Premier took to " goff," he wears a size smaller in waistcoats and was. extremely astonished when he was lately told that "he looked all his forty-five years." He manages, too, to make 25 hairs do duty as 250 and this rejuvenates his appearance.

Although there was a universally warm feeling of regard among soldiers for the late Col. F. W. Abbott, D.5.0., the attendance of soldiers at St. Mary's memorial service on Sunday was hardly worthy of the occasion. Slackness in such matters may be due to the lack of " hold " officers have on their commands. An enthusiastic sentiment among Auckland Territorial officers, and a real idea of the value of such gatherings would have ensured a full strength muster of the Auckland garrison. Bishop Crossley, whose duty it was to eulogise the dead officer, was, of course, a little handicapped in not having known him, but his information was sound enough. His appeal to territorials (although heard by so few of them) may not have .been without service. It is suggested that apart from the memorial plate in St. Mary's steps should be taken to inspire territorials to duty by a commemorative tablet erected in a place where young soldiers congregate—for the tablet in St. Mary's may be seen by a very small proportion of the men who bear arms.

Mr Justice Theo. Cooper returned to New Zealand from London and in no public place has he yet said that the London policeman is a marvel, or that the Kaiwaria Drainage Board has nothing to learn from the London County Council. One matter of interest to New Zealand girls he mentioned. He said that while he was in the Hub, 4,000 jam factory girls struck, and that none of them had been earning more than 10s a week, and that they rushed back to their jampots almost immediately because there were thousands of girls ready to take the jobs. He said the rush for vacancies by London shopgirls was tremendous and so on, which merely suggests that New Zealand ought to reach out for the masses lying around in London and elsewhere. Mr Justice Cooper's references to the pitiable poverty of myriads of

Old Country folk, gives New Zealanders a feeling of unctuous comfort that there is no violent poverty in the Land of the 1.0. U.

Mayor Parr has been to Wellington to tell all he knows about the Orakei business and has returned without any new ideas to lay before the people, which is surprising. To go aluoad and return with an intellect stuffed lull of new ideas is such a habit of C. J/s that one naturally expected him to come back and tell us how he sat on the right hand side of Wellington's Mayor, where he learned much about the proper methods of conducting business, how the Mayor entertained him, and how he discovered Wellington's wind to be much better in quality and quantity than in Auckland, and how it would be possible to keep our tram cars as clean as Wellington's and half as noisy. It must be that Wellington has nothing to teach Auckland, or that Christopher James was too busy in Wellington to take notice.

G. V. Pearce, the member for Patea, was able to spur Mr Isitt to one of his pretty little phrase-making outbursts, a couple of days ago. The said G. V. Pearce was giving some straight talk to Premier Massey about the need for giving the country racing clubs more racing days, and taking further steps to blot out the bookmaker, though how the bookmaker is to be further blotted out, considering that the law says he doesn't exist, would be hard to discover. Well, he was just meandering on gently about the wicked and flourishing metropolitan clubs, and the virtuous, but suppressed, country clubs, when up rose the wild and woolly Isitt, his thatch streaming behind him in the wind of his indignation, and emitted the following : " The cant of the country picnic party is the scantiest sort of cant I have ever heard. Your country racecourse is a centre of moral degeneration to a number of the youths of the country, and a good to no one at all."

Which shows that if Leonard Isitt has the courage of his prejudices his bias is worse than his bark. As a matter of fact the little country race club which held an annual one or two days' meeting did provide a picnic party and an occasion for festival for a whole countryside that had little other enjoyment. The moral degeneration that Leonard infers as an essential by-pro-duct of these wicked little country races exists only in his imigination. It is not logical nor right for people like Leonard Isitt to deny a season of carnival to other human beings merely because the spirit is not in them. The worship of Dionysus is a far older faith and more deeply rooted in human nature than Leonard's faith of the negation of joy.