THE FRETFUL PORCUPINE

Observer, Volume XXXV, Issue 51, 28 August 1915, Page 16

THE FRETFUL PORCUPINE

A LARGE number of well known New Zealand families are plunged in mourning over the latest and longest casualty lists. That is because the Dominion, like the Motherland, has given the best of her manhood for the cause. It is not only at the Dardanelles, but in France and Flanders that a great number of Maorilanders are fighting. The latest of our boys to fall in France is lan lindlay, youngest son of Sir John and Lady Findlay. The Findlay boys went Home about three years ago, Wilfred ,the eldest, to enter a business firm in London, the two youngest to continue their education. Directly the war broke out the thjree obtained commissions' in the Army. A career of exceptional brilliancy was opening out for lan Findlay when he left Cambridge to join the Army, and he was only eighteen, when appointed second lieutenant in a well known regiment. Latest news of Wilfred Findlay is that he has been invalided to England from Ypres. Still in the firing line is Lloyd, the second son, who has just been promoted to the position of lieutenant and battalion intelligence officer to his regiment.

"Suburbs" theorises:—They say that students of sociology are being fascinated by the changes that this war is causing. Well, I'm studying the effect upon, the young women of all the most desirable young men having to sit in a trench in the dark, instead of on a bench in. the park, and of having to chase snipers in Gallipoli, instead of pursuing elusive females in Queen Street. Gentle Mr Allen has withdrawn 25,000 young men; there's going to be trouble unless he also exports about 20,000 young ladies'. For there's sunshine on the beaches, and the season, now is spring, and human nature teaches that when Cupid's on the wing, neither war nor short finances will a maiden turn aside from the blooming youth she fancies.

It is useless to deridie the habits of the maiden, and talk of etiquette; with scalps she'll sure be laden, if there's a scalp to get. Perhaps at pfrK>phesydug I'll prVwe an awful dub. But, wifie, these signs eyeing, you should keep an eye on hub, even if his pate is showing through a thatch turned thin and grey. There are crowds of youths still going, there are thousands now away, and the ladies in each city and in rural districts', too, may not show a sign of pity and think not once of you. When they want a man to take them to the moving picture show, or a beau to overtake them when they're strolling, coy and slow, on the sunny, sandy beaches, then they'll give the bad, glad eye, and what matter if it reaches your old hubby? They'll defy your fierce and angry glaring, for, dear madam, don't you see, these maidens are despairing, o nthe beaches by the sea; see the boys and nuts are missing, and the girls, both old and nice, without larks or sweets or kissing, will cry, "Men at any price." For there's sunshine on the beaches, and the season now is spring, and Angelina screeches, "In troxisers —anything!"

Instances of whole families of brothers going to the war with the New Zealandi forces are becoming the rule rather than the exception, and it is not to be wondered at, for what man., if he were fit and free to go, would stay at home while his brother risked his life in the firing line. Trooper Lance Bridge, who was killed in action at Gallipoli last month, was one of a large family of sons, their father being Mr Herbert B. Bridge, cousin of Admiral Sir Cyprian Bridge, and at one time chief sub-editor of the "Evening Post" at Wellington. The family has lived at Oriental Bay for about 30 years, and the Bridge boys are well known in Wellington as footballers, oarsmen and; athletes 1 of an all-round type. Lance, who was among the first to offer for service in Samoa, was very fast over 100 yards and other short distances, and a tough nut to crack in all track work. In this he followed in the footsteps of his elder brother Rex, who, in turn, upheld the family record created by Cyp, and Cyp was also a fine oarsman. The whole family were footballers of note. When, the news of Lance'si death came.' through, Cyp and Lionel (Lazily) Bridge had just gone into camp at Trentham, and they will go into battle with a grimmer dietermination than ever. Lully's young wife and child are to stay with his old people till he comes

back. Rex would go, too, but he has a weak knee, so he moist stick to his backblocks bank manager's job, somewhere in the woolly wilderness', and have all the war he will get from the newspaper columns. Yet another brother, Dessy, got married only a little while ago. But he, too, is off when he gets the call. Sport, after all, has a lot to do with making good fighting men, in spite of the adverse criticism which has been hurled at it. At least, it makes men hardy and game.

Major Arthur G. Hume, brother of the officer commanding the Auckland district (Colonel J. E. Hume), has been killed in action. He typified physical fitness, a big man, hard as nails, restlessly energetic and less calm than "Jack," who is perhaps like the highly respected father, Colonel A. G. Hume, for many years Inspector of Prisons in New Zealand. The late Major Hume returned to New Zealand after years of wandering on sea and land as an engineer. It was the establishment of on electric light section in Wellington that induced him to get into military uniform, and he was. respected for his accurate knowledge of highly important branches of military science. He was a cheerful sport, a hearty chap who loved a stiff bout with the gloves, and who knew how to handle himself. Among other small items, he once held the sculling championship of Wellington. He "stripped" like a small Hercules. It would surprise people who only see "Jack" (Auckland 0.C.) in uniform to observe him in the "buff." Captain Frank Hume, aniother of tihe fighting ifamdily, iis at the Dardanelles. "Jack" will ache to go now to get even about Arthur.

As the magistrate remarked, the employers should be acquainted with the law, and should be au fait with every phase of the Arbitration Court awards; Technical breachets are evidently ©onsidiered more heinous than moral. In a recent case, Mr 9. Atkins, licensee of the Star Hotel, was summoned for breach of an award. The point is, of course, that an employer does not exonerate himself from blame, even if he treats an employee like a prince, so long as he does not keep to the exact letter of the law. In this case a man hotel servant was allowed' 24 hours off—firom 10 o'clock on Saturday to 10 o'clock Sunday. By the strict letter of the law the hour should

have been twelve o'clock. Hence these team. In this particular hotel the night porter is given leave, and the servant about whom the fuss was made, by mutual arrangement and entirely to his own satisfaction, was put on the door from ten o'clock to midnight, until all the guests were safely inside the hotel. As a recompense, he worked two hours on Monday, and had all the rest of the day off, and on Tuesday half a day— in .all 8 hours in, 36. Yet, because of a technical breach which hurt nobody and was agreealbe to all parties involved, a case is made, and the licensee fined. It's a pity there isn't a little come and gO about unionism and arbitration.

Jay Perm:—The path of the backblock medical authorities is beset by difficulties of every kind, but in no way is it a harder one to tread than in the matter of Maori tangis. Allowed to take place by the law of successive kindly Governments, these native gatherinugs serve but to create hardship and suffering wherever they are held', and are continually imperilling the lives of the Maoris by the sprelad of infectious diseases, which, as often as not, follow in the wake of the tangi. A recent case will suffice for example. In reporting to the Hawera Hospital Board two deaths from typhoid among the natives, Nurse Beetham gave an astounding account of the doings of the Maoris over the burial of the corpses . In one case the natives had removed the body from the coffin in which it had been placed, and, when discoveredi, the entire hapu, young and old, were sitting round the corpse tangi-ing for all they were worth. Police assistance had to be sought before they would desist and l give up the body. I don't know how the police felt about it, but personally I wouldn't care to be scrapping with a lot of natives over a body of a typhoid case. It is the old tale that we in this country have heard time and time again for years 1 . It is, of course, impossible to stamp out diseases among the Maoris when this sort of this is permitted to continue, and yet, to the Maori mind, the whole attitude of the medical authorities is illogical in the extreme. To the native brain it is obviously an absurdity that he should be allowed' to. tangi over some of his departed' relatives and not over others. The whole business of tangis should be firmly stopped, and the Native Minister, instead of attending some of them, ac he does at present, would be contributing

far more to the well-being of hie peoEle if he would use his influence in aving these meetings discontinued altogether.

An instance of a young New Zealander who has gone abroad! to win his way is that provided by Mr A. Luckie, known by his friends as Tim. who is a brother of Mr Phil Luckie, of the big brewery in Khyber Pass. Mr Luckie is in; Auckland on holiday leave from his work with a big tobacco company in Sechuen, a remote province of China, about 2000 miles: up the Yangste, the wide, muddy stream which pours into the China Sea near Shanghai. When Mr Luckie first ventured into the wilderness which abuts upon Thibet, it took 40 days to get to Chengtu, the capital of the province. But since that time, an enterprising Englishman: hais instituted a service of shallow draught steamers, driven by powerful 1 engines of a destroyer patters, and these impetuous craft climb the rapids in the river like a cat ascending a tiled roof, that is, they get there after a slippery struggle. Some day there is to be a railway from Chengtu to I-cheng, but, so far, all that has been built of it are the railway stations, one at each terminus. That is the Chinese idea of starting to build a line. The rest they leave to the white man to do. Mr Luckie, like most New Zealanders who go to live in the East, is keen to get back to a life which has am indescribable charm, and in which even the flatfaced chows take on an idyllic beauty. $> ©

Asmead Bartlett, the brilliant journalist who made us laugh about our "cowboy millionaires" in Gallipoli, is nevertheless going to be an historic figure. The thin-faced, gaunt Engishmani is the sole British ipress representative on nickel swept Gallipoli, and in comparison Bean.' arid Ross don't matter. His chance was unique, and he took it,

andi for vividness and vigour his stuff about the landfingwas as good as any stuff the pen-giants of the past have put up. Ashmead Bartlett comes of American stock. His father was knighted in England. The family has been previousy connected with the Near East. Another member of it was, strangely enough, the Commissioner to Turkey of the Baroness Burdett Courts' Turkish War Fund of 1877. His book on the Russo-Turkish War has long been famous. This l gentleman was also famous for having married the venerable Baroness, whereupon he assumed the name inseparably connected with the millions of the late banker Coaztts. Passing strange it is that the modern Ashmead Bartlett should be present at the last obsequies of our former ally the Turk.

It is not often that somebody arises and voluntarily sets about performing the duties of the police, yet such a one was discovered at the Auckland' Supreme Court one day last week. A big built Scot had given evidence, and then the Registrar bawled, "CaJl Mr Blank!" The Court usher took up the cry, which was an instruction to the police to do the calling. The Scot ran down the Courtroom, crossed the public portion of the room, and reached the main door, where, in raucous tones, he screeched: "Mr Blank! Mr Blank;" Sensation in, Court. "Stop him!" cried the usher, backed up by officials and lawyers, who seemed to fear that the former witness might drop a hint'to his waiting colleague. The Scot returned, however, to his proper place, amid silent cheers.

Gunner Eric Blomfield, N.Z.F.A., writing on the back of an old letter from "somewhere in ~ the Dardanelles" : "Plenty of blood and thunder at first, although, of course, we were not in the first landing, or I would probably have been finished long ago. I have seen some great

sights. As we passed up the coast on the way here we could see and hear the battle raging at the landings lower down. Streams of troopships, battleships andl cruisers showed up through a haze of smoke punctured by gun flashes and the bursting of shells, the dirt and dust flying in great clouds on the high ridges ashore. The roar and racket was something to be remembered. Talk about Hades! Here the bombardment from the warships wasn't so lively, but the rattle of rifle fire from the shore showed what a time the infantry were having. We got ashore on the Friday, and put two guns in a position on the left flank, but withdrew them, as the gentlemen who were to be the target declined to stay in the vicinity. We camped on the beach, and made ourselves as snug as possible, although shrapnel insisted' on coming in occasional gusts, making us duck for cover. Nobody was hurt although we were hung up there for a couple of weeks waiting for a new position. About 100 infantry man-handled each gun, and towed them up. The country is too steep for horses. Here we poured' a lot of shrapnel l into the blighters at different times, but it's hard to tell what damage we did. They have managed to hit the ground here a few times, but the only wounds have been from stray rifle bullets, as we are near the firing line. But we're well dug in. The trenches are like small streets in a miniature underground village.

Martial ardour is still burning brightly in the heaa-ts and the eyes of middle-aged) gentlemen who are putting off weight in the National Reserve. The N.R. has renewed the youth of many men who found it a puffy business to catch a car. The N.R. has done good work iri this wiay, and in disciplining mature business men, who gave up jumping at the sound of an order many years agoi . The N.R. desires recognition as a part of the Defence Forces, and

the "Volunteer Reserve of the Old Country is quoted. The Old Country Reserve is not only uniformer, but it has lately been alleged that at a pinch it could be armed. '"• The N.Z.M.R. exists largely as a force that would supposedly be used; if the country was raided. In their present situation, unundformed and. unarmed, the mere fact of falling in in correct formation) wouldn't stop armed men from landing. They would be in every respect regarded as civilians by am enemy. To give the Reserve military recognition as a part of the defence system would be absolutely absurd,' unless the State can arm them. As it cannot do this, the N.R. has as much chance of being regarded as soldiers as W T ilhelm the Huni has of reaching heaven.

One of the most joyous jests of the war concerns a young officer of a crack cavalry regiment who was recently attached to the Royal Flying Corps as an observer. "Somewhere abroad," he was explaining to a charming woman hs sensations during his first trip in an aeroplane, which apparently took place over the enemy's lines. He related how he had gone in for most sports and never knew what fear was; he had hunted, shot big game, driven fast cars, and was never afraid. So whehi he got into the aeroplane he resjolved to analyse his emotions. At first all was well, for he enjoyed the novelty of the bird's-eye view, the rush through the air, the plunging of the machine like a spirited horse. Then he began to feel less happy, and began thinking, "I believe I'm afraid. This feels somehow like fear might feel. I wonder if I'm a coward after al" Rapidly he grew more and more unhappy, till suddenly revelation came to him, and he fairly shouted to himself mental!ly: "I know what's the matter 1 I'm liot aifraidl—l'm seasick." And he was, violently, and felt much braver after it.