PARS ABOUT PEOPLE

Observer, Volume XXXVI, Issue 49, 12 August 1916, Page 4

PARS ABOUT PEOPLE

LfEUT.-COLONEL "JACKY" HUGHES, C.M.G., D.5.0., recently returned from Egypt and Gallipoli ? via England, is leaving Wellington in a few days for Rotorua. In the famed wafers there he hopes to find the elixir which will restore him to complete health. Colonel Hughes was one of the shirt-sleeve officers at Gallipoli, who went here, there find everywhere to see that their men were all right, or at least as right as could be. Numerous returned soldiers have related how, when in the fire trenches with Turkish bullets whizzing, they would see the cheery face of "Jacky" Hughes peering over the rear of the trench and hear him say, "All right here, boys?" Then, with a nod and a smile, he crawled yiway to visit other outposts. These calls during business hours heartened the men up wonderfully. There are many in New Zealand, soldiers and civilians, who earnestly wish Colonel Hughes a speedy return to complete health, and a long and happy lrfe.

There was a notable gathering in Wellington last week, when Major Petherick, of the D Battery, was entertained on the eve of his departure for the war. It was an evening of reminiscences, for many of Wellington's leading citizens and soldiers graduated in the D Battery. From the remarks of those present no one appeared to be able to remember back to a time when Major Petherick was not in the D Battery, beginning with him as. gunner and following him right through, ihose old-established volunteer batteries ot field artillery may have seemed superfluous to the pacifists at the time, but they have turned out some fine examples of soldiers. One of these is Lieut.-Colonel Freeth (Cash Freeth) with the Union. Forces m South Africa, whose brother gunner in the D Battery wJas. Lieut. Cyp Bridge, now in charge of the machine gun section, of the 3rd Battalion of the Rifle Brigade. Sometimes the musters at parades were small, but the enthusiasts stuck to it and have profited in military ways, since the war. Lieut. Tim Brewer, O.C. Fifteenth Artillery Reinforcements, was an old D Battery boy, /and Lieut. Gilbert Howe, with the same reinforcements, was another "D' wliich had' a magnificent shooting record was. the pet of Master Gunner G. S. Richardson, the warrant officer who is now a Brigadier General, a C.M.G., and wears the French Order of Merit. Brigadier General Richardson's son killed in a manoeuvre at Wellington was a D Battery man.

Mr Wells, Mayor of Cambridge, is a lucky man. Gentle little par. about him clipped from Waikato "Independent." "We believe a record has been set for New Zealand by our Mayor; we know of no other Council "which has had to find a second silver cradle in the one term of office."

The Russians have taken, about 300,000 Hun prisoners in a few months, and the fact was telegraphed. The more serious, telegraph news has been sent to the Wanganui "Chronicle," however ("from our travelling reporter") that "During the short time that Mr Ongley (Mayor of Feilding) was speaking to the recruits going into camp yesterday, someone purloined his umbrella." Sincerely regretting the loss, of Mr Ongley's umbrella, this paper cordially gives the fact the added publicity, the importance of the loss justifies. It might have been worse. If, for instance, some unparalleled

blackguard had taken Mr Ohgley's hat, the exigencies of the situation might have suggested a sub-leader on the subject, and. a special cable to the London "Times" and Scotland Yard. One. can conceive no international complication more tremendous that the theft of Mr Ongley's overcoat, and it is hoped the abandoned ruffian who purloined his umbrella will, in the words of 9977 reporters, be "brought to Book." Is the whole framework of society to be rent asunder by these umbrella stealing atrocities? Are the people to be distracted from the winning of the war by umbrellas? Is the country to be thrown into a ferment of anxiety by these dastardly attempts to reduce Mr Ongley to a state of nakedness ? Heaven forbid!

It's almost impossible to believe that any kinsman of that Admirable Oichton of the turf, Sir George Clifford, Bart., had been engaged in leaving the matutinal milk on the doorstep of the humble citizen, but William H. Clifford, of Hobart, who succeeds to the title of Lord Clifford of Chudleigh, is the man. The new ninth baron came to New Zealand when he was a boy of 20, and he's 58 now. After kicking about the country as a farm hand and so forth he went to Tasmania 2nd bought a

milk round. The only difference between him and the average milkman was that he was civil, punctual, gave full measure, and didn't water it, so that he would be well hated in the trade. The person who was to become a baron hawked books, and was an agent for photo enlargements, then turned his hand to carpentering. The Hon. William tried unsuccessfully to get into the Tasmanian Parliament, but he was so honest there wasn't a ghost of a show. Lord Clifford, who since his exaltation to the peerage has been beset with democrats longing to kiss his coronet, has his swag rolled, and is due in Ugbrooke Park next month, and at 15, Upper Grosvenor Street, London, about the same time, and at Court House, Oannington, Somerset, as soon as he likes. He does not intend to take the milk "dandy" to any of his residences.

People of Auckland, the city in which Police Sub-Inspector Broberg of Dunedin was born, will deeply regret to know he has been in trouble. The police lately received an intimation that investigation would result in the necessity of proceeding against this officer, and he ultimately appeared. A breathless public, gazing wild-eyed at a man who has "lumbered" hundreds of the public,

were relieved to know that he had merely allowed his chimney to catck fire. He pleaded guilty, with extenuating circumstances 1 , and 3aid he thoroughly deserved to be fined ss. "Bro." was for a lustrum chief detective at Wellington, and while in that job led a party into the bush and personally cjaptwred Ellis, the murderer of Collinson, at Te Awaite. Mr Broberg is a large gentleman of Saxon complexion, but without any known Bohemian tendencies, and his collection of burglars' implements and other lethal odds and ends is extensive. Having proved him to be an excellent detective for many years, the talented Justice Department promoted him to a uniform job. We don't want detectives in New Zealand. Nobody ever makes £10 notes, or murders men and women without paying the penalty, so the, very best * thing to do is to train detectives and make policemen of them.

® © ® A large number of good young men have, since the war, developed a curatical disposition. On the other hand, many young men -whose esteemed pas insisted on them taking to this harmless business have laid aside the "choker" and assumed the lethal weapons of the soldier. There is a noble band of parsons who have butted into the battlefield "choker" and all, and "Tommy" and his colonial cousin have immense time for the padre who, without any chance of hitting back, does his job where the metal flies. A spectacled English curate named Edward Noel Mellish is an inspiration to curates who don't know what would happen to the afternoon tea if they went to war. For three days running, Padre Mellish went backwards and forwards under hellish fire between the British trenches, and trenches captured from the Germans in Flanders. He carried, long distances, one dozen men, every one. of whose lives he saved. Three other men were killed in his arms! He tended under fire many others, but he actually brought in twelve. If ever a V.C. was earned, it was the one pinned to the jacket of Padre E. N. Mellish by the King. And a chap like that has got to get back under some little roof and wrangle about theology.

'Ted" Armit, a new Zealand pressman, is qualifying as an officer at Duntroon College, N.S.W. Mr Armit was a plodding, conscientious newspaper person, who pushed a pen successively for the Wellington "Post," Wellington "Times," and Sydney "Daily Telegraph," and it is here remarked, "en passant," as Mr Glover would say, that the conscientious reporter is the hardest worked of all God's creatures. Anyway, after a little bout of 14 hour days, Ted was once found over his writing pad in a state of nervous collapse. At the Officers' Training School at Duntroon there are at. present 300 officers training to hunt Huns, and about 12 New Zealand cadets. Mr Armit belongs to the Wellington family which has sold tobacco in a dignified manner for a large number of years.

Mr C. W. Adams, who is the parent of Arthur H. Adams, the poet, is a terror for facts. He wrote to the "Dominion" last week asking for the exact words alleged to have been used by Bismarck when appealed to to have pity on the starving women and children of Paris. Mr Adams wished also to know whether he spoke in English, French or German. What Bismarck said, apparently, was that Paris could seeth in its own milk. Mr Adams' suggestion is that this historic evidence of a brutal soul should be printed and reprinted periodically in every newspaper in New Zealand, so that the soft-hearted amongst us will hot cherish any maudlin sentiment towards the Huns. Mr Adams, who was a surveyor in a high Government post before he retired, has had such a distinguished busy life himself, and has so many brilliant sons, that his suggestions are worth listening to. But any suggestion is worth listening to which will make us hiate the Germans —and keep on hating them.

Lord Liverpool, who is a soldier, is very much unlike several eminent soldiers in Wellington. At a soldier's club opening in that city he declared that he had always been brought up to steer clear of politicians, and he hoped that the soldiers he was talking to would do likewise. The Governor didn't mention, by the. way, that there were plenty of soldiers* in New Zealand who are politicians, and who do exactly as they are told by politicians. He said, however, that while he was having a shot at the politicians he felt like a parson preaching to his congregation—they couldn't answer back. The soldiers laughed. Anybody who can steer clear of politicians in NeAV Zealand is a wonder and frequently an honest man. © ® ©

Major J. E. Barton, the nice young man who acted as general staff officer for Colonels J. E. Hume and G. W. S. Patterson, has been appointed acting instructor of infantry in Expeditionary Force Camps, and is about to leave us. He is of the heroic type favoured by Sir Rider Haggard—tall, well-pro-portioned, fair complexioncd, and good looking. Major Barton is impressive in khaki, but the effect then created is not a circumstance to the glorious figure he cuts in the undress blue uniform—not the undress blue of the all-the-year-round bather at Cheltenham Beach these mornings— but that affected by the Officer Commanding the District and his staff when they attend "functions." Major Barton was first heard of at Hamilton. He was one of four New Zealand officers sent to England in 1908 for a course of training. Since his return to the Dominion he has been employed on staff duty, and, from the outbreak of war, has been "eating his heart out" because he could not get permission to join the Expeditionary Force. The recently announced transfer may be a step

in that direction. In any case, those who know of his interest in his duties and general efficiency will endorse the hope that he may attain his heart's desire, and eventually return safely to the Dominion after a period of honourable service. . «flt » *

The Auckland Grammar School Old Boys' Association held a reunion on Saturday evening, but it was not a very "wet" affair, lemonade and coffee being the strongest of the lubricants provided. The function was, however, of quite a jolly nature, and the speeches were in some instances witty, a circumstance which shows that, after all, it is possible for some men to say clever things without being full of "ink." Speeches were given by a number of old boys, some of them hoary, others famous, and among the speakers were Mr J. H. Gunson (Mayor of Auckland), Mr H. D. Heather (chairman of the Auckland Harbour Board), and Bob Gwynne (editor of the Hamilton "buster"). Bob never could keep himself serious for long, an.d on Saturday evening he kept wandering in an interesting way from his subject, and, but for the poverty of his vocabulary, would have made the speech of the evening.' Those who know Bob best will hardly believe that he could not find, words to suit any occasion, but there, you are. It may have been over-indulgence in a seldom used beverage, but the fact remains that on each occasion, just as Bob was working up to the climax, the right word was not. on call. Of course, the headmaster, Mr J. W. Tibbs—dear old Tibby one irreverent speaker called him—was present, and he made a charming speech, in which he urged that future gatherings should be held at the new school. Jimmy Drummond, old boy and master, made a witty speech. The musical and elocutionary items were really good.

Wailicathens will be glad to observe by examination of a picture drawn "in the trenches of France, and published on this page, that Sergeant Harry Meyers, of the Tunnellers, is still a popular character. Sergeant Meyers, at the time of the drawing, was about to depart from the trenches to England on short furlough, and apparently almost the complete sergeant's mess did the best it could to see that nothing was left undone—even his puttees. It will be further observed that, as the soldiers come from the prohibition town of Waihi, they are regaling themselves in water, and that the liquid Sergeant Pape is about to pour over the steel helmet ot Sergeant Meyer is lemonade. ® © ®

Kaiser Wilhehn, so the cables say, is at present engaged in harvesting, for physical exercise. The illustrious Hun "spends whole afternoons" in the fields, minus his uniform, and is getting a "healthy tan" on his murderous face. What particular branch of harvesting the Royal assassinator is up to is not shown. He possesses only one sound arm, so that to spear 'a forkful of hay with a single arm and throw it on the top of the load would be. as great a feat as talcing Pozieres with a shanghai. Perhaps Wilhelm is put on to drag a havrake or turn the handle of the winnower. The most probable thing, however, is that some lusty twoarmed farm labourer, with a murderous resemblance, to the Kaiser is personating the superior ruffian, and thus earning an Iron Cross. It is sincerely hoped the Kaiser won t tall off the hay waggon, or get run oyer by a dray, or fall into the threshingmachine,' or get kicked by a plough horse. We can't spare, him, for the little cottage at St. Helena lacks a tenant.

Major Sweetzer, who is the right hand' man of Lieutenant-Colonel C. R. Macdonald, led the Sixteenths on their march last Sunday. Colonel Macdonald has always done this previously, but he was on the sick list at the time, and was not able to do it. The New Zealand reinforcements are fortunate in having two such officers as infantry instructors. Not only is Colonel Macdonald most thorough in his work, but he wins the respect, of all ranks by his straightness and painstaking care to see 3 that every officer and man has a-fair chance. Major Sweetzer is an able lieutenant to his chief.

Ben Fuller, who is going to be a soldier, is getting a hearty send-off from newspaperdom, and Melbourne "Punch" reviews the beginnings of Fuller ism. "The Fuller family provides one of the romances of the show business in the Southern Hemisphere ; in fact, one of the notable successes of the world. The firm of John Fuller and Sons, of which Ben J. Fuller is the mainspring, owns and controls a chain of theatres and picture shows bigger in aggregate importance than that which is directed by any other single head south of the Equator. You find the Fuller influence paramount in New Zealand ; it spreads its wings over successful vaudeville in all the Australian capitals. If you go to the far north, in the vast tropical province of Queensland, Fuller is a dominant name in theatrical matters. Messrs Birch and Carroll- are setting out to be. the show kings of Queensland, and where vaudeville is wanted Fuller is the feeder. The huge firm is practically the creation of old. John Fuller and his: son Ben; but from time to time, a whole family of Fullers has been linked together in the show business. As far back as 1884 a complete Fuller entertainment was being operated in London a minstrel troupe, of which Ben Fuller still proudly preserves the programme:—End Man, Ben Fuller; interlocutor, Walter Fuller; dance specialist, Johnny Fuller; violinist, Lydia Fuller; soubrette, Hetty Fuller. They were, so to speak, a family of juvenile prodigies, all hard at work along with their father, John Fuller, famous in the music halls in his chv. © © ©

An old Australian writes :—The news of the death of the late Mr R. B. Pell, sportsman and gentleman, will be received: with regret by the many friends of the deceased and his relatives. One was always sure of being on a trier at least when backing his horses. Your reference to the mining incident, however, was news to me., although anyone not knowing the deceased's honest and upright character might infer that the sentence "It was. not all fair sailing" referred to that transaction, which, as a matter of fact, was perfectly legitimate, and was an extremely ingenuous method of disposing of rivalry. Under the circumstances and in fairness to the deceased's memory and to his relatives, I would be pleased if you would give this publicity.