PARS ABOUT PEOPLE

Observer, Volume XXXIX, Issue 43, 28 June 1919, Page 4

PARS ABOUT PEOPLE

THE " Hon. Charles H. Poole, of the Chatauqua Circuit, and a Member of the Government of New Zealand," being interviewed, had a few modest remarks to make. "I sure allowed the Niagara to bring me to New Zealand. During the hull time the Niagara was bringing me to New Zealand I allowed the officers and crew, including the medical guys, to blame well do as they durn chose. Not once did I alter a prescription. I discovered that the sickness aboard was an insidious disease, and you can take it from me it was insidious right enough. The captain wouldn't have known there were two passenger quacks aboard if I hadn't told him. He's sure learning to spell right now, so's he can read the passenger lists—yes, sir. I made him shake hands with them and said, 'Know each other—that's what you've got to do—jest know one another.' Nobody gave me a purse of sovereigns for giving the skipper a knock down to the quacks. I sent a stoo'ard for the captain and told him not to slip his leash till I'd interviewed him.

"Said I to him, "See here, skipper, you're only a skipper and I'm the M-P. from 'Emptyville. You do what me and the Admiralty tell you and don't you be skeered —I'll see you through. I cleared the Pacific Coast of influenza before I left, jumped aboard the Niagara packet, and steered her home to Noo Zealand—yes, sirree! I'm sure an old salt and an old pepper and vinegar, too. Although I was steering her I brought no pressure on anybody to bring her alongside the wharf. If the skipper had dared to bring pressure I'd have sure had him chained down in the booby hatch—that's me. I sustained a dint in the intellect when I found that, despite my strict orders to the contrary, the packet was berthed —and I take no responsibility as steersman —not me.

"I sure knoo we'd be quarantined, and I told Joe Ward that if he was the guy to produce the fishing lines I'd teach him how w.e snared schnapper on the plains of Arizona. He just naterally opiniated; he wouldn't take command of the ship while I was there, and the hull darned matter was left to the experts to decide. An doan mind tellin' you ah'm the expert from Brainville. I was aboard the ship that carried the mail of the diseased fortieths —sure thing. I attended the sitting of the Epidemic Commission —en you caint deny it. I could have stopped the epidemic if I'd a ben called as a witness. Did they call me as a witness? No, SIR. My statement as a passenger and as an old pepper and salt was never asked for. You can do as you durn please—l'm through (slow music).

Mr. H. Lowe, the man with the rich black eyes, and formerly Mayor of Thames, had to undergo a presentation ordeal the other day. It appears that the borough employees like Mr Lowe, and gathered round him ready to put a silver cigar case in his hand the other day- The felicitous Mr Chapman, Town Clerk, did the presentation, and the valedictory record. Mr Lowe glowed with pride. During the Mayoral career of Mr Lowe the wages of the employees have been raised, so their hearts were in the presentation.

Senior-Sergeant "Jack" Cassells, who for some time has been* at Hamilton, takes his experience and his pea-rifle to Whangarei. For very many years "Jack" was in the criminal investigation branch, and-was regarded as a highly-skilled detective, with a peculiar and complete knowledge of "crooks." For many years he looked after Wellington crooks. With many other detectives of the New Zealand police, he has been a good friend to the man who wants to go straight after a life of crime, and it is not unknown for the "D's" to put up a subscription to give a man a new clean start. Although it is rare for a criminal to be able to "keep his hands from picking and stealing," "the traps" have often tried personal and cash kindness.

There was a time when Jack Cassells appeared resplendent in a frock coat and silk hat- Sir Joseph Ward was in London where, it was said, a criminal madman had marked him down for prey. John was sent to "shadow" Sir Joseph, and to have his ready automatic handy in case the maniac got to work. Senior-Ser-geant Cassells, having been trained to be a detective for many years, was promoted to the uniform branch, a funny way they have in the Justice Department. As has before been remarked, it is like apprenticing a boy to the carpentering business and then getting him a job as a stonemason.

Representatives of publifc bodies had a bad run at Ernie Davis' farewell party in the Chamber of Commerce. The unexpected turn in the stair caused unexpected falls, and consequently the unexpected absence of Johnny Rowe and others from their city haunts next day.

A brilliant colonial Irishman passed away recently in the person of Michael Donnelly, journalist, orator and lawyer. The late Mr Donnelly was a Tasmanian, and went to Dunedin as a youth, joining the Otago "Daily Times," of which he became chief reporter. He was, besides being an accurate recorder, an incisive and illuminating writer, showing this subsequently when he, with others, founded the Dunedin "Herald." He later essayed to get into Parliament, but was defeated in Dunedin by Mr W. J. Larnack, although during his campaign he showed gifts of oratory greatly superior to his contemporaries and a more intimate knowledge of men and things than most. He had, indeed, the true Irish gift of speech —fluent, cultured, and critical, and

these gifts were afterwards enhanced when he gave up journalism for law, and became one of the ornaments of the Christchurch bar. He was 67 years of age at the time of his lamented decease.

Dick Harris, journalist, and for three years of the N.Z.E.F., has returned with a changed mind, a corporal's stripes, a wound stripe, and three "blues." Dick has been wounded, blown up, buried, and gassed, and these are the reasons for the changed mind. Asked why it is that a soldier may live among rotting death, may see human beings violently torn to fragments, may shoot a fellow-man with the same instinct of exultation as if he were shooting a rabbit, and yet will return to civilisation to be profoundly moved by a death in the street, he replied that Nature prescribes total detachment and impersonality to the man who becomes a soldier-

The psychology of soldiering is found in the fact that one soldier is a cog in a great system, and that the ordinary standards of civilian life do not apply. The new system of impersonality begins oh the day the soldier is enlisted, and becomes a file in the stupendous organisation. He declares, as thousands of other soldiers have declared in thousands- of other wars, that the soldier has no animosity against the man he is bound to kill if he is able, and that soldiers opposed are only doing their job. He says, too, as all other soldiers admit, that all soldiers are frightened, but that at oertain times fear quite leaves all soldiers, and that the events of their career are as orderly and unemotional as the events of ordinary "piping times of peace." Illustrating impersonality and human instinct, he tells the story of a German under officer > stricken with temporary panic, wishing to fly to his own lines.

An officer drew his -revolver and fired six shots at the fleeing man, missing him each time. A corporal took a spanshot at the German and killed him. The officer,, a perfectly normal decent citizen fn civilian life, exclaimed, "Good heavens, corporal, I must be a rotten shot." It was, in fact, more rabbit shooting until the officer and others saw the dead German, when the feeling was one of sorrow for the dead. Dick speaks also of the new fellowship created by a common cause, saying that a "digger's" hat was a certificate of friends-hip wherever it was seen, in France or elsewhere. Men who have pigged it together in the shadow of death can never pass an old pal by, and the best help New Zealand soldiers will ever get is the help New Zealand soldiers give them.

Mr Albert Goldie, down here from little old Los Angeles with an eye to trade and that sort of thing, is telling people of the differences in the life of the great American people and ourselves. Says, for instance, that the house-father and house-mo-ther have a better and cheaper time there, but that the person doomed to live in hotels is seen coming he is looked upon as a dollar mill. In Los Angeles the citizen who is brought face to face with a beeksteak has to pay a dollar for it, and with the usual trimmings he is lucky to get past the last waiter and escape to the sidewalk for a couple of dollars. He is enthusiastic at the gorgeous feed one may wrest from a New Zealand hotel-keeper for eighteenpence and two shillings, and is writing home to tell the Los Angelics to swarm right down here and have a two-shilling binder. He opines that when they hear about the cheapness and goodness of New Zealand tables no one will believe him.

Colonel H. R. Ryder, K.O-, Yorkshire Light Infantry, and one of the longest service soldiers in New Zealand, is at present staying at Devonport. The Colonel was in command of Tauherenikau Military Camp for some time, and was on the staff as a major. His military knowledge was made good use of in Featherston, where he was usually O.C. of Boards of Enquiry and Courts-martial. The Colonel now lives at Taumarunui, where he is District J.P. and several other important officials rolled into one.

"Moko" sets "Bugler" right, and "Bugler" is obliged: Your correspondent "Bugler" in last week's edition makes a "dud" call re precedence and rank given by daily papers in the lists of returning officers. Lieut.-Col. Turnbull is the O.C. troops, and, of course, as senior combatant officer doing duty, his name comes first. General Stewart is only a passenger, having no command, although he could have had it if he wished. He is the wellknown Rifle Brigade Brigadier. Col. Murray is principal medical officer, and is in medical charge of troops. Col. Parkes, who was struck off the active list of the N-Z.E.F. when the

late Col. Begg supplanted him, is also a passenger, and his name rightly comes after that of Col. Murray. As the list published was evidently a copy of the official nominal roll, you can rest assured that it is properly compiled.

Colonel Bill Hazard, an enthusiastic sport, got time off, and with his friends, Jack Ryan and Jockey Hewitt, planned a great duck-shooting expedition up the Waikato. Place, time, and arrangements were madeJack Gillett, of motor fame, was called in to take part, but that astute gentleman sheered off, and laughed to scorn the "duck spot."

The enthusiasts entered on the expedition, and chartered a boat. She lay alongside the wharf at Mercer. Farewells and more farewells were made, but the chug-chug wouldn't chug. For three solid days each member of the party took turns in coaxing the stubborn engine. Then in disgust Jack Ryan angrily struck the computator with his thumb, and away the little boat started, to the delight and relief of the whole party and the disappointment of the much-interested wharf rats.

The moter boat had not proceeded many hundred yards from the wharf. The guns being overhauled, when an excited shout came from the wharf, a paper being frantically waved. This was at first taken as a hoax, and then a cautious return was made. A telegram stated that the Hazard's shooting gallery was destroyed by fire. The Colonel beat for home double quick. The rest of the party proceeded on a birdless hunt-

"J" writes in Melbourne "Punch" —A recent par. about the only two Fijians in the fighting line contained a couple of slips- The younger brother, Ratu Tiale Finysawa, was educated at Wesley College, not Scotch, and, although of exceptionally fine physique,;, he was rejected by the military. Authorities here ea aeeawt

of his colour. He was accepted in New Zealand, where a man's colour is no bar to his fighting for his country, and was later wounded while fighting with the New Zealand forces. Geoffrey Wall, the talented young soldier poet, met Finysawa at Salisbury, while he was strolling with three English officers. Being old school fellows, they naturally "fore-gathered," as Wall put it, and later on the fellow officers remonstrated with him for mixing with a nigger. Young Wall told them that the nigger was a prince in his own land, and left them with the remark, "May God have mercy on this great and idiotic nation."

Besides these dark Fijians the island sent about 18 white soldiers— all the available men of military age. They had a curious experience, for they reached England without training, and were in the fighting line within 14 days of their arrival, being enlisted into an English regiment. A Fijian white soldier told present writer no soldiers in the Empire were treated so liberal!v as themselves when they returned' to Fiji.

Many will be interested in the marriage of Maeterlinck, the Belgian author, which took place just before the last mail left England. The cable man was too interested in rumours about the Prince of Wales and other celebrities to notice Maeterlinck, though he is probably the greatest European author living. At the age of 57 he marries a MdlleRenee Dahon, aged 24. Maeterlinck, in spite of his whitened hair, is imported robust and full of activity, and as fond of ever of his hobbyboxing.

Old Charlie Hill, of Wellington, but who began his business vareer in Auckland, lately celebrated his 87th birthday at Island Bay. He has been addicted to bowls for nary years, and is still the president of the Kai Iwi Club, and, in fact, keeps a private bowling green of his own. Old Charlie is a hatter, and always wears a silk belltopper. He has covered the heads of the most illustrious New Zealanders—governors, bishops, premiers, and others. He is, more-

Groan for the knaves— The knaves we knew of yore; Who never yet were "braves," But Hunnish to the core.

They would not face our guns— They shunned the battle's trial; But sought their navel end By Huaaisk methods vile.

over, the father of the musician, Alfred Hill, the only remarkable man of the class New Zealand has produced. His "Poi Song" is already a world classic, and his operatic stuff is still trilled around the world with enjoyment. Charles is, likewise, the father of Ted, who sings, and who a few short years ago lifted up his tuneful voice wherever it was wanted. Old Charles has always been a brisk conversationalist, and is a mine of information about music and the arts, generally. An admirer predicts that as he is fit and well he will be rolling with a good bias on his hundredth birthday.

"You English swinef We've got you now, and your bones will rot in the Fatherland!" That was the cordial and invariable welcome given to New Zealand captives in Germany when Fritz believed he was top dog. Sergeant W. J. Byrne, of the Fifteenth North Auckland Infantry Regiment, lately returned to this country. He was a prisoner of war in Germany for twenty-two months, and has observed a disposition among New Zealanders to "let bygones be bygones." BrigadierGeneral Richardson lately remarked that German treatment of British soldiers (including New Zealanders) in prison camps was not as bad as is supposed. The testimony, therefore, of a soldier who had long experience of Dulmen prison camp, as well as Sennelnger and Stanmuhle, is worth while.

He and all others in these camps were abominably treated, and in three months he lost four stone in weight. The invariable diet was swede or other turnip soup, with one slice of Gorman bread made of rye, potatoes, and sawdust, per day. Seventeen hundred prisoners were confined in a lager measuring 220 by 150 feet, and there were one hundred men to each small hut. The camps were indescribably filthy. The Germans took no trouble about the men who died of starvation, and on one occasion twenty-seven bodies were thrown in a heap in the camp to rot while waiting for interment. Heavy punishment was meted out for the most trifling offence—blows, solitary confinement, and reduction of the already inadequate rations.

Don't weigh the vessels up Once handled by our foes— The Hunnish taint they bear Would shock our Jack' Tar's nose

Their "Day" is o'er and done— A most unworthy close; Their naval name is "mud," In mill their ships repose. —"CAS."

Sergeant Byrne declares that the German excuse that they fed the prisoners badly because they were themselves just as badly ted, is a lie. At the armistice one camp had four hundred thousand undelivered prisoners' parcels. In the camp where the heap of twenty-seven starved men were, iv all five hundred died of starvation- One New Zealand soldier who had been a blacksmith in civil life went into a German camp as a youth of twenty. He was beaten with a length of lead piping, kicked into a cellar, and otherwise brutally ill-treated.

At the age of twenty-two, this .New Zealander, once a strong, and healthy person, is a physical wreck. These German hogs incited prisoners to revolt for the mere pleasure of punishing them. Sergeant Byrne, who before he enlisted was a dairy company manager of Paeroa, is also a journalist and lecturer. He served with the Seventh N.Z.M.R. in South Africa, and was in the interesting affair at Bothasberg, where so many New Zealanders were killed. His horse having been shot, he was captured, but escaped shortly afterwards. Like many other men who know the Germans and their vile and unrepentant ways, he intends to keep on telling the truth about them, and hopes that when Mr. Massey declares he is going to keep out Germans for a hundred years he means it.