PARS ABOUT PEOPLE

Observer, Volume XLI, Issue 13, 27 November 1920, Page 10

PARS ABOUT PEOPLE

QIR TAM MACKENZIE struck a new note at a civic reception given to him. Said we had sent away too much money to foreign funds. Incidentally, he said that we had sent more money to Belgium than the necessity demanded, and that we ought not to send money to "the •starving children of Central Europe" while there were hungry children in London. Sir Thomas Mackenzie is very British. He said that Germany had tried to reduce us and our children to slavery, and we ought not to fill German mouths, while British mouths were empty. It takes some courage to say that sort of thing while sentiment is slopping around. Reminds one rather of Dickon's picture of the good people who got up a fund for sending flannel waistcoats and pocket handkerchiefs to the heathens. The older Mr. Tveller, if you remember, remarked he wouldn't give, flannel "veskits" to people as didn't know the use o| ; 'eni,. but he'd come down pretty 'andsome tfor strait veskits for some people at 'ome. Sg> £&> ® • Heaven bless Magistrate Poynton, who is much more picturesque as a magistrate than as a Public Trustee —'cos you can see him at work. Mr. Poynton was a West Coast bush boy who planned to leave the tall timber and make niche for himself in the Temple of Fame, so he swatted hard—and that's probably why he knew all about ancient Babylon, and how the Babylonian beaks had milk adulterators drowned in the creek from whence they got the water, and under-weight bread bakers burnt in their own ovens. * - * A fine of £10 is hardly so severe, but it's something. One doesn't have to go to Babylon for excellent laws. In mediaeval England (when a fat pig cost fourpence), the underweight loafmonger was dragged at the cart's tail and whipped by the common hangman; the adulterator was pilloried and pelted, and his business confiscated. A man who murders babies in New Zealand is fined. His forefathers who stole sheep were hanged, and the whole nation was in league against the commercial robber. It had a grave ready dug for him. We license 'em by inflicting small fines nowadays. A magistrate can't whip a thief who sell's uuder-weight bread and diluted milk. He can only whip boys.

Drifted back to Wellington, and the largest wooden building in the world "Bob" Witheford, of the Treasury. Mr. Witheford was sent to Auckland to open a local branch, and laid the foundations to simplify Treasury business in this territory. "Bob.""who is the son of Mr. J. H. Witheford, ex-M.P., soldiered hard during the Great War, as he did in the South African. He was, while in Africa, given a commission in an Imperial Regiment, but resigned it ns a too expensive luxury. "Bob, during his stay in Auckland has addicted himself to dinghies, and has inflicted holocausts on the scnapper population. Even promotion leaves a regretful feeling that the yellow-tail will remain undisturbed, and the occasional shark will get away. Quite a celebrity will take "Bob's" Auckland stool —no less a personage than Colonel Joe Roche (isn't he D.S.O. ?), who pease-sold-iered for so many years, and then threw himself successfully at the Hxin. Joe is a favourite, quietgoing sort of chap, who does any job without clamour.

Inspector Cruiekshank, of Greymouth, is retiring from the Police Department at the end of this year. He joined the police force as a trooper on the Otago goldfields in 1878, and was stationed successively at Dunedin, Lower Hutt, Wellington, Dannevirke, and Napier. He arrived in Napier with the rank of sergeant, but in 1911 was promoted to sub-inspector. Subsequently he was stationed at Dunedin, Timaru, and Auckland, and in 1915 he was appointed inspector-in-ehnrge of the West Coast police district. Inspector Cruickshauk, who was greatly esteemed during his term of office in Napier, has to his credit such difficult pieces of police work as the apprehension of Boshcr, the Petone murderer, whom he brought to book single-haiided. He intends visiting relatives'and friends in Scotland early next year.

Whether this nice little man, the Prince of Wales, knows that he is to marry Lady Rachael Cavendish is not clear, but society scribes certainly suggest that Rachael is to be our future Queen. The Cavendishes have an unusual pride, declaring that none of them are "clover," but .only "honest, upright, patriotic, and healthy. Lady Rachael Cavendish is declared to be a replica, of her famous foremother, the Duchess of Devonshire, whose worldfamed picture (the lady with the hat) was stolen on two occasions. She is a large, strong, ruddy girl, who plays golf, swims, runs, dances, rides to hounds, and is generally athletic. When the Prince hears he lias got to marry her, he should feel that his luck's in. Even snapshots in illustrated papers give the impression that the future Queen of England is a bonny lass.

Back again in Auckland from tnvercargill, Mr. David Smith, as chief clerk and receiver of revenue in the North Auckland district Lands and Mr. Smith will be remembered m the Defence Department at Auckland, serving for five years and doing notably good work. He remarks on the sterling quality of the Far South settlers, who have been remarkably prosperous, mainly, he conceives, because they stick to their own district and are people with high ideals of good service and honour. Invercargill is "full of retired farmers"—men who have earned their retirement by sheer hard work. During his eighteen months in Invercargill, Mr. Smith, who used to bo a footballer, took a literary interest in the great game, and his letters to the press had a stimulating effect on the pastime.' He plays the ancient game 6f bowls,

too, and was popular socially and officially. Indeed, officials find others seemed to combine to give him a pleasant send-off. Mr. T. Brook, the Commissioner of Crown Lands tit Invercargill, highly eulogised his services, and his fellowofficers made him a handsome presentation. He was feted, too, by representative business people, who also gave him a valuable present. <% <ss © That City Council bj'e-election to fill vacancies caused by the resignation of Messrs. Entrican and Davis, didn't set the Waitemata afire, and the voting shows that Aucklanders don't sit up o' nights praying for guidance and waiting for the morning to rush to the booth. how, an election is not a race meeting—there isn't a tote there. There was. nothing remarkable about the thing; btit it is clear on the figures

that opinion as to whether business and professional men, or "Labour" men, are the better City Fathers, is still debateable, for Mr. Phelan wasn't so very far behind the solicitor, Mr. J. F. .W. Dickson, and Mr. Dickson not a great way behind the engineer, Mr. Allum, and Mr. Allum not so very inferior to Mr. Hutchinson, the provision merchant. * * » What matters apparently is. that the new City Councillors are "men of affairs." Mr. Hutchinson is, of course, a highly successful man— plenty of "pep" about him, and was regarded as a real expert as a Major in the Army Service Corps, in which he served both in Egypt and France. It was he who was very emphatic, too (having been a good soldier and a good Briton (we hate the American title "Britisher") on the cheek of German merchants, trying to get their feet into New Zealand trade, and should be thanked for his stalwart Imperialism. Mr. Al.lum is a bright up-to-date and expert business man, with an affection for and knowledge of hydroelectricity—the coming power for all New Zealand industries. He's got the gift of enthusiasm. Both new Councillors will give good value to the city- @> © tig> Chryssie Lee. a little Taradale girl, is believed by Taradalians to have a literary career in front of her. It. is worth mentioning that Chryssie has stent her output to America, and that any reputation she may have established is based on this, 'in effect, the literary struggler has her own chance (and Buckley's) of any recognition whatever in New Zealand, where the only marvels that ever get into print are the speeches of those cosmic wonders, the politicians. • • • The literary struggler recognised in America has the effrontery to receive payment for her (or his) work, and this being received, the ardent searchers for talent in New Zealand cheerfully "clip" the work of its home-born and print it (without price). A Christchurch Christmas paper, for instance, printed 25 columns'of most excellent stories (all New Zealand). Its total payment was to the person who had won the first prize—£2 2,5. It merely remains to ask why Chryssie (should she unload her literary parcel in New Zealand), doesn't become a domestic servant and make money? &® ' ® Wonder what sort of a chap Sir Edward Chaytor is, and whether he really believes the Highland Regiments should get rid of their kilts, the Lifeguards their knee-boots, the Household Footguards their "grouping" of buttons the Welsh Fusiliers their "flash," the Glosters their "back numbers," the 11th Hussars their cherry pants. the 17th Lancers their white fronts —and all that? The Imperial Army gambles on the maintenance of historic dress and the G.O.C. New Zealand (who is not run by politicians, no!) might have it whispered to him.

All this apropos of an astounding Offence Department order that New Zealand Cadet Corps jettison their distinctive hat puggarees. It's wrong. Ted, old man, or whatever sanctified clerk is doin' it. The boys will be allowed to put up their small school badge, but must wear a universal green puggaree —the puggaree made famous by the N.Z.M.R. Brigade in Palestine. The green puggaree is as honourable a badge as horse-soldiers have ever worn. It will be more famous in 2020 than in 1920, when the size of the Palestine stunt is understood. But New Zealand senior cadets are infantry cadets—never had a dash thing to do with M.R., are not M.R., never were in Palestine—and are proud of the distinctive puggarees they wear. Why butt in, Edward? If you're going to rob the boys of their puggarees go and tear the whiskers off the Sikhs or the chessboard pants off the Scots Guards, or the Glengarry cap off Tommy. Have a heart.

The Presbyterian Assembly put up a hope the other day that Mr. J. G. W. Aitken would be restored to health—and everybody who knows him hopes so, too. He's an oldfashioned Scot, who has. lived in Wellington nearly all his business life, and the finest thing about him is that he's honest. It is even no derogation to his qualities that he is an M.L.C He was Mayor of Wellington when it emerged from horsetrams to citydom, and he picked the first hole in'the new tramway track. He is a bachelor and a staunch prohibitionist—whereby a true incident. He joined a firm which, among other things, dealt in intoxicants, but owing to Mr. Aitken's predilections the "Waiverau" was cut out. He does good by stealth, and blushes to find it fame. There are hundreds of poor people in Wellington who bless the name of Aitken, for without ostentation he has been doing quiet acts of charity for very many years.

The numerous friends of "Albert Edward" will rejoice to hear that the veteran ex-M.P. (he's well over 70). is sparking like a two-year-old. Mr. Glover, who held Central in the hollow of his hand for so many years, relieved from the mountainous task, has rejuvenated remarkably. He is frequently seen as Chairman of the Devonport Ferry Business Men's Symposium. These Symposia are usually held in the morning, and the fate of Europe is decided in less than twenty-five minutes by selected gentlemen, who are ardent readers of. the papers — and who believe them. Many a man has been ' 'hanged" by a suburban symposium, and it is therefore highly necessary that a chairman of more than ordinary acumen should preside. It was recently decided by the Peregrine Branch of the Society for the Salvation of the World that Bolshevism and Sinn Fennism should be spoken to in a loud voice. Mr Glover was absent from this decisive conference.

There died lately Mr. Alexander W. Hogg, ex-M.P. for Wairarapa, a rugged Scot with a good sound heart, and industrious beyond price. Mr. Hogg, who was no relative of "Bob" Hogg, the tender-hearted Socialist, poet, find journalist, was a Glasweigan addicted to printer's ink. He left Glasgow to pick up gold in the streets of Australia, but picked up type instead, and became successively, editor in Dunedin, Timaru, Ashburton, and Masterton. He was' perhaps almost the best known man in the Wairarapa, if you except Sir Walter Buchanan, "the squire." lv Parliament he was fair and fearless spoke probably better than he wrote, and had a bold, determined way with him. Writer remembers him rather well as a member of the Wellington Charitable Aid Board. Hp swung a ready and expert blade for the sick and suffering, and with

his fellow members, the late Davie" Robertson (ironmaster) and the Rev. Mr. Evans (ho was \Velsh, look you, and came out to die as a young man, and lived strong, and hearty for forty years. He could smell a fraud at a mile, and a genuine case at two. The late Mr. Hogg was for a few months in the Ward Cabinet, and was an inside critic of its administration. But he was honest, sincere, as well as indefatigable. Rest his ashes!

"Sydney Carton" writes: I sincerely hope the Rev. Mr. Dawson, aided, abetted, backed up, stimulated, enhanced, helped, fortified, and inspired by Mr. Lsitt, will be able to wrench Mr. J. Barleycorn from his proud position, and produce prohibition in Pig Island. lam inspired in my campaign against the cursed liquor by indicative figures, statistics, reports, and other useful black marks on white paper. I know the jio-license districts hate the thought, sight, taste, feel, touch, and smell of the serpent, because Mr. Malcolm Fraser tells me in his careful compilation that only 276,290 gallons of beer and merely 17,316 gallons of "hard stuff" were sent into the NoLioense areas in a year.

Mr. Isitt and Mr. Daweon will bear me out when I tearfully say that this is "declared" liquor, and that the few thousand gallons which get through without being declared are a mere toothful. You see, the moral effect of my immense labours, united with the tremendous vivacity of my confreres, is effecting a moral regeneration must rejuvenate the territory and make it blossom like the rose. Mr. Dawson and I will, of course, lose our billets —but we shall join Leonard in Parliament when the last million gallens of Scotch are thrown iirto the sea.

Very striking is the late Sir David Hutchins , comparison of what has actually happened in New Zealand with what would have happened if France had inherited our kauri forests. "If," he says, "a pioneer Englishman had disoovei-ed valuable coal-mines and opened them up; if an unskilled race had come afterwards and burnt the coal-mines, making clumsy attempts at working them, the feelings of the Englishman would match the sentiments I have heard expressed by-French foresters regarding the destruction of the kauri forests!" And, as he pointed out, "this much is certain; the loss of the coalfields would have been a one-crop loss; the loss of the kauri forests is a, perpetual-crop loss." If the French had inherited thfc kauri 'forests they would by now, he declared, have been in possession of national kauri forests easily able to meet the interest on any possible war debt.

Mr. James Clarke, Mayor of New Plymouth, was killed in the aeroplane disaster which also killed the pilot, Capt. Russell, and another passenger, Miss "Warnock. " Jim " Clarke was an athletic citizen who was remarkably blessed with the affection of people of diverse temperament—for New Plymouth is a little dorp where angry .sectarianism is rife, but where, moreover, there is a rare element of sportsmanship. It has, too, the distinction of having possessed a German Mayor (Tisch), who, however, lived (and died) before the War. People in New Plymouth were not only shocked, but genuinely sorry, at the death of Jim Clarke, and his mate,, Jim McLeod (he of Rugby Union fame), wrote his heart into an appreciation of his pal's character. One supposes that Jim's careful estimate of Jim Clarke's character has nothing better in it (adjectives and superlatives

notwithstanding), than that the Mayor who died was "without guile." The late Mr. Clarke was a landagent. He had been a notable adherent of sport, but what was quite the most notable feature of his excellent character was that he was, apart from his. daily avocation, a tireless worker in the interest of the people he served. Q> ® © Mrs. Margot Asquith, in her quite wonderful autobiography (which is the book of the year), mentions that she is modest. Here is a sample of her modesty:—"Physically I have done pretty well for myself. I ride better than most people and have spent or wasted more time on it than any woman of intellect ought to. I have broken both collarbones, all my ribs and my knee-cap; dislocated my jaw, fractured my skull, gashed my nose and -had five concussions of the brain ;bnt —though my horses are to be sold next week —I have not lost my nerve. I dance, drive, and skate well. I don't skate very well, but I dance really well. I have a talent for drawing, and am intensely musical, playing the piano with a touch of the real thing, but have neglected both these accomplishments. I may say here in selfdefence that marriage and five babies, five step-children, and a husband in high politics, have all contributed to this neglect, but the root of the matter lies deeper: I am restless." * ® <& Dr. John Elder, the newly-ap-pointed Professor of History at Otago University, is the author of a volume just published on "Spanish Influence on Scottish History," which is attracting a good deal of attention in the Homeland. The book, which is marked by keen scholarship and enthusiastic research, deals with that most momentous period of Scottish history from 1488 to 1603. During those years Scotland first attained a measure of national unity; the Church of Rome was abandoned by her for the Protestant Presbytery and Kirk, and, as a natural corollary, the ancient alliance with France gave place to friendship with England. Fortunately Dr. Elder received news of his New Zealand appointment in time to have inscribed on the title page of the book the fact that the author is "Professor of History in the University of Otago."

The display of Motor-cars at the Melbourne Cup Meeting was a sight in itself; the exact number of automobiles driven to Flemington is not stated, but it ran well into four figures. There was another striking fact. According to the census taken by a large staff of checkers of all cars parked at Flemington on Cup Day, it was revealed that nine makes of. tyres were represented on the vehicles, and that one make—the Duiiilop—outnumbered the combined total of the eight other makes of tyres. What more need be said?