OH,DON'T YOU REMEMBER?

Star (Christchurch), Issue 7569, 29 November 1902, Page 4

OH, DON'T YOU REMEMBER?

♦ j CHRISTCHURCH IN THE OLDEN DAYS. A SCAMP'S RECOLLECTIONS. (By LEO S. FANNING.) " And memory sits, whole loinoly hours, And weaves her wreath of hope's fade d-flowers, And weeps o'er the chaplet, whan no> one is near, To gaze on "her grief, or to- chide !h<?ir ttrar." — T. K. H-EIRVEY. Oh, don't you remember, many, many yesterdays ago, how the town used to 100k — ■ this dear little city of Christchurch? Sahi ! What a, change a few years have made! Can we, the young onen and women of today, have really been the wild Arabs that used to terrorise the peace-loving people of the then old-fashioned town, away back in. the middle and late eighties? The thought of the alterations in scenes and styles makes us feel fearfully old ; we seem to have been living forever. Woe to the strange boy who ventured alone into our street in those days ! How we used to hunt him down — we were not cowards, but savages, with (been instincts for the chase — and corner him, and make him tell us his whole family history, prompting his memory, if necessary, wifrh^ a iew buffets against a fence! He could count himself lucky, after giving a true aud faithful account of himself and his antecedents, to escape with his clothes stuffed with grass, and a volley of blue metal to help him make up for lost time, consoling himself with the hoarse shriek: "Wait till we get you in our street !" It was Providential that paddocks and obscure by-ways connected road with road in those times ; otherwise a boy, sent away on -ami errand without a bodyguard, would never have accomplished his mission. Theso acts of barbarism often brought a dreadful retribution-. The victim of an " inquisition " would, perhaps, rally the legions of his street, and invade his persecutors' territory. Then a pitched battle of stone-slinging resulted, and woe to the weaker party. If the invadtTS triumphed, amyone of them thereafter could have the run of tho conquered district, without fear of molestation. But grown-ups were not free from persecution, merely because they were big. The boys delighted, not only in chasing, but also iv being chased — provided the prospect of capture was remote. Under cover of darkness, they would lie in wait for a citizen, and " chivvy " him about anything that came to mind. If he was a patient man', and took no notice of the epithets that were hurled after hisu, the boys' friend — the common stone — came to the rescue. A few well-aimed bits of road-metal generally made the citizen travel rapidly, one way or the other — usually in the direction of the scampering urchins, swearing the while what he would do if he caught them. They knew that without being told, and took all sorts of care to keep the '* if "an " if." After running their man to a stand-still, or losing him if he proved too fleet of foot, they would seek another victim. If none were at hand, they calmly proceeded to supply themselves with one, by hurling stones on to the. roof of a house. The poor old father of a family, perhaps peacefully smoking ab his fireside, would have to go forth into the night, and trot after the stormers of his hearth and home. Imagine that state of things nowadays ! what untold letteirs to the papers " Pro Bono Publico" and "Constant Subscriber" would write ! And yet the " stone chase " was a veiy common occurrence a dozen years ago. Ihe Chinaman was regarded as legitimate prey in every way. It was held 1 no sin to steal his radishes, turnips, peas and carrots, or to cast aspersions upon his Celestial loveliness. / " Monkey-ai-lo 1 Pigtail! Monkey!" was the chorus which greeted any and every Mongol at any time or place. If these titles failed to draw* him out, the good old stony method of persuasion was resorted to, generally with good effect. Your Chinaman, may put up with any amount of metaphorical mud-slinging, whioh may not even stain his character, but he does object to practical stonethrowing, which in-ay harm himself, his, cart or baskets. Hence, it was aa everyday sight to see a yellow man scouring pell-mell after a horde of boys, with his almond eyes blazing bloodshed and his tongue struggling with English swears mingled with his native curses. When at Son of the Sun was properly warmed up, he would stick doggedly to the runaways. Through private front gates and over back fences, huntedl and hunter would often rush, searing nigh to deatti any timid woman who happened to be in the yard hanging out the clothes. The juveniles** Teckoned that the Chinaman had another mission in life, apart from his existence on the earth for the express purpose of being baited, and tliat was to let off crackers and sundry other fireworks on such festive occasions as Christmas and New Year's Eves. At Cut Chung Hing's — in Madras Street — and Ah Sing's (or was it Too Sing's) — in Tuam Street, near the corner of High Street, where a fine pile of buildings has now replaced the demolished Chinese shop —crowds of boys would cluster round the Mongols' doors, enviously watching the Heavenly folk fearlessly hold blazing, spluttering packets of crackei'9 in their hands till almost the last 'had exploded. /"What waste!" thought the youngsters. "We couid scare a hundred men and horses with that many." Often some bold boy would dash a crackling bundle to the ground, and his mates would pounce on it, quench the burning fuses, and pocket the unexploded pieces for future use in more promising localities. There are many adults in Christchurch to-day — and, no doubt, in other centres — who owe their most vivid recollection of the '87 Jubilee to common Chinamen's crackers. A sigh for the "frog-pond paddocks"! Their place is now desolate from a boy's point of view, for new road's have been cut through them, and "modern villas" rear their walls on the home of the frog and the feeding-ground of the goldfinch. Eleven or twelve .years ago not a house stood on that stretch of fields running from the back of Lancaster Park, along Wilson's Road to Shakespeare Road, and bounded by the Gasworks Road. The great frogpond was on the south side of the railway line, just separated from a smaller one by a ridge of turf.*" Copious "Trespassers, etc." notice-boards failed to scare the younger generation from making this reeion their happy hunting-ground, both in and' after school hours. Poor frog?! How the boys "taught you to be frogs"! Youngsters of all a.ges were to be seen at all times trying to secure a few nimble "green 'un?." The anvitours tramped round the brink, vainly striving to surprise a squatting frog in the rear, but one after another th-e wily creatures would leap into the water. The more experience d frosrgermen went out into the deepest part, among tlio sedge, and dredged the rank growth. A "big whopper" often rewarded their efforts. The loss adventurous hunter? paddled in the warm shallow'? in pursuit of tadpoles and' Qinlf-grown frogs (blaoktailed and ugly-headed), for these were easy to capture. But frog-hunting had its se.-imy side. Tt was no pleasure — when ynu were right nut in the middle of the pond, groping eagerly , for a catch — to suddenly get your f nee splash- 1

ed with fetid water. You glance angrily towards the bank, and behold a mocking stranger in the act of hurling more missiles at you. You make a rush to get out after him, and the next instant you observe your boots and socks- travelling gracefully into the opposite end of the pond, while your enemy makes a Way through some difficult Scotch-thistley country. And, when you tell them at home that a naughty boy threw your footwear into the frog-pond, do they believe you? Extra, strap for a "lying excuse." (To be continued.)