Random Recollections of a Journalist.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 19108, 28 June 1930, Page 17 (Supplement)

Random Recollections of a Journalist.

Famous People And Varied Experiences.

A. B. LANE.)

(Written for the “ Star ” by .

"ITTHEN I was about the age ▼ T of fifteen, and the whole world was my oyster, I had the choice of two jobs—one in a woollen mill, and the other in a newspaper office. The latter appealed to me, and I accepted it. I went through the various stages of printer’s devil and apprentice compositor, and arrived in a few years at the giddy eminence of a cadet or very junior reporter. From that time journalism became my occupation. And I have always since had to do with the editorial or news side of various newspapers. It is an interesting occupation, with many compensations for conditions which are sometimes exacting. L. is my desire in this article to convey to my readers something of the more attractive side of newspaper journalism.

It is one of the privileges of journalists “on the road” to meet and talk with distinguished men and women who visit this country. Sometimes, though they are not aware of it, they are talking with people who are destined to play great roles in our Empire’s history. Personally, I place an interview with Mr Ramsay MacDonald in such a class. He came through New Zealand about twenty-five years ago on a mission of inquiry into our Labour laws and conditions, and at the tail-end of his visit I travelled with him from Invercargill to The Bluff, where he caught the steamer for Melbourne. Mr MacDonald at that time was a brisk young man, with clear-cut views which he was quite willing to axoress. He was not then regarded as a “big” man in the Labour movement at Home, which was itself small enough, but he had the energy and force which frequently bring a politician to the front. Of course, I had not the faintest idea that I was interviewing a future Prime Minister of Great Britain. A few years later I encountered the late Mr Keir Hardie. the leader of the Labour forces in Britain—a gentle, mild-mannered, frail-looking man, who had nevertheless made a resounding noise throughout the world. His visit to India, and his relations with the restive native element there, had aroused an agitated flutter in official dovecotes, something akin to that caused in social circles in London when he wore a cloth cap when parading the terrace of the House of Parliament.

The first time I had personal contact with the late Mr Seddon was at Invercargill, whither he had gone to attend some local functions. I approached the great man with propel trepidation, being very young, and he dealt with me kindly enough, although he gave me one or two “jolts.” (1 was on the Opposition papier, which did not spare Mr Seddon in its editorial columns.) Shortly afterwards Mr Seddon performed the ceremony of opening the new railway line to Wai-

mahaka, at the Southland end of the Catlins route. There was a great muster of the political, railway, commercial and farming heads of the Southland province, and Mr Seddon was out to improve the occasion. When he was in full cry with i.is speech the loco, driver loosed his whistle, as he was doing some shunting. Mr Seddon waited till the shrill noise stopped, and then went on with his address. The loco, man, however, renewed his blasts on the whistle, the crowd laughed, and Mr Seddon became exasperated. “I'll have my say, no matter how long he whistles 1” he declared, amid roars of laughter and applause. Obsequious officials rushed iff to warn or sack the loco, man, but it was some little time before the fusilade of whistles slacked off into silence.

Sir Joseph Ward was always the most approachable of Ministers, and every pressman who has been associated, with him is able to quote in-

stances of liis kindness and good nature. On oqe occasion I was to in terview him at his office in The Crescent, Invercargill, but when I got there the outer office was crowded with farmers, every one of whom was waiting to see “Mr Ward,” who had not yet arrived. I could see that my chances of an interview were nil if ] stayed there, so I decided to intercept Sir Joseph on his way. The plan worked well, as. Sir Joseph recognised me, stopped for a few minutes, and rapidly dictated about three-parts of a column of an interview. I have often thought since that only in democratic New Zealand, and with a mo£t com plaisant and friendly Minister. couM such an incident have occurred Travelling round the countrj Sir Joseph was an ideal host for the pressmen in the party. The late Mi Massey, when Prime Minister, was also kindness itself to journalists. I travelled with him a good deal, and he was always a good

friend. Frequent association either builds up mutual regard or mutual distrust, but I am glad to be able to write that Mr Massey extended his friendship to me. He was a man who grew in mental stature with his increased responsibilities. One of the most memorable figures in my recollection is Mrs Annie Besant, the Theosophist author and lecturer W’hen she came to Christchurch on one of her tours, she stayed at Warner’s Hotel, and I was deputed to interview her. She sat huddled in an armchair, a white-headed and rather pathetic old lady, but with active eyes and a facile mind. She gave her story in a soft and slightly husky voice, and probably regarded the interview’ as part of the necessary publicity of her tour. She gave her lecture the same evening in what was then His Majesty’s Theatre, later destroyed by fire, and now the site of the City Council Chambers. When 1 saw her on the stage, I could Jiardly believe my eyes. Here was a change indeed! By some consummate art, she had been changed from the pathetic old woman of the morning into a regal figure, whose head of white hail was as a crown of glory. The meta-' morphosis was as staggering as it was complete, and. Mrs Besant laid down the law and the prophets according to the Theosophical cult with the ease and grace of the practised orator. She was a remarkable woman.

One of my most interesting experiences w’as an interview with Lionel Terry, when he was detained at Sunnyside. Terry was fanatically opposed to Asiatic immigration, and in support of his theory he shot de " an unfortu nate Chinaman. Terry escaped the gallow’s by being declared insane, though he strongly protested against that declaration. He caused endless trouble to the officials of whatevei mental asylum he was detained in. Eventually he was taken to Sunnyside, where he was housed in a special and strongly constructed compartment not unlike a gigantic cage. At one en trance to this cage a guard was always on duty. At one end of the cage was a small hut in which Terry had his bed, books and furniture. On the walls were hung festoons of onions and one or two other vegetables, as Terry had espoused vegetarianism with the same fanatical zeal with which he abhorred Asiatics.

The “ Dominion,” of Wellington, had received several letters which Terry had contrived to get smuggled out oi the asylum These letters made certain complaints, and they were brought under the notice of the Minister i.\ charge. The result was that 1 was sent out to Sunnyside armed with Ministerial authority to see and invite him to state his grievances The two conditions of admission were that I was to I'e accompanied by the then Superintendent (Dr Gow), and that I w’as not to disclose to Terry that I w’as a reporter.

On a bright morning I presented my authority, and went with Dr Gow to Terry’s cage. The guard unlocked the gate, and we were in the presence of Terry. He was a striking and peculiar figure, tall and slender, with moustache and beard, and long hair falling on to his shoulders. Dr Gow introduced me: “ This is Mr Lane, who has come to see you.” We shook hands. Terry: “Mr Lane, are you a reporter?” This immediate and accurate diagnosis rather staggered me, but I managed to say that I was not permitted to disclose any personal particulars. Terry (smiling) : “ I rather think, Mr Lane, that some of my billets doux to the papers must have got through.” Terry was a clever, ready-witted and attractive man, and one could not help feeling sorry for him. That he was insane on some points 1 have not the slightest doubt, and on the food question he was a “ crank,” but no worse* than thousands of reputable citizens now at large. His confinement fretted him terriblja Among all the insane he presented a peculiar and individual problem. A valuable privilege of the young journalist, especially when his musical education has not been entirely neglected, is the contact he makes with the world of the stage. It is always a delight to meet clever people, especially when they are charming as well. I have the happiest memories of stage people, whose virtues and generosity are sometimes too little apprehended. The first singer to reveal to me that there was something better in the world of music than the village choir was Miss Amy Sherwin, billed as “ The Australian Nightingale.” She was a soprano, with a voice of remarkable purity and sweetness. I cannot say that any other singer has ever given me the same, revelatory thrill. In her later years, Miss Sherwin was not so impressive, but in her prime, when I first heard her, she rank with any prima donna. Much the same might be said of Dolores, who had extraordinary success in this country thirty years ago, with Johnny Lemmone, I think, as her flautist. What an artist he was! Looking back, it is not difficult to recall a glorious company of entertainers. The best “ show ” I ever saw was Genee and her dancing troupe; the most artistic singer was Kirkby Lunn; the best pianist, Mark Hambourg; the best violinist, Mischa Elman; the best costume concert company, “The Scarlet Troubadours”; my favourite movie stars, Douglas Fairbanks and Charlie Chaplin; my favourite theatrical play, dozens of them. It is interesting to recall, in view of the visit of the British Rugby team, that as a boy I saw the English team, captained by the famous Stoddart, play Otago on the Caledonian Ground at St Kilda, Dunedin. The Englishmen won after a brilliant exhibition of passing—a feature which was immediately adopted in New Zealand, and is now the basis of our game. Stoddart’s team played in red, white and blue jerseys, so that there were no doubts about England’s colours in those days. It was a most effective combination. Stoddart, who was a great footballer and athlete, became a popular hero, and to call a fleet-footed youngster “ a regular Stoddart ” was to pay him the highest possible compliment.