UP AGAINST IT

Waipa Post, Volume 43, Issue 3328, 28 July 1931, Page 2

UP AGAINST IT

WORK ON THE KING’S HIGHWAY.

(From Dunedin Star.) There are said to be 1400 workers engaged in and around Dunedin on relief work. My two mates and myself are trying to fight our way clear of the poverty line, and are receiving two days’ work each per week from the Government Labour Bureau. We are away in different parts of the city, and the writer of these lines got swinging into it in a gang far from the maddening crowd toward the coast, with not a house in sight—out where we hear the song , of the birds and distant music of the seas, with overhead the cloudless blue canopy of the heavens, and a grand silence that is a tonic after the roar and bustle of the city, with its shrieking whistles and motor horns, and its struggle for existence. The big secret of real happiness is occupation and a keen interest in life. After being out of employment for some time even these few days’ work make one feel that it is possible to get a grip of things again. I once intended to be famous, and have a career, and also quite a lot of money, but it does not matter; perhaps someone else has found the fame that I have been looking for, and for the time being I will continue on with my career, as it is on His Majesty’s Highway. It is really “great” working away in the open spaces with the ganger patrolling the line to see that all hands are doing their bit. It is as well to keep one eye on the job and one on the boss at times. Even with my head down I can tell if he is looking at me by the direction in which his boots are pointing, but the foremen are fair, as they are aware that we are pretty soft after being out of harness so long. Our gang was shifted further toward the city later, and we were hemmed in by houses on both sides. I was quite sure that everybody was watching out of their windows. (You only fancy that, and peg away so as to be on the safe side.) The great thing is to keep going, and not stand still as if you were posing for a painting entitled “ The Dignity of Labour,” or a statue of William the Conqueror. What a roasting hot day Thursday, February 5, was! I was hove-to alongside a sailor, who was making rough passage of it, throwing out signals of distress, but was grim and silent until he told me he thought he would give it best. I told him to ease down to half speed, but to hold on at all costs. He did so, and when the mid-day whistles shrieked to knock off he was saved. A lady came out of her house and threatened to give us some lovely hot tea to have with our lunches, and we gracefully accepted, being really high grade, and passed a vote of appreciation and thinks, silently calling her blessed. Alas! The man who went down to the sea in ships had no lunch, and we had a collection made up among us of food for him. No wonder he had been sending out an S.O.S. earlier in the morning. He had not had any breakfast, but he stuck it out. In the old days the typical navvy, so called, had a penny clay pipe m a band on his hat and a couple of wrist straps, and proceeded to business m a flannel singlet and moleskins or dungarees, and absorbed quantities of the cup that is said to cheer, but not so to-day. The modern pick and shovel expert goes to work quue spick and span, and leaves his woi ing clothes on the job and changes when he gets into harness m the morning. It is quite interesting t note the difference clothes make in one’s appearance, and ail trades a .

professions are represented on the King’s Highway and by-Ways at present, including butchers, bakers, grocers, carpenters, sailors, tailors—yes, and one-time soldiers who have stood up to their grim work on the battlefields during the World War. Even the press is represented, but I have not so far come across any members of the legal profession. There is a surplus of politicians —of the wouldbe variety—who could run this little country of ours far better than Mr Forbes, Mr Coates, and Mr Holland combined, and during the luncheon adjournments it is elevating to a degree to hear the various views expressed. But they all mean well, anyhow; even the Socialist who reckons all would be well with the world if everything was equally divided, including all work, money, women and children, and brains. It- would be an. interesting experiment, to say the least, so far as the money part was concerned, as there is a shortage in our house, and if robbers came looking for cash in our “ bach ” by night, I would gladly get out of bed and give them all the assistance I could to find some. What a blessing mutton is so cheap now! I don’t mind wages coming down with a heavy thud as long as the cost of existence comes down too.

What puzzles me is why a great number of the unemployed are not given work planting cabbages, turnips, and so on for hard-up families during the forthcoming winter. Also a good idea would be to send a crowd of men into the bush to cut down firewood for cold women and children next time we have intensely cold weather on us. There is a hard winter ahead for certain. Why not get our ship in order now? There will be the usual outcry then. This is the time to get ready, so I say, get to it.

I have been down to it in both Sydney and Melbourne in the long ago with thousands of others; yes, thousands in the various States, and I learned to look ahead. I have, with a mate, slept under newspapers in Hyde Park, Sydney, when the night shades have fallen, and got up in the morning and read my blankets sitting in the park, but I got out of it all somehow by striking out into the great outbacks, where you see the sheep dying through a drought, and everything seems white for miles trees, the roads, even the fences, with Old Sol like a furnace overhead, and the crows picking at dead and dying sheep, while drinking water is the colour of tea and warm in the waterbag. With all our troubles we are well off compared with Australia, even now.

At present the unemployed have to go to the Labour Bureau to find out particulars concerning where they will be next employed, and they have to come from all parts, and pay fares they can ill afford. The press could give precisely the same particulars, and save the out-of-works a lot of worry and trouble, and send up its circulation by doing us a good turn. There is a regular mix-up at the Town Hall on salary day. (That sounds dignified!) Fancy having to wait one hour and a-half or more for your few shillings! It is no fault of those paying out, but the result of a poor system, which should be seen to bright and early. I understand they were paying out after 6 p.m. My soldier friend, who was last engaged away up in the Leith Valley, reckoned he had to walk over four miles down from his job, and, as there is a big crowd working up there, says it reminded him a great crowd of “diggers ” coming out of the line on a battlefront in France. He goes back there at times, in fancy, and told me an incident that sounded big to me.

A big shell landed among a crowd of them, and there were dead and wounded lying all around. A junior lieutenant was in charge, and gave his orders something like this:— “He’s alive. Take him to dressing station. No! Don’t bother him. He is gone! Yes, he’s all right; take him away. All right! Don’t waste time. He’s dead, too! ” The lieutenant all this time had his hand in his tunic (it was half blown off), but he carried on till he fainted. My friend told me rather a good one. The Yankees had no strong drink canteens, but could gargle their throats at the British ones, and one of them guessed and calculated that the beer, was flat. The canteen attendant howled at him: “ Blime, what do you expect, Sammy ? That beer’s been waiting on the counter since 1914 for you! Drink up and have one with me.”

It is queer to note the different rigouts in which some of the unemployed come to work. I have seen a party swinging a pick with his good clothes on, arrayed in rainbow socks, with suspenders; but you can’t judge a sausage by its overcoat, and some of these casual easy-going out-of-works are a surprise packet when they disrobe, and are a mass of muscle. They can do their bit with the best on the jobs and seem as keen as a greyhound after a hare to make a good showing. It seems a pity to see such good material going to waste except for a few days’ casual work. When we have no money and dur accounts are overdue at the grocers, butchers or bakers, it is really hard to happen to run into some struggling shop-keeper who greets you with a strained smile and pretends to appear pleased;tells you it is a nice day and that he would like a little off the long, outstanding account that is almost due to receive the old age pension, but if we have not got the money what is the use of worrying us? I have just purchased a new tyre for my old bike, and it was a struggle. I have seen the time when I could buy two bikes during the war. All my war service was at Port Chalmers, when money was easy to get. Now it is nearly as hard to obtain as a divorce, and I really would like to know who has got my share of it. Since I started these lines I have been stationed away back on the hills toward Burnside, with Saddle Hill in view, standing sentry over Mosgiel. It was a howling, cold, wintry few days, and we got wet through at one part of the work, but the cash was dry, and as welcome as sunshine after a storm. I got out of hand and invested in a cigar. I simply had to. It reminded me of better days, and as I exhaled the well-loved aroma along the sidewalk of George Street, felt as big as Rockefeller, the millionaire. I was well-bronzed on account of my outdoor occupation, and could have been mistaken for a squatter down from his station. I had left my hat at home, as it was much faded, but my wardrobe was well groomed up, and the city lights seem to put a bit of dash into me for the time being. A casual observer may have thought my motor car was parked in the Octagon, and that I was taking the air of the city for a change. These lines have a history. I started to write them in the South Dunedin Post Office, standing up at the desk there. It was raining in torrents. Then I penned some more in the Public Library, and more still at home, when I could get time. I have one mate who snores awfully, and my soldier friend sings and whistles in his sleep, and they both tell me that I talk and groan when I am away in dreamland. I am sure I don’t known the reason, except that I am both in love and in debt, and she is many miles away, but not forgotten;

and I would like to state that I am due to start work again on Monday next, as our gang goes into action once more, and few can imagine how handy these few days’ work come in * to hundreds in this city. Truly, wet could be worse off, and the three of us mates are reaching out toward the stars in anticipation of better days ahead as we swing along at y our work on the King’s highway, and I wish everybody the best of luck. As I finish these lines and leave this subject I would give a little advice to the unemployed engaged in every part of the city, and it is to be very particular about their language when they are engaged about people’s homes. Remember, and it is a duty to treat all women as you would your own sweethearts, mothers and sisters. This is a duty that rests with you which I feel sure will be carried out to the letter. Again, “ Kia Ora!” everybody.