CITIZENS’ PARADE

Wanganui Chronicle, Volume 80, Issue 110, 12 May 1938, Page 6

CITIZENS’ PARADE

ELECTION DAY PATHOS AND HUMOUR DRAMA OF THE BOOTHS (By R.W.0.) Another election day has come and gone. For many years it has ben a day of suspense and hope, and for those endowed with the gift of recognising tiie lighter side of things it is not without its ful measure of humour. The officials who sat all day long behind their long counters in the various booths saw more of the human side of the election than any, as they handed out voting papers, checked names, and finally crossed off voters’ names as they walked to the little white booths to wrestle Kith the great problem. For it really was a great problem. Green papers, yellow papers, while papers: names and more names. After the barrage of publicity aimed at him from various contestants the humble voter was somewhat bewildered as he surveyed the list of candidates for various seats. After reading of the virtues of a nominee for office the elector could not but experience qualms as he boldly struck his name from the sheet with the stubby black pencil on the string. At the stroke ot nine the doors oi polling booths swung open and the stage was set for the drama. First arrivals at the booths, forerunners ol the cosmopolitan tide of humanity to surge through the booths throughout the day, were old people. Pensioners, who had for weeks before read and learned of the qualifications of various candidates, arrived early to exercise their “civic rights” and vote for those who they thought would best serve their interests. Some of these old people were hard of hearing ana perhaps a little forgetful of the procedure. In some cases they were irate over details, and the tactful understanding on the parts of officials was necessary to smooth the way for them. These old folk had seen candiates come and go, and knew the excitement of elections of years gone by. Perhaps by misadventure some were not on the roll, and officials tried to mollify complainants by telling them that they must ensure th«: they were “on” next time. But for how many will there be a “next time’’? The Grim Reaper is remorseless and there will be many who will not know another election. The young “first voters’’ timidly made their way to booths, seeking the aavice of officials as to the procedure of voting. And so the parade ol citizens went on. The young, the old, the lame and the halt rubbed shoulders with mothers and daughters. Workers with “time off’ ; beggars, bakers with satchels, Lady BlanK ahd Old Joe left their decisions in the row of stolid-looking ballot boxes. Some regarded voting as an onerous duty wnich demanded concentration and much thought, while other cheery souls laughingly grasped the imposing sheaf of papers and treated the matter lightly. Last-minute voters rushed some booths on the hour of six last evening, but there appeared to be very few who arrived too late. The closing of booths did not mean that the day was done as far as officials were concerned, however. It was then that feverish activity commenced; counting, shouting, checking, running, before the great news was known —who was “in.” The gods who control the destinies of mankind must have smiled yesterday when throughout New Zealand humans scurried in a fever of emotion in the throes of the 1938 municipal elections.