SANDY'S CORNER

Wanganui Chronicle, 29 December 1947, Page 4

SANDY'S CORNER

HIS OWN CANOE. (The Maoris have presented Mr. Fraser with a war canoe as a mark of the esteem in which they hold him. —News item). Oh, Mr. Fraser, it surely isn’t true, You’re going to leave us and paddle your own canoe? Noah built himself an Ark, when he heard a flood was due, ’ But what use, oh Mr. Fraser, is a Maori war canoe? So why not save the timber to build a house oi two, For you’ll never get to Scotland in a Maori war canoe. They say the Scots are canny, Wb'- 4 the heck’s gone wrong with you? For you would look a “zany” In a Maori war canoe. —Our Irish Poet. Wanganui, Dec. 27, 1947. DETECTION! Dear “Sandy”: Is it a fact that New Zealand has a record in unsolved murders?—Swerlock, Castelcliff. Not on your life. We certainly have a few unsolved crimes of that sort on our hands but in some countries murder is an “industry” and the “industry protects” its “shareholders,” “executives” and “staffs.” You could say however, that in British administered countries detection of crime like murder, and the bringing of culprits to book, is more thorough than in most. It has to be admitted that even in countries like the United States, where major crime has developed, here and there, into vast organisations, detection is made very thorough. In Germany, where the very political and economic structure became organised on criminal lines, detection was very thorough indeed. Away back, almost a decade ago, a man was caught mailing seditious booklets. The police narrowed their activities down to the post office he used. There they coded each stamp sold in the office so thoroughly that they could tell the day, date and minute of its purchase. They also installed a secret camera with which the sellers could photograph people who bought stamps in quantity. The date and hour of each purchase was recorded by the camera also, a calendar and a clock being included in th« photograph. They caught the man!— “S.” APPROPRIATE? In these days of dry grass and the ever-prevalent danger of fires, we often spare a thought for the firemen who are on duty ready to respond to whatever call may bo made. Whenever a siren wails we feel something of a thrill of adventure, kindled by the thought: “Where’s the. fire?” Most humans are like that, forgetting that fire can be a menace to life, limb and property, as New Zealand knows to its sorrow. If the fires that rage made the careless people who cause them pay, that would be justic- but the sorrow of it is that the innocent pay. Every time a fire call is responded to the firemen themselves run some risk, a risk decreased or magnified according to the size of the job. They take their task matter-of-factly, go about their job in something the same way as the serviceman, accepting danger as part of their lives, joking against a serious background, humanly critical of themselves, end outspokenly critical at that. For instance there is on record the story of firemen who sent a wreath to one of their comrades On it they wrote: “Gone to his last fire! Here’s hoping he has it under control before it’s our turn!”