BY THE WAY

Evening Star, Issue 22454, 26 September 1936, Page 2

BY THE WAY

[By X.Y.]

"The tf.ne has corue, *' the Walrus said, To talk of many things.’* Nob many of us have been" competitors at baby shows. Probably our parents, though possessing a certain pre-disillu-sionment pride in us, had more sense than to court trouble by entering us. ,As far as I know, baby shows in New Zealand have been confined to small country districts, where the sheep and cattle entries are not sufficiently numerous to make keen competition. In such cases a baby show might provide the thrills. In the country there is just a chance that the judge or judges (the more strongly the ranks are reinforced the better) will escape from irate and jealous mothers with a whole skin, but it is to be feared that the promoters of the British national baby show at the Crystal Palace undertook more than they could carry out to a successful conclusion.

A total entry of 25,000 babes! Can you imagine it? Do you not shrink when you consider tho lung power of 25.000 healthy infants in vociferous chorus? Do you not tremble in sympathy with the judges when you try to hear the disappointment of 24,999 mothers ? Is it any wonder that the 10 volunteer judges, mostly doctors, failed to arrive? Undoubtedly they all had urgent cases to attend. And small blame to them. I notice that the organiser, assisted by one doctor, pluckily came to the rescue and managed, amid obvious distractions, to run a judicial eye over 4.000 entrants. Beyond that ho would risk nothing. He informed tho competitors that the winners would be notified by post of the cups awarded. He is still a brave man, though. Most of us would have gone for a Mediterranean cruise and sent back the news by cable. # * * • To-day, upon my cottage wall, I saw a cheerful thing, A butterfly (Red Admiral) A harbinger of spring. But then 1 saw another sight, A butterfly—not red, but white, In other words, a pest; Which shows, 0 gentle reader, that The worst invariably (drat!) Accompanies the best. Tho bloom is on the apricot, The cherry, and the plum; With prophecy of quite a lot Of pleasant things to come. And come they will—what frost and wind Obligingly have left behind For humankind to share, With birds of divers kinds, and all The beasts that fly and creep and crawl And settle everywhere. The pear and apple blossoms both Are preface to the tale Of mealy-bug and codlin moth, Of fire-blight, spot, and scale. Red Jonathans and Winter Coles Disfigured by unsightly holes, And Stunners gone to waste. I like an apple—but the Lord Has mado a vast and varied horde Of bugs who share my taste. There’s canker for the nectarine, And mildew for the rose; With aphis—either black or green— For everything that grows. The earwig, slug, and snail begin To meditate on deeds of sin, And shortly, from beneath, The wood-louse and the grass-grub, too, Will resolutely burrow through, And whet their wicked teeth. No doubt, when balmy Spring arrives And everything is green, The thought should brighten up our lives And make ns love the scene. But underneath the cheerful sight _ There lurks the consciousness of blight, And gardeners must know That now’s the time to paint and spray, To keep their enemies at bay. If anything’s to grow. • • « * “ The fair sex,” “ The gentler sex,” or “ The weaker sex ” we used to call them. 1 am not so sure that these chivalrous designations still apply—at least not to the womenfolk whom one is perfectly safe in referring to as a “certain section of our female population.” Small but important advertisements that come under the heading “Personal” frequently inform us that some determined young lady is sparing no effort by way of combing tlio country for a husband to her liking. Less ambitious in the meantime but possibly hopeful of future matrimonial developments are the members of the sex iwho insert advertisements proclaiming their willingness to pay their own expenses at a dance if some gallant will come to the fore as.escort. i'hen we have gill athletes of many varieties, hardy hikers who are undismayed at tho prospect of carrying huge packs over the hills and far away, and girl wrestling “fans” who would sooner sacrifice a new spring hat than miss the contortions of the huskies who from week to week supply entertainment in the Town Hall. The trend towards masculinity among women seems to be making itself evident the whole world over. In Spain they aro reported to be actually fighting >vith the men on some fronts, while the Russian Amazons aro said to be ready to fight the crack troops ot any country. We live in strange, topsy-turvy times.

At CarisbroOk last Saturday, when friend and self were enjoying the spectacle of Otago vanquishing a formidable Ranfurly Shield invader, a group of young hoodlums, who apparently had been enjoying liquid incidentals more than the game itself, paused in the course of their unstable peregrinations at a point some distance below us but directly in front. One lout, shouting senseless nothings in a raucous voice, consciously or unconsciously persisted in jostling a young lady who, as far as we could judge by her back, was petite and demure. Two men near the disturbance seemed about to intervene on her behalf and send the noisy party about their business when, to the astonishment of ail who saw the incident, the damsel set herself for a short-arm jolt and promptly delivered it to tho ribs with sufficient power* to send her annoying neighbour reeling for a distance of

several yards. Had the youth not finally found support from broad backs in the middle distance he would assuredly have fallen. Gaping like codfish, he and his companions were quickly on their way. It all goes to prove that the modern girl has a knack of looking after herself.

Yes, that lassie handled the situation very capably. Yet, if you will join me in a little further meditation on the matter, you may agree that the results were not as romantic and farreaching as might have been the case had it been possible to transfer time and setting back to the Victorian era. The young person of to-day is apt to scoff at her prototype of those far-off, contented years, and it is to be regretted that her feelings towards her grandmother’s mode of living are not uutinged with derision. Mere thoughtlessness, of course. We have but to recall the sterling qualities of our parents and grandparents to arrive at the conclusion that the age which bred them could not have been so very much to be despised. But to return to the Cansbrook occurrence, It may be taken tor granted that the incident was closed immediately. No young gallant was given the opportunity to perform a chivalrous action. Because of the modern girl’s self-reliant ways, she cut herse t oif from possible romance with —well, there’s always a chance —a matrimonial sequel. Within the next few years she may be happily married in any case. Or she may She may become one of those who feel it necessary to advertise for a life partner a procedure unheard of and usually quite unnecessary 50 or 60 years ago.

Now what would have happened if the girl had been steeped in Victonanism? Probably she would have been et the type who would swoon at the siaht of a mouse but who, with the instinct of self-preservation and a pretty knowledge of the ways of men, would take jolly good care not to swoon before she was quite sure she could do so gracefully into the arms of an attractive young man. There must be no misconception about the mtelli gence of the Victorian. . , Working out the scenario along these lines we g sho«ld most likely « our Carisbrook lass cast a qmck her near neighbours, and tben, i had managed to sight a . Promising young fellow she would quickly hoist signals of the distress and embarrassment caused by the unruly element. To her side would spring a Wo keen to relieve her of the human plagues so near at hand. The ehances of a light where the “ smell o’ the. cork png are involved are practically nil, but all the same the rescuer would stand m an heroic light. That being so, there seems no reason why maidenly gratitude should not take the form of permission to escort her home, followed later perhaps by an introduction to father and mother, and an invitation to Sunday night tea. And so on and so on. 1 leave the rest to the imagination. Older folk, still cherishing memories of their youth, will be well able to nil in the gaps. # # , ,

Herewith a rather neat piece of juggling with figures in an economic setting in which the effect of New Zealand’s legislation has been taken into full account (I have a feeling that 1 have seen something similar before, but only as applied to America, so there is no harm in reproducing the effort of the energetic person who worked it out on a New Zealand basis): —

The population of New Zealand is 1 500,000. Deduct those eligible for tne oid age pension (375,000) and we have 1 125,000 left. Deduct Civil servants, members of Parliament, people working for city corporations and the numerous local bodies, as well as men on public works (totalling 5.00,000), and we have 625,000 left. Now take away those ineligible under the child labour laws, to work. These number 575,000, leaving 50.000. Finally, deduct the 49,998 unemployed, and we have only two leit.to carry on the industries of the Dominion —just you and I, and I’m getting tired.

Kearst newspapers in America accuse the President of receiving Communist support from New Zealand. —Cable item. I look around upon this land, These balmy days of spring, When sheep and cows on every hand Are busy pasturing; When everybody seems content To pay the taxes due, And grumble at the Government, As Britons always do. Our joys are homely (Thomas Gray), Our destiny obscure, As visitors succinctly, say To any interviewer. We meddle not, the truth to tell, With other countries—no. , We try to grow the things we sell, And sell the things we grow. At certain seasons tourists flock To see our local sights; They damn our pubs and rolling stock, And praise our lakes and heights. To all our scenery their praise Unstintingly they give, But frequently describe our ways As somewhat primitive. So, looking on this peaceful place Wherein I earn my bread, And thinking of the populace Inhabiting N.Z., I find that my surroundings are Quite tolerably fair; , Then settle down to search the btar For tidings from elsewhere. I read my ‘Star’ and say: “Great Scott! What horror do I see? Is this the gentle, simple spot That bore and nurtured me? Do dark and direful passions stir This honest-seeming isle To schemings grim and sinister, Conspiracies of guile ? Have delegates from Dannevirke, Or Blenheim Bolsheviks, Been putting in some dirty work In Yankee politics? Has Franklin R. been nobbled by The Soviet of Gore? Do Kurow Communists supply The sinews of his war? Perhaps some plutocrat at Clyde, Some Red of wealth untold, Keeps Roosevelt’s fighting fund supplied With misdirected gold. At any rate, whate’er his store, In bullion or in cash. It won’t be very long before , It’s found by Walter Nash. But, should our watchful Walter hear Whence all this money flows, He’ll probably remark, “Oh, yeah!” Implying, I suppose, That if he even viewed with doubt The truth —as told by Hearst— He’d sure have found those Bolshies out, And got the money first!