CITY JUGGERNAUTS

NZ Truth, Issue 1199, 22 November 1928, Page 7

CITY JUGGERNAUTS

How Wellington Is Tram-melled With Comfortless Street Cars WOE, WHEN WEATHER IS WET (From "N.Z. ; Truth's'/ Special "Wellington Kepresentative.) "Punch brothers! Punch with care, , Punch m the presence of the passen— jare. "A white trip slip for a twopenny fare, A blue trip slip for a threepenny fare, V A brown trip slip for a general fare, Punch, brothers! Punch with care, Punch m the presence of the passen— jare.' 1 „■

"IV/TOVB along please. Move along In-. IVI side, there." The irate tram conductor m Wellington peers . through the driving rain towards the rear of his tram, impatiently waiting to give the signal to the motorman. Mere man, with solid understandings, springs nimbly from the doubtful shelter of the verandahs to the rainswept interior of the tramcar. , Frail femininity, dainty legs encased m silk, wet and bedraggled, huddles with unbecoming sourness round the end of the car and meets the out-coming rush of tram passengers at the compartment exit. A block results. . . . The raindrops splutter overhead, Few are the spoken words that's said ; They hold their skirts m hand instead And bless the wind and weather. Trams, did you say? We DO havetrams m Wellington; clean, commodious and comfortable they aarme — m fine weather; but OH! m wet!! Social -hygiene and the science of true living have taught the ■ modern j flapper how to step high, but not sufficiently high to negotiate the centre boarding -rails on -the- majority of Wellington trams. A thoughtful corporation, however, places a lower stepping stone for women, for admission to the doubtful comforts of the trams at the end, and occasionally m the centre. . When, however, the low running board is m the centre, the passenger is often debarred from boarding at either end. Submissive: map— where silk stockings are m evidence — stands back, no, not to get a better view, but to allow the ladies on. - Wellingtonians do like their trams. What ihatters it if they can be likened to elongated sardine tins? We are jammed m, so are' sardines! Sardines are packed' m oil, we are packed m water. But, alack! The simile is not complete. Trams m Wellington are riot airtight. Still, fresh air is good. Consider Karitane Home for babies perched on the city's wind-swept heights. So adults shouldn't grumble. The capital city is notorious for its high winds, but while the latest model cars have comfortably finished cabins for women, our city fathers — the majority of whom possibly, travel to their respective businesses m limousines — have not yet seen fit to. provide some alternative to the inadequate protection afforded to male smokers and others who have to use the centre portion of the trams. If conductors ever receive instructions anent the drawing of the canvas blinds, they are rarely carried out. Hop on a tram on any wet day m Wellington—days when the. city conveyances are crowded — and you will find herded between wet and empty seats a disconsolate band of grumbling travellers. ••"'.■ • , Perhaps one lucky individual, who got m at. the. terminus,, had the temerity to draw a blind, thus saving a seat or two from the. driving rain. The rest get saturated. In other cities trams bear conspicuously affixed notices to the effect that all windows- and curtains will oe adjusted by conductors. Wellington passengers provide their own comfort. The trams go on wheels and take them to their destination. The weary male, perforce, seeks to oast himself down somewhere, and the

Step Warily

moquette cabin seats suffer m consequ.ence. Wet mackintoshes and sodden coats lose some of their moisture on the cushioned seats, to the detriment of the next lady passenger's apparel. The Wellington public are the most long-suffering m New Zealand. Never a voice is raised m protest against the atrocious tram service. The tenacity of a fly ,to hang on to any available space is notorious, but Mr. Fly h&sn't got that over Mr. Wellington for agility or sticking powers. Moreover, the latter has solved the problem of pressing his frame into the least available space; If extra cars are ever put on during wet weather, the ordinary citizen never notices it. The usual vision that meets one's gaze during rush hours m dirty weather is crowded trams plying the streets. The centre open compartments are black with wet, steaming- humanity. Seats may . be unoccupied, but standing room is at a premium. - Men cling with the tenacity of hunger to the guard rails and even on the running boards. Rain, rain and more rain; sweeps m, through and out with dismal persistency while a damp and clammy conductor wedges his way -with compelling force among the more or less happy ones clinging so joyously to their ride. Should. you get a shoe full of water from . the too close proximity of an umbrella point or have the top torn ' ■ off your new g-la.ce kid boots by some hobnailed number nine, ■ seek not for solace among your fellow - wayfarers, ~ „ or . to the city corporation. 1 You are but a puppet of th'e sstormm — m the storm — buffetted about at the will of it and others. "Visitors are advised to step warily when near a tram m Wellington. In a city where it is no uncommon sight to see gangs of men continually pulling up or laying down tram lines, one would be pardoned for laboring under the delusion that good lines would result. Not a bit of it. . The majority of Wellington's tram tracks are either floating on innumerable pot-holes or "under the water line." Heavy rains flood them and woe to the man or woman who ventures too near an approaching tram during a rainy spell. The tram flies past, and water squirts m all directions to the detriment of the unwary one. Wellington streets are no place to take frayed tempers on a wet day. 1 If you miss a puddle amid the cobbles of the pavement, you kick the toe of your boot on the next slab and slither ignominiously into the arms of some irate and meticulous old gentleman who is picking his way with less speed than you m the opposite direction. As to noise m Wellington, well, ask yourself! A great French scientist some time ago said that m so many, hundred yeai's, consequent on the noise of modern cities, people would naturally develop smaller eardrums — to keep out the din.' A correct prognostication would place the millennium about five years ahead, so far as Wellingtonians are concerned. On fine days, the capital city's trams would raise the dead, but this is a wet weather grouch, so we'll say no more.