THE COMMON ROUND

Otago Daily Times, Issue 24400, 11 September 1940, Page 4

THE COMMON ROUND

By Wayfarer

Whether or not words were given to us to conceal our thoughts, we may still have a respect, nay an awe and veneration, for words. They can be magical or scorching, soothing or inspiring, invigorating or depressing, or they can be merely the common coin in which we exchange our commonplace thoughts about love and life, the state of the world, and the condition of the kitchen garden, the leaky "tap in the scullery and what we should do about persuading our youngest-born to concentrate on her piano studies instead of cutting pictures of kinema actors out of film magazines and pasting them in a scrap-book. But thgv remain one of the most valuable pi'operties that we possess, excepting only, perhaps, silence.

It is of the dignity of words that we have been thinking this past week, since there steamed down upon us from out of the north a word-buster whose pearly utterances are surely fit to be cast before swine. A few glittering samples. Referring to anonymous letter-writers in the newspapers:

These narrow-minded squibs can’t stick their noses above class politics. . . These individuals squeal for 40 hours and get it, but 10 hours would suit some of them, and I want the press to put it down In plain Bob Semple language. . I am here to create an organisation tp protect trade unions, and these sniffling

snuffle-busters, writing anonymous letters, are trying to protect their own scalps. \

And concerning those who venture to bemoan, in the taxation-age-old manner at further imposts:

I’ve heard some people snivelling because they’ve got to pay taxes. . . They snivel at having to pay a bob in the pound as a contribution towards defending their homes and country. And the same snivellers will go to a racecourse and put a quid on an old horse with the strangles or go to a pub and guzzle quarts of beer and think nothing of it. If Hitler look over New Zealand they could pack their dirty old quids in’ their back yards and make a bonfire out of them, because the money would be no good to them then.

And addressing a Dunedin meeting of local body representatives: I have met a few people who have told me that it is all moonshine to try to organise the Dominion for defence. ... The changes m the world situation are so rapid and dreadful that not a living soul knows what may occur next. If they say they do, they are either “ wonky in the head or are living in a fool’s paradise.

Thus a member of his Majesty[s Government in New Zealand, in the course of a campaign with the object to put it in his own words, of organising the nation.

Well, we do not question Mr Semple’s organising ability—that is beyond our province. All we ask, in a spirit of humble inquiry, is why he should so disorganise the King’s English in the course of his important national task. There was a time, let us confess it, when _ the vocabulary of the hon the Minister of National Service struck us, as it did so many people, as picturesque or, if you prefer, “ colourful.” It seemed appropriate language, somehow; in which to address bulldozers and other slightly less inanimate objects about the Public Works citadels. But the colour seems to have departed, all except a sort of lurid after-glow upon the pained retina of out critical eyes.

Invective, like oratory, of which it is a minor but in our opinion perfectly wholesome part, is an art. An art to be studied from good sources, and to be practised with selectivity and discernment. Disraeli, having the urge to abuse Lord Palmerston, knew the way:

If a traveller were informed that such a man was leader of the House of Commons he may begin to comprehend how the Egyptians wor-

shipped an insect. Or to turn to the poets. Robert Burns had a prettier method of administering the old insecticide:

No more of your titled acquaintances boast. And In what lordly circles you’ve been: An insect is still but an insect at most. Though It crawl on the head of a queen. Nothing, you will observe —or at least not a very great deal—to which a gentleman could take exception, who might very much dislike being described as a louse.

There has come into our hands a letter from a certain trickmoustachioed blitzburgher, which seems to have escaped the wary eye of the censor—perhaps because it was sent by a young fellow in ‘he navy to his mama in Dunedin, and these naval fellows hav< proved themselves pretty artful dodgers. Herewith: ,

Bechtcsgarten, Austria. (In der deeb duggout) Mine tear Pritishers,

How vos you going along? How vos you? Do not kom to see me for I like not your ships nor your aeroplanes. I vas kom to see you, if you move dem ships away. Do not be frightened, I kom only for vour own goots!

Vot I kom fo.? Vot 1 vanted? 1 vants der leedle Bank of England for mine goot vriends Gobbles und Go-erring. I vant der dockyards, mein Gott * how I vants der dockyards! Take dem big ships away and hold dem aeroplanes down by de tail und I kom at once.

I vants dos leedle places, India, Canada, Australia, New Zealand und some odder places but above all I vants der vorld at Peace, von beeg Piece, my piece, but Ireland I vants not. Lader on I vants Russia und der America ver mine pig shermans can sid in der sun and eat their Leber Wurst und trink their Laager und be de only- mans in der vorld allowed to eat der butter, dems is all I vants. Gott in Himmel, you haf much more dan is goot for you mine tear Pritishers. But Ireland I vants not. No! Der Teufel! Hearty Greetings from Adolf. P.S.—Move dem ships away or I get angry and kom not. Photoslatic copies of this inspiring document are no doubt obtainable upon application to the' Reichchancellery, Berlin; all letters to be earmarked “ Bomb-proof shelter," or if not in residence. “ please re-address to ‘ The Eerie Nest,’ Berchtesgarten,” “ The Untied States Department of State has withdrawn its objections to the censorship of airmail at the Bermudas,” states a Washington message. Having, so to speak, taken the knot out of the red tape. Herr Hitler declared that Britain described General Revolution as her chief ally, then General Winter, and, thirdly, Genera] Hunger. He added that the British should not forget to raise their most important general—

General Bluff—to the rank of FieldMarshal of the Empire. “ When the hour comes we shall substitute Genera] Fact for all these generals,” he said. Unless, of course. General Paralysis the Insane is given his head.