BERT RALTON’S DEATH

Sun (Auckland), Volume 1, Issue 16, 9 April 1927, Page 21

BERT RALTON’S DEATH

TRAGIC PICNIC PARTY ACCIDENT WHILE SHOOTING South Africans had a big place in their hearts for Bert Ralton, who died as the result of a shooting accident while on his .tour there. He was in New Zealand two years ago with his famous jazz band. The newspapers paid him wonderful tributes and on the day of his funeral every music shop in Johannesburg and the surrounding towns was closed. Mr. Ralton had played to the patients of the Salisbury Hospital only 12 hours before he was taken back there to die. The accident happened while he was out shooting buck on a Sunday picnic party near the Hunyani Falls. Mr. Ralton had decided to spend Sunday picknicking at Hunyani Falls, 20 miles from Salisbury. He was accompanied by Miss M’lita Dolores, Mrs. Johnston, her daughter Millicent, the latter’s young brother, and another member of the Plavanna Band. The party encamped near the falls, amid sylvan surroundings. They spent the morning rambling through the woods, and then they slipped into an inviting pool for a bathe. After lunch the party were smoking cigarettes, when Miss Millicent Johnston saw four duiker coming down to drink on the opposite bank of the river. Mr Ralton and young Johnston stole quietly away to a tree, where their guns were lying, and everyone’s attention was centred on the buck which were coming on unsuspectingly. Young Johnston seized his shot-gun, and with his finger on the trigger, backed round the tree intent on getting in a shot at 20 yards. Mr. Ralton, who had also got his weapon, also endeavoured to secure cover by backing round the tree in the opposite direction to that taken by Johnston. Suddenly he backed right into tlio muzzle of Johnston’s gun, and the impact caused the latter to press the trigger. The charges exploded and entered Mr. Ralton’s thigh. The charge passed through his pocket and lodged, with two half-crowns and a twisted motor-car key. in the thigh, causing a gaping wound. With a loud cry, “My leg,” the unfortunate man feil to earth. Mrs. Johnston tried to stay the flow of blood by inserting napkins into the wound and placing a tourniquet above it. Young Johnston, who was completely bewildered, was sent back to town for a doctor and ambulance. Meanwhile, Miss Dolores. greatly distressed, assisted Mrs. Johnston to relieve the wounded man’s pain. Noticing their great agony, Air. Ralton said he was all right, but added, pathetically, “I don’t want to die yet.” He then called for his ukelele and, to the accompaniment of the women’s tears, he sang, “I’ll be loving you always.” The party broke down. He immediately afterwards became unconscious. Stimulants were administered and he recovered. Then he called for Miss Dolores and imparted to her certain instructions concerning the disposal of his estate and other domestic matters. He was the most cheerful member of the party. He smoked Several cigarettes, although he must have been suffering acutely, and endeavoured to cheer his companions by saying that “It was an accident. Nobody is to blame.” Shortly afterwards the doctor and ambulance arrived, and he was taken at once to Salisbury Hospital where he died.

“No! No! Nanette,” the whirlwind musical comedy now being presented at the Grand Opera House, Wellington, by J. Cf. Williamson, Ltd., under special arrangement with Sir Benjamin and Mr. John Fuller, established some records in other parts of the world. It was played for 165 nights and many matinees in Sydney, 154 at Melbourne. 28 in Newcastle, 20 in Brisbane, and 16 at Adelaide, nearly 400 performances altogether. Its strong features are an intriguing domestic story, combined with delightful music, sparkling dialogue, splendid comedy, in which “Jimmy Godden and Charlton Morton fairly revel, beautiful scenery, magnificent mounting, gorgeous frocking, and effective ensemble work. The dancing is a particularly strong feature of the show, and some of the specialty turns, in which Alma Mackie is prominent, are remarkably clever. * * * “What kind of mood is Mr. Noel Cowai*d going to be in to-night?” someone said before the curtain went ui> at the Criterion Theatre, London, on his new play recently. Were we to be given the Noel Coward with a purpose, as he showed himself in “The Vortex,” or the merely facetious Coward as he was seen in “Hay Fever,” or the purely cynical Coward as we saw in “Fallen Angels,” or the romanticallyinclined Coward who gave us “The Queen Was in the Parlour”? The answer was that Mr. Coward, always an

experimentalist, had decided to present in “The Marquise” a perfectly respectable play, with the period laid in 1735. and with a part carefully written round the personality of Marie Tempest. That, perhaps, is the best thing about “The Marquse”—Miss Tempest is given such ample opportunities to exploit her delectable personality. The story is as slight as it is bright, says a London critic. There was a good deal of applause after the curtain fell, and Miss Tempest, in a graceful little speech, told an enthusiastic first-night audience that the author was “on the high seas.” But Noel Coward has done far, far better things than “The Marquise.” He is nicer when he is more naughtv. Rarely, if ever, have New York audiences remained in their seats and standing in the aisles without making any effort to leave the theatre after the play, but at the premiere performance of Matheson Lang in “The Wandering Jew,” at the Cosmopolitan Theatre, and again at the first matinee almost the entire audience remained spellbound and awe-inspired for fully 20 minutes after the fall of the final curtain. While there was applause, for the most part, it was more in reverential appreciation of ultra-fine acting that the theatregoers failed to rush out of the Cosmopolitan Theatre. They were enthralled and stood transfixed. Exceptionally fine diction and the artistry of the actor s art and poise were responsible. “Dracula,” for people who are not on either edge of a nervous breakdown, is obviously the best of fun, says a London critic. Given the existence of mousling were-wolves and tousling vampires, this play is the jolliest blood-curdler imaginable. For those who like being thrilled to the marrow and would enjoy being left alone in a charnel house at midnight, the Little Theatre is the very place. Comic relief is supplied by the acting, which is unintentionally humorous throughout. It would be unfair, however, to include in this category Bernard Jukes, who, as an eater of flies and a drainer of spiders’ veins, rivals the original Blood-Drinker. “Dracula” is a blood-curdling novel by Bram Stoker and concerns the extinction of a super-vampire.