FROM THE WATCH TOWER

Sun (Auckland), Volume 1, Issue 49, 20 May 1927, Page 8

FROM THE WATCH TOWER

By the LOOK-OUT MAN

WEIGHTING A WRONG

Not since the historic episode of Sir James Parr being entertained to strawberries and cream by his admirers at Henderson, has the public conscience been stirred as it has been by the action of the Morrinsville School Committee, in providing an unauthorised tea for the Minister of Education. It was not quite a tea, either, but “the ingredients” therefor were purchased and handed over to the Technical School pupils to convert into dainty calres for the Ministerial palate. It is not on record how many Mr. Wright ate, but probably not to the value of £1 6s sd, the amount for which the balance-sheet of the Morrinsville Committee was “tagged.” The members probably helped, and now they will have to pay. Had the ingredients been of another (the Scottish) variety there might have been something in the retrospect to soften the pang.

FATAL BOXING Life is all anomaly. A man falls forty feet from a building and escapes with a broken toe, or another has his skull stove-in by a kick from a horse or the unexpected descent of half a ton of bricks, and makes a surprising recovery. A boxer, struck with well-padded gloves on to a canvascovered floor, dies of injuries to the brain! The death of Roy Overend at Napier is the second in New Zealand in the last few years under precisely the same circumstances—the other being that of Cyril Whitaker, who died in Auckland after a glove-contest with Tom Heeney. The public conscience will be eased by an assurance that participants in these encounters are submitted to a thorough medical overhaul —and not merely a superficial examination —before they enter the ring. * * * GAOLS WITHOUT WALLS It is learned that the escaped prisoner who gave a police posse the slip in the bush at Waeranga gained his liberty two years ago by neglecting to return to confinement after having been allowed out to go shopping. Prisoners don’t remain in custody these days—they just walk out of the gates at Mount Eden, saunter away from the quarries, or step off trains while kind warders escorting them to prison are in railway refreshment rooms buying them cups of tea. Seems as if gaols without walls would be just as effective. Then we needn’t bother to employ warders, who, poor men, are always being vexed by their charges giving them the slip. THE CHINESE MENACE Isn’t it time we interned the Chinese in this country—placed them in shellproof underground retreats, for their own safety? There is a real danger looming in this Chinese war. The marksmanship of Chinese warships attempting to bombard a fort- was “so frightfully bad” that the captains of merchant ships were afraid to venture within miles of them. The combatants are said to be obtaining guns with an immense range, and it is quite possible that if Chang-Tso-Lin declares war on America and his crack marksmen try to bombard New York, some of his shells will lob on little New Zealand. We really ought to take every precaution, and as we so dearly love the Chinese in our midst our first duty is to see to their safety. RICH FARE AND HUMBLE While the Look-Out Man was nibbling at a shop-supplied sandwich (buttered by a fine spray and vitalised by three small crumbs of cheese), he read this:—“Pheasants, like all game birds, should be hung as long as possible. The breasts should be covered with fat bacon. Frost the breast with flour and baste with butter. ...” !!! It was beautiful reading. . . . The sandwich became even more anaemic and tasteless. But, thought the LookOut Man, of what use repining? He quoted the old adage, “First catch your hare —” Not that he is altogether a stranger to pheasants; he has seen them in the bush, and once (long, long ago) a friend gave him one to take home. The friend assured him it had been well hung and was then fit to cook. Some people have queer ideas of fitness. That pheasant must have been hanging since they hanged Jack Cade. Three times it caused the gas in the oven to blow out, and it had to be removed by force and boiled in the copper (with two hundred weight of lead over it) before it would consent to being roasted. When browned, it was chained up in the safe to cool. The door was left open. Two hours later, the pheasant had disappeared, and a faithful dog lay dead. The moral is that those in humble stations should be content with their sand wich and not hanker after the “higher” things of life.