FROM THE WATCH TOWER

Sun (Auckland), Volume 1, Issue 61, 3 June 1927, Page 8

FROM THE WATCH TOWER

By the LOOK-OUT MAN. THE WRONG TURNINGIs the fact that a large percentage of the young -women who seek refuge in the St. Mary’s Homes are immigrants proof that they are less moral than New Zealand girls? One would prefer to think with the Rev. C. B. W. Seton, chaplain of the homes, that it is more because they are i$ a new country, away from home ties, friends and restraint, and so subjected to more temptation, that they “take the wrong turning.” The St. Mary’s Homes do an entirely Christian work in caring for those who have the misfortune to become mothers though unmarried, but there is sad commentary on the Christianity of some Christians in the statement made yesterday by Sister Hannah. There were the “real, earnest Christian people,” who cared for the Church but turned their backs on St. Mary’s Homes, said Sister Hannah. The others are those who “had no time for religion or Church,” but who helped on the work of saving fallen women and girls who had been led astray. This is where one remembers the case of Mary Magdalene and is prompted to ask, “Which are the Teal, earnest’ Christians?” SOMETHING LIKE A CROP Gardening talk has slackened somewhat on the suburban trains, growth being at a standstill owing to the weather. Generally speaking, therefore, railway passengers can be described as being more truthful in the winter months. In our “smoker” yesterday, however, the conversation somehow drifted back to the old subject. It came about through someone reading out a newspaper paragraph concerning a great pumpkin crop—several score tons to the acre. The grower of gigantics scoffed. “Nothing,” he said. “Nothing at all. I was on a farm which grew pumpkins so big that one would fill a dray—had to haul ’em up by block and tackle. The number of tons to the acre couldn’t be reckoned —there was more weight on the surface than below it. 1 tell you, the ground sank four feet ten inches with the load on top.” And there wasn’t a man in that compartment game to tell him what he thought. TO FENCE OR NOT TO FENCE?

The correspondent who wrote to the Devonport Council complaining of “the horrible conglomeration” of fences along Queen’s Parade voiced the views of many people. High fences, low fences, hedges, concrete fences, paling and picket fences, wire and iron fences, make an unholy show in most streets. It is suggested that rockeries should take the place of these hideous erections. In American cities fences are done away with, and gardens stretch back level with the footpaths. This gives the streets an effect of very much greater width and accentuates the charm of home and garden. It would be a scheme well worth emulating in Auckland, provided that the wandering cow nuisance were abolished. The day of the fence ought to be done in any modern city. SECRECY AND DIVORCE Divorce business is brisker in England since the coming into force of the law restricting newspaper reports. At the beginning of the last Divorce Court sittings in London, 770 cases were listed, as against 452 for last year. This looks as though the fear of publicity has in the past been quite an

efficient guardian of morality. But the laundry which washes dirty linen in strict privacy seems to obtain a plentiful supply. An English journal scathingly declares that in this connection the nation has adopted for its working basis the “eleventh commandment” — which is, “Thou shalt not be found out.” TOO D D MUTCH T. D. Mutch, .leader of the breakaway section of the New South Wales Parliamentary Labour Party, and possibly destined for the Premiership, is said to have only been beaten by Lang for the leadership of the party by a single vote at one caucus meeting. Mutch is a journalist who entered politics through the doorway of “The Australian Worker.” He was twice Minister of Education in New South Wales, and a most capable Minister, too. Weighted by responsibility, he dropped much of the militancy of his early politics, when he was noted for aggressive onslaughts on the opposing factions. He was one of the organisers of the old Writers and Artists’ Union, from which grew the now powerful Australian Journalists’ Association. Organising in Hobart, he incurred the frath of one vitriolic employer, at least. This gentleman was teasingly asked by a friend, “Have you seen much of T. D. Mutch?” “Too d d much!” exploded the employer. From his point of view there was altogether too much Mutch.