HEY-HO, COME TO THE FAIR!

Sun (Auckland), Volume 1, Issue 103, 22 July 1927, Page 1 (Supplement)

HEY-HO, COME TO THE FAIR!

r» *xiERE is a distinct parallel between the Auckland Winter Exhibition and such old-time rural festivals as inspired the song-writer’s jovial invitation. “I iey-ho, Come to the Fair”—it has a beckoning ring. Thus did the fairs of Merry England call to the sons and daughters of the countryside, and though Auckland’s Winter Exhibition is housed in business-like sheds almost in the heart of a city, it still has a close connection with the fairs of old. There may be no painted tents, no pennons flaunting their invitation to the breeze, no wrestlers sprawling on firm turf; but the life, and colour, and movement are there just the same. In place of the gaudy streamers are blazing electrics. A band of Maori entertainers provides the primitive touch which the wrestlers and the gipsies contributed to the atmosphere of the fair. And the produce of farms throughout the Auckland dis-

trict holds the show to the rural interest which was the foundation of such occasions. CHANGES THROUGH THE YEARS Times have changed since Auckland held its first show; the open field of other days has been supplanted by massive buildings. The crowds that throng the long lanes of exhibits are not like the crowds of 70 years ago, when soldiers, sailors and painted warriors mingled with the yeoman and the townsman. If there are sailors to-day, they are clad in no distinctive attire, and the native element plays a part in the performance only to recall the rhythm of the melodies and dances that are the inheritance of a gifted race. From the first days a virtue of the shows was that they gave the countryman a chance to come to town. That holds to-day. In the crowds now swarming in the exhibition buildings the farmer from the distant back-

country rubs shoulders with the townsman, and also with the small farmer whose holding is within call of the city. Their association under these circumstances follows their alliance through a common interest. The occasional suspicion that is raised between country' and town could never linger if the dependence, on each other, of the separate communities was everywhere recognised. THE CITY’S OBEISANCE Auckland is a fine city—a great city, judged by standards of years, and the time it has taken to reach its present eminence, in comparison with the centuries communities in the Old World have been in existence. There the mushroom city—so would be classified a centre that grew in 80 years—is a thing unknow,n. On the Continent, Auckland would be considered a phenomenon. But not the proudest Aucklander, the stoutest citizen of the flourishing city, can in justice deny acknowledg-

Winter Exhibition Open ANOTHER MILESTONE IN AUCKLAND’S PROGRESS Country Walks with the Town EXPRESSING the virile spirit which has created a city in eighty years, the Auckland Winter Exhibi- " tion should attract the attention of all who are interested in the advancement of the province. Hidden behind the rows of stalls, set out with the merchandise of to-day, is the story of pioneering effort. Every barque that has rounded North Head, to enter the haven of the Waitemata, has directly or indirectly influenced the development for which the 1927 exhibition is a synonym, and so has every stouthearted yeoman who bent his back in the tilling of new fields. These are reflections in which the serious-minded, inspecting the array of produce and products, may indulge. Eor others the show may appeal only in its light-hearted aspects. Sights to be seen, games to play, wares to bbiy—these wall attract. And so, for all, the Winter Exhibition should be wholly entertaining.

ment of the country’s share in his town’s advancement. Rather, he should concede that Auckland owes its existence to the men who laboured outside its boundaries. Farmers, miners, gum-diggers, tim-ber-workers —the toil they expended helped to create the towering warehouses of to-day. It was for the fruit of their effort that ships came to Auckland. For them —the primary producers—was every pile of the long quays driven. For them, indeed, were built the very sheds in which rural produce lies beside city products today. Through them, now, echoes the sound of music. Ghostly voices, perhaps, whisper in the loud-speakers overhead. The shuffle of feet and the murmur of many voices fill the hall, and outside there are crowds about the amusement booths, testing luck and skill. So run the fascination and frolic of the fair.