FROM THE WATCH TOWER

Sun (Auckland), Volume I, Issue 197, 9 November 1927, Page 10

FROM THE WATCH TOWER

By

“THE LOOK-OUT MAN

FRESH BLOOD WANTED The ex-Kaiser is more greatly worried over the domestic adventures of his royal relatives than he was when hundreds of thousands of his common subjects were being . slaughtered by the enemy his madness goaded Into action. Following the announcement that his sister is to marry a non-royal Russian, come tidings of the betrothal of the Duchess Sophie Charlotte, whom divorce separated from Prince Eitel Friedrich, Wilhelm’s second son, last year. The lady Intends to wed an ex-policeman, and the ex-Kaiser and “society” are in the throes of consternation. Seeing the decadence of the Hohenzollern family in the last two generations, one would imagine the infusion of some “common” blood into the strain would do it the world of good. A big, healthy ex-policeman ought to be just what is required to restore mental poise and physical fitness. It is a matter for regret that Wilhelm’s grandfather did not marry a commonsense washerwoman. There would have been born a reasonable Wilhelm, instead of a sabre-rattling, warslobbering criminal egoist. A CHECK' Congratulations to the Harbour Board for refusing to be bribed into cheapening the waterfront! In the past it has done so much to destroy the natural beauty of the foreshores that Its present attitude is all the more pleasing. There can now be recommended to the board the appointment of a beautification committee, to consult with its engineers with reference to all new wharves and reclamations, so that future works may add to, rather than spoil, the attractions of the waterfront. There seems to be. a new sense of the fitness of things growing up among the custodians of the harbour, and this is deserving of encouragement. These remarks are prompted in part by the decided refusal of the board to grant a publicity company permission to erect panel advertisements on the ferry wharves. Had the ooard permitted this form of advertising, it would be bombarded with requests to be allowed space for painted signs and electric screens on the roof of its own buildings, on the tower of the Ferry Buildings, and on all its sheds. Give the advertising fiend his way, and he will make every landmark a plastered monstrosity by day and a blatant blaze by night. ONE IN SIX For every six marriages in the United States last year, there was more than one divorce. Love’s young dream, with skilled legal assistance, breaks up very quickly in the United States. Divorce is a very great help in a film career, of course. You can’t be a. real star until you have been divorced, and stars of the first magnitude have to be divorced more than once to attain full brilliance. Some screen arists, it seems, only marry so that they can obtain divorce, and the star-making publicity that goes with it. There are picture people who have been through the matrimonial mill no fewer than six times —some even more often, ’tis said. They have the advantage of requiring absolutely no training to be able to portray the parts of Henry VIII. or Oatherine of Russia to perfection; it just comes natural to them. “Yes, the Americans are the freest people in the world, sir!” They even legalise free love.

HUMOUR OF AN EGG

Our judicial courts are sadly lacking in humour. Possibly that accounts for the penalty imposed by an Auckland magistrate last week on two boys who thought it great fun to throw an egg at a lady. It cost them £2 each for the damage caused to clothing—plus the floggings their fathers were strongly advised to administer. But there really is a lot of humour In an egg. There is the egg you hold lengthways, for instance, and, press as hard as you can, you cannot smash it. You tell your friend it has an unbreakable shell, and hand it to him. He presses it from the sides—and what a lovely mess! Then there is the egg you slip in the coat pocket of your friend (that pocket wherein he keeps matches, pipe and tobacco) while he Is having a little light exercise with the hoe in the garden, fl’he hoe-handle, knocking against the pocket, does the rest. There is also the china egg you slip Into the eggcup of your fellow-boarder just as he is about to sit down for breakfast. Ob, and lots of others —the eggs you heave at politicians; the eggs you put under the sitting hen and expect chickens from when your fowls have dwelt in unbroken spinsterhood; the new-laid eggs from the cold stores; and (stale joke) the egg of which you complain in the restaurant: “Waiter; there’s a chicken in this egg!” This is where the waiter grabs the bill and adds to the total: “Chicken, 4s 6d.” But some egg-humour, like some eggs, is very addled.