FROM THE WATCH TOWER

Sun (Auckland), Volume II, Issue 562, 15 January 1929, Page 8

FROM THE WATCH TOWER

By

“THE LOOK-OUT MAN.”

MANCHURIAN HOSPITALITY Chang Hseuh-liang, dictator of Manchuria, after entertaining his rivals, Yang Yu-ting and Chang Yin-huai, to a mah jong party, had them murdered by soldiers. “Mali jongg, what fun!” screamed Yang and Chang, “Our dear dictator’s sweet.” Poor innocents, they never sensed A superman’s deceit. O, no, they never Knew, alas, The game oft played with zest Would have such fatal tendency To waft them to the west. The pieces on the table set — The steaming bowls of tea, The gentle rigour of the game. . . . Yes, here was hospitality. Then Chang (Hang), with courtly bow, His soft excuses made, Meantime the brutal soldiery € Were summoned to the raid. Then when the shooting match was done And the dictator sated, The cable myin just told the world The guests were perforated. Tamerlane. * * * A FRIGATE'S CRUISE It is rarely that the attention of city folk is turned to that delightful little hamlet, Miranda, tucked away iu the south-west corner of the Firth ol’ Thames. Now that attention is called to it through the fact that a shark bit two lady bathers, the publicity is scarcely of the character deserved. One of these days, when the roads are better, Miranda may be one of Auckland’s favoured playgrounds. Bluestockings and others will go down with their copies of “The Tempest,” and think how fine it is that Shakespeare has secured recognition among a welter of more casual titles. If that be so, the recognition only comes indirectly, for it is written that a British frigate, the Miranda, once cruised far up the firth with a favourable wind. Thus Jthe place was named, and thus the newspaper billboards bore at least one euphonious name on the 14th day of January, 1929. * * * UNLUCKY DAYS If a ladder happens to be leaning against a wall in Queen Street, a good deal more tban half the pedestrians whose path it obstructs take particular pains to go round it. Similarly, there are still many people who take cognisance of the war superstition which enwrapped the lighting of three cigarettes with one match with peculiar dread. All this explains why his Holiness the Pope, setting about a perfectly laudable effort to clear away the mists of superstition, has the hardest part yet to do. If all superstitions had the obscure origin of the three-match business—-and doubtless they did —then the logic of the respect paid, them does not stand examination. But many a clubman enjoying a perfectly good tipple has been dragged from his armchair because a party in the adjacent dining room found suddenly that there were thirteen at the table. BRIGHTER BRIDGES About a current topic: Dear Watchtower, in view of the numerous proposals made for the relief of congestion on the Grafton Bridge, I feel it incumbent on me to make a suggestion which, as an engineer, I know to he entirely impractical, but which I feel, nevertheless, should be given every consideration. The thoughtful people responsible for recent suggestions have given no heed to the appearance of the bridge. We do not want to mar its symmetry. What I suggest is a closed-in top-deck approached by lifts from the lower part of the gully. The lift shafts could go up through the middle, and at each end, of the present roadway. They would thus serve the purpose of dividing traffic according to the rules. My top-deck would he roofed in with wire-netting and cloth of gold. Suicides would thus be discouraged. We do not want to mar the cemetery. Yours faithfully, Cyrus J. Spanner.

FIVE MILES A MINUTE The latest whim of the speed kings of motordom seems to be the bestowal of resounding titles on their monster machines. Segrave’s latest, the Golden Arrow, supplies a characteristic instance. There were also, among a number of others, the Blue Bird and the Black Hawk, though none have quite captured the reckless flavour of Chitti-bang-bang, one of the greatest cars that ever raced. Babs was another historic bus. Interesting, too, is the fact that “no precautions have been omitted to preserve the driver’s safety,” which certainly indicates a tender thoughtfulness, if nothing else, as the driver of the mighty contraptions seems hitherto to have been the last person considered. With the improvement of “Robots” and other mechanical gentry, it is surprising that a steel substitute for the man at the wheel has not yet been found. But the crash of the “Purple Thunderbolt” at 300 miles an hour would lose all its thrill if the mangled victim were only a bloodless automaton.