FROM THE WATCH TOWER

Sun (Auckland), Volume III, Issue 707, 5 July 1929, Page 9

FROM THE WATCH TOWER

By “THE LOOK-OUT fylAN.’"

FERRY BOAT ORATORS At the Devonport Borough Council meeting the other night, a disputed statement was attributed to a “Ferry boat orator.” Shades of Chrysostom, Cicero, Quintilian, Who stirred the ancients almost to hysterics, Ten thousand year's may pass, perhaps a million. Nor fade the lustre of your panegyrics. Yet there's a group of newer lights arisen Whose eloquence your well-earned fame may bury; Who 3 somewhere twixt the foremast and the mizzen, Hold forth unchallenged on the harbour ferry. jNo subject these bold pundits fear to tackle. To them the world’s affairs are easy topics. Nor chide them if at times their earnest Assumes the torrid flavour of the tropics. Statesmen might well engage as handy tutors These rhetoricians, and attend with very Great profit to the lore the sage commuters Expound twice daily on the harbour ferry . Burke, Sheridan, Eox, Shaftesbury , and others Whose fluent styles have paralysed the nation, Must yield the honours to our North Shore brothers, Masters of pitch, pause , tone and peroration. Our Jasper Calders and our Hugh McKenzies, Or J. R. Lundon, better known as “J erry,” Must bow before the hypnotising frenzies Unleashed by pleaders on the harbour ferry. T. TOIIEROA. THE ICONOCLAST Disputing a speaker’s claims for an extension of time after some other member has moved for it is one of the things that simply “is not done” in the House of Representatives, so many must have been the raised eyebrows when Mr. D. McDougall shouted: “No, let us get on with the business,” when an extension of time was asked for the Hon. J. G. Coates yesterday. The “catch” about doing that sort of thing, from a member’s point of view, is that you never know when you may want an extension yourself. Mr. McDougall did not pursue his objection. Perhaps he was mollified by the remark, “Well, I have very little more I wish to say,” or words to that effect, which is the formality observed by speakers on such occasions, and usually means that they are good for another half-hour, at least. RAZER GA~NG * * At peril of concussion, people love to stop and watch wreckers at work. From a safe distance, the sight of lusty fellows overthrowing parapets and cornices, as they have just done with a building in Vulcan Lane, is entertaining. Witnesses can almost get an idea of what a had earthquake must feel like, and experience that queer sense of intrusion which seems to_ accompany peeps at the shattered privacy of wrecked rooms. Some good wrecking or “razing” jobs have been done in Auckland in recent years, but perhaps the prize will be the old Shortland Street Post Office, which looks as though little short of dynamite would shift its feudal-looking walls. The massive old pile gives the romantic impression that there might be forgotten dungeons down below it. So the wrecker’s lot is, not all dust and shreds of mortar. He may even unearth Romance, and every wrecker has his ambitions. Jacob Volk, the most famous of New York’s wrecking contractors, made his name when, securing a contract to destroy a 13storey building, he displayed an immense sign: “JACOB VOLK, THE MOST DESTRUCTIVE FORCE IN WALL STREET.” His fondest dream was to raze the Woolworth Building. Perhaps some of our budding wreckers already have their eyes on the Dilworth. TOWARD THE SKY By the appearance of the new Power Board building, which has large superstructures rising from the roof to a considerable height above the nominal building, limit, this tribute to the lasting glory of electric power may be the city’s loftiest pile. Possibly the Power Board, not being averse from turning an honest penny, may capitalise its advantage by charging sightseers a nimble shilling for a view from the highest point. Or it could have a graduated scale, like that which horrifies the visitor to St. Paul’s, London. Being a church, thinks the tourist, St. Paul’s should he a free show. But it’s sixpence to the Whispering gallery, a shilling to the Stone gallery, another shilling to the Golden gallery, and a final bob to the ball. Let anyone who doubts it come hither and view a frayed, yellow ticket. Well, there’s an idea for the Power Board. Sixpence to the roof, another sixpence to the top of the caretaker’s penthouse, and another levy for the last few feet. There is only one difficulty, the counter-attraction of Mt. Eden, a free show.