FROM THE WATCH TOWER

Sun (Auckland), Volume III, Issue 709, 8 July 1929, Page 8

FROM THE WATCH TOWER

By “THE LOOK-OUT MAN.” THE TYPISTE'S! BLUNDER Ail alteration in the Christ’s College Empowering Bill was asked for in the House last week on account of an error made by a typiste last year. Perhaps on that disastrous day, Presiding at her irksome keyboard, The typist.e’s thoughts were far away On some romantic, sun-drenched seaboard. Or where, beneath a silver moon, Divinely chosen couples croon. Maybe she dreamed of hats and gowns, And worlds of golden star-dust scattered To hide life's dreary ups and downs . And make it so that nothing indttered, Far less an eight struck for a six In bills devised of -politics . And then, perhaps it was vot she But someone, else who made the blunder, Who wrote his copy carelessly Tint circumspectly stole from under, And let the typiste take the blame—- " Boy, send me in Miss What’s-her Name V’ BEOWULF. H AX SARD The sight of an important citizen stoutly maintaining that he has been misreported it always entertaining to newspaper men, and perhaps mystifying to others, who wonder why a reporter could be so silly. There is a reminder in the recent case of Dr. Telford, of Christchurch, to whom some most offensive remarks about the people of Westport were unjustly credited. Of course, Dr. Telford was quite innocent of such remarks. People who give interviews always are. And reporters don’t mind. Their news editors are understanding people, who have been reporters themselves. BEEF AND BOXE It’s a fine thing to be a Southland farmer, and to have a name so Scotch that it makes Ramsay MacDonald sound like the name of a prominent Hibernian. By the kind graces of a civilisation which arranges • farmers' trains and kindred refinements, Southern Scots who never before roamed far from their native heaths are brought north into an effete atmosphere of zoos and wooden matches. This particular pilgrim had never seen a lion before, and was in the happy position of having standards of judgment unimpaired by previous acquaintance. Moreover, he judged a lion by its value in beef, bone, and hide. “A verra fine beast,” he said, and probably pictured the stripped carcase hanging up from his gallows, and the hide spread out behind the cowshed. “A verra fine beast,” he said again, but you could see the repetition was only a concession to his hosts, and it was quite obvious that he would not have traded the King of Beasts for the scrubbiest bullock on his farm. THE JEHUS Let’s pause a moment to doff an admiring cap toward the talented folk who drive our commercial motor trucks through heavy traffic, and particularly those who drive the great, lumbering wagons employed on building construction jobs. It’s really not easy to imagine anything more difficult to drive than an enormous earthladen truck that has to be backed and manoeuvred in a narrow street like Vulcan lane, or taken stern first up a greasy ramp just wide enough for the wheel tracks, and no more. The excavations on the Civic Theatre job saw Auckland’s truck drivers exhibiting refined skill worthy of a latter-day Ben Hur, and again at the Power Board job in Durham street west, when the laden trucks arrive with cement, to be taken right inside the building, and not merely deposited on the pavement. If in these circumstances the truck driver sometimes puts a wheel on to the kerb, or runs his radiator into congenial relationship with the swung doors of a bar, people whose driving is all light and straightforward should forbear to criticise. Even Segrave might falter if told to back a ten-ton truck through a nine-foot doorway. FIRELESS CITY Touching wood with great determination, we are impelled to comment on the city’s recent marked freedom from serious fires. Since the oil fire of many moons ago, few have seen any conflagration more vehement than a coke-fire, or a gas-log. In a sense this is regrettable, because fires are among the free shows on which the community is seriously dependent. Others are accidents, construction jobs and eccentric revellers, but these usually have the disadvantage that the front-seat positions are restricted in number. The accident in Wellesley Street the other day was an excellent example of this great truth. Pew of those at the back of the crowd knew by more than hearsay what was happening. But they were able to go home with due pride and say, “I was there.” With fires, on the other hand, even latecomers get a reasonably good view if the blaze is of suitable dimensions. The fact that the public has lately been denied such spectacles is not an unmixed blessing, and exploding electric light conduits have helped to fill the deficiency. The Power Board should be accorded a vote of thanks. by acclamation!.