Sadder Stewards

Sun (Auckland), Volume III, Issue 719, 19 July 1929, Page 1

Sadder Stewards

PASSENGERS WITH SMALL MEANS GIVE NO TIPS | ON VOYAGE

IMMIGRANTS AND WOOL He was not very drunk and, as he spoke, leaning against a barrel in an hostelry much frequented by men of the sea, it was obvious that he was very much in earnest. For an hour without ceasing, words falling over each other as his confused thoughts were given expression, he harangued the bar on the woes of England in general and assistant-stewards in particular. “JPOR 14 years, man and boy, I have | been to sea and I can tell you things that you could never believe—yes, and even more extraordinary than that.” His plaint was, strange to say, a stern indictment of the dole system in England, and one wondered how it could possibly affect him, as he was in the Home country probably only a week in three months. Notliing~but a “personal-interest” motive could have inspired the little Cockney to such a sustained outburst, and it was interesting to follow his argument. He was of the opinion that the dole was stagnating English manufactures, and every artisan was wistfully gazing at the delightful posters of life in New Zealand, displayed in the labour bureaux, of which there were four within a penny bus ride of where the little steward’s ship berthed. As these artisans, the unemployed of England, formed their queue each day to sign on for the dole, the pictures were always prominent before them, and now and then one would strike a double in racing and by other ingenious means rake together sufficient money to pay a passage to New Zealand, the modern Canaan.

“They come on the ship and there they meet me with my 12 cabins to look after,” continued the steward, smiting himself an ill-directed blow on the chest. “They say to me, ‘Steward, we are going out to New Zealand to make our fortunes and we have only a bob or two over our passage money.’ It is too comomn a thing to laugh over now and, beside that, the poor devils have no money to give the steward. Years ago the job of even a second-class steward was worth having. The wages were just a sort of retaining fee and we did very well, thank you, on what the passengers handed over. Now we are all as poor as church mice; that is on the colonial runs—immigrants when outward bound, and wool to take Home! And they are of about the same value when it comes to tipping.” Then, overcome by his own woes, the outraged Cockney lapsed into what was almost incoherency as he execrated everyone he considered responsible for the collapse of his fortunes.

Later he told his hearers that Germans were filming the five or six hundred men lined up outside each labour bureau with movie cameras and showing the films in their native country under the caption of “England of Today.” Much more he said, but little worthy of note until an admiring shipmate said: “You ought to have a soapbox, George.” ‘I could tel you lots more if I was not half drunk,” concluded the orator, turning to his long neglected halfhandle.