FROM THE WATCH TOWER

Sun (Auckland), Volume III, Issue 747, 21 August 1929, Page 8

FROM THE WATCH TOWER

By “THE LOOK-OUT MAN.”

A STICKY BUSINESS Three nurses who wrote a rhyme in protest against jam being served in the tin at the Auckland Nurses’ Home have been made to apologise to the matron in the presence of the board. It may have been plum, marmalade, or quince, Or else that tasty syrup, plum and apple, That —served- so coarseb’ —made the girls evince Reluctance with that sticky tin to grapple. For though in seaside shack 'twould be no sin In choice twixt dish and tin to choose the latter. Surely that wealthy Board could raise the tin To do the decent thing—and buy a platter. However rare and elegant the can, How rich and ripe the fruit upon its label. It was not meant for dainty folk to scan, Nor fit for any but the barrack table. Samaritans who, charming, cool, and trim, Ease fever’s pangs, or soothe the brow that’s clammy, Shall they be made to search the jar like him, That impish lad whose little face was jammy ? In accents firm and clear, we answer NO! Cast out the lowly tin, the humble carton. Let crystal dishes on the tables glow. Why should a girl be made to play the Spartan ? And let me add, lest martinets get terse, And urge reprisals on this jingling patron, I’m out of reach—l dedicate my verse To that disciplinarian—-the matron! T. TOHEROA. 7,V A. GLASSHOUSE Dear L.O.M. —If there is anything in the proverb about people in glasshouses, “Jamie” O’Brien, advocate of a State newspaper, should be careful of the bricks he heaves. Is he not manager of the “Grey River Argus,” a Labour paper, and not the least partisan of New’ Zealand dailies. a * * NO FLOWERS The brutal treatment meted out to a Florida rumrunner, who has been hanged for his efforts to help lubricate a continent, destroys the longstanding illusion that kings of the American liquor traffic had a tacit guarantee of State protection. But even though hanged, the deceased goes out in the full odour of sanctity. He passed on to his sorrowing dependants the news that the rum business brings nought but trouble, and that virtue brings its own reward. In addition he left them a million dollars, the modest result of his business operations. So fortified against any need to occupy themselves in the hazardous enterprise of their sire, his children will be in a position to appreciate and rejoice in his piety.

WHAT ODDS (By “Early Worm”) Tonight’s the night. In other words, the most eagerly awaited sporting fixture of the year will be held tonight in the Scots Hall. The participants, of course, are the Rev. W. Lawson Marsh and Mr. C. E. Major, who are to discuss with as much detachment as possible the age-old human failing of gambling. As befits the theme, the meeting has assumed a sporting flavour, and it is reported that the reverend gentleman’s stable, having inside knowledge of his form, are quietly confident. To say that they are prepared to invest heavily on his chances would perhaps be unjust. At the same time, it is freely stated that quite a nice little parcel has been handily placed. As for Mr. Major, he can be trusted not to let his principals down. He ivill be a trier from the rise of the tapes. Incidentally, a word to the wise is in season. Let the guardians of these fancied candidates be suspicious of any plausible strangers. Remember Lord Ranald! That should be sufficient. ON THE WIRE By another of its notable contributions to the social advancement of Auckland, the Hospital Board proposes to erect a wire fence as a barrier between the isolation block and the outer world. Inside the fence, of 1 course, the busy little germs will gambol like sheep in a pen; but outside the air will be as pure and untainted as the top of Ruapehu. One is reminded of past incidents at fever wards. Many an active adult, chafing at the isolation, has broken through the wire fences of so-called isolation wards. L.O.M. once met an acquaintance in a barber’s shop in another city. The said acquaintance had just been shaved, but his face was still curiously shaggy. “Hullo, Bill,” said L.0.M., “Been sunburnt?” Bill put a confidential hand up to his mouth and murmured, “No, I’ve had scarlet fever, but I nipped out this morning. Not a word.” The isolation ward that had isolated Bill so effectively had a wire fence round it. Three weeks later the L.O.M. was there himself. Good old Bill!.