FROM THE WATCH TOWER

Sun (Auckland), Volume III, Issue 781, 30 September 1929, Page 8

FROM THE WATCH TOWER

By

“THE LOOK-OUT MAN.”

WOMEN Once set apart as ldtUe cattle, Given to tea and tittle tattle, Behold ’em in life's hustle-bustle, Now up to man in mind and muscle. They ballot with the ragerle-tag-gle; In business-life they higgle-haggle; They straphang with the manly tugger; In motors they ride hugger-mugger. On football fields they boola-boola; On dancing floors they hula-hula In every wall! of life they double Our stress and strain and toil and trouble Keith Preston (U.S.A.), SEAM, BAND, BUST There is a sidelight on human psychology in the behaviour of a car-owner to a new car, and it is never better shown than in his treatment of doors. An acquaintance drives about in a new vehicle of gorgeous lustre. Someone banged the door. “Ah,” said the motorist mournfully, “I can see you are not used to driving in a real motor-car. “Yet in six months he will be saying, “Slam that door, old man. It won’t shut otherwise.” * * * OUTWARD BOUND Those who go down to the sea in ships don’t always go there by orthodox methods. The outboard owners take their ships along with them. Over the week-end a city hotel disgorged one outboard motor-boat and a number of enthusiasts. The outboard was placed on a special rack on the top of a saloon car, and the enthusiasts climbed inside and drove off as though 1929 de luxe plush-lined super six models were built for the specific purpose of carrying motor-boats about. It suggests a new slogan for the car vendor. “Buy a car and own an outboard.” ■* * * THE OLD BRIGADE The destiny of old cars is one of the mysteries of the age, but a pile of assorted ironmongery deposited lately on the eastern reclamation helps to solve the mystery. The rusted chassis of one or two automobiles that no doubt were in their day the joy and pride of envied motorists are discernible In the rusting heap. A hundred years hence, when excavating for the foundations of a new mooring mast for trans-Pacific airships, labourers will uncover these relics of early Auckland, and newspaper reporters will decide sagely that those people were not so backward after all. Incidentally, the same heap exhibits large numbers of discarded lorry wheels. Their solid tyres are worn down to the rims in faithful service rendered to mankind. A useful beast of burden, the motortruck, yet its discarded tyres must be cast into the sea. They cannot decorate the sides of wharves, like the tyres of mere flivvers, or help to soften the jars of the ferried. HOPEFUL DAWN

When one reflects what large and massive mountains the Coromandel Ranges are, and what relatively insignificant holes they are that, have been drilled into them by gold-seek-ers, there seems ground for the optimism of the band of Waihi citizens who are endeavouring to promote fresh search for gold by modern methods. Without knowing anything of mineralogy, auriferous reefs, and such like, one might be forgiven for speculating pleasantly on the possibility that enterprise like this may be rewarded by something bigger and better than we have known before. In fact, experts as well as mere laymen concur In the belief that in Thame'*. Waihi and district, there is more gold remaining in the ground than has hitherto been taken out of it. The same applies to fish and the sea, but difficulties are common to both elements. The only difference is that you can sell people a gold brick, but when they buy a gold fish they do so with their eyes open.

HANDY ANDY * *

By smiting well and truly down the fairway, one A. J. Shaw has won the New Zealand Open Golf Championship in record figures. Belmont links, the Scene of his triumph, has a salubrious position between Wanganui and the sea. In fact, a minor disadvantage connected therewith is the fact that it is liable to catch all the ozone that is going. Another minor disadvantage —-but one that troubles, only such duffers as the Ij.O.M.—is the fact that the first tee is about two paces from the always attentive gallery on the clubhouse balcony. The first tee overlooks a sharp slope. People like A. J. Shaw send their drives soaring into vacancy, but the unhappy company of foozlers just top the ball and send it trickling down the slope in front of the tee. But these are tribulations that trouble not the giants of the game. “Andy” Shaw is a Scot who drives a terrific ball. In fact, a precious personal memory is of Shaw playing an equally broad brither Scot, who murmured “Oh, Almdy,” every time he was outdriven, and then danced a sean triubh, or something very like it, when superior short play gave him the hole.