FROM THE WATCH TOWER

Sun (Auckland), Volume III, Issue 816, 9 November 1929, Page 8

FROM THE WATCH TOWER

By “THE LOOK-OUT MAN.” ARMISTICE DAY (Monday, November 11) When we bare our heads in the silence While the wheels of the world are still, And we think of a million’s sacrifice, With One on a certain hill, Will we go our way forgetting, When the wheels of the world revolve, That the million died for a problem That we have yet to solve? Will we still be amused with the toys of war And bow to the God of Speed? Get taken in with the same romance, Masking the same old greed? For God’s sake let us remember It’s a lie we have got to kill, When we bare our heads in the silence And the wheels of the world stand still. ARTHUR HATHAWAY MOIST TOPIC The present seems a good opportunity to revive discussion of that timehonoured topic, the weather. Comment herein is more in sorrow than in anger, but it may be mentioned reproachfully that the timing gear of the seasons seems to have slipped out of joint. We had a burst of real summer a few weeks ago when spring showers seemed indicated, but now, in what is getting perilously near “the holiday” season, there is nothing but clouds, rain, wind, humid heat, and then some more rain. In fact, rain is the predominating element. It is only a few short weeks since we optimistically and perhaps rather foolishly applauded the passage of a permanent Summer Time Bill. And now the bottom has fallen out of the celestial water can, and a grim suggestion that there is no such thing as summer time punctures the simple illusions of human vanity. * * * THE MARY ROSE “R.A.N.” —A famous name in naval history is perpetuated in the presentation to Portsmouth Cathedral of a model of the first Mary Rose, a 60gun ship which capsized and sank in the English Channel during an action with the French in 1544. Some of the guns were recovered from the wreck in 1835. nearly three centuries later, and placed in the United Services Museum at Whitehall. Vastly different was the fate of the later Mary Rose, a destroyer which fought with distinction at Jutland in the famous night attack in which the German battleship Pommera was torpedoed and sunk with all hands. The Mary Rose herself was sunk with all hands in fighting a courageous but hopeless action against German cruisers in October, 1917. Her white ensign is to rest in Portsmouth Cathedral with the model, which was presented in the presence of 100 admirals, and has the further distinction of being carved from a block of New Zealand kauri, which in its time may have seasoned in an Auckland timber yard. * * * THE AUSTRALIENNE Mr. Evelyn Wrench, who has been awaided an honorary degree by the ancient and honourable university of St. Andrews, is the editor of that bright little paper, “Overseas,” the official journal of the Overseas League. One of Northcliffe’s bright young men, plucked from Eton to occupy important executive posts, Evelyn Wrench has made the Overseas League his life work. He was largely responsible for the establishment of Vernon House, London, a palatial place maintained by the league for overseas visitors. Then, again, he has a bright message for the Dominions in each number of “Overseas.” A recent message is particularly bright. There is an article on schoolgirl howlers, including the one perpetrated by the Australian girl who was asked to add an adjective to each noun in the following: “The man gave his horse a drink.” She wrote: “The adjective man gave his adjective horse an adjective drink.” That girl was a true Australian. WAIOURU-TOKAANU Of its open-handed generosity the Government is spending £SOO on the Waiouru-Tokaanu road. This trifling sum is unlikely to endanger the isolation of the neighbourhood. A few rain showers on the Waiouru-Tokaanu road, traversing a trail that was an important coach route in the. early days, are sufficient to check the progress of any but the most dauntless motorist. It leaves the Main Trunk line at Waiouru, just beside Lysnar’s homestead and the spot occupied by an accommodation house that did a brisk trade in the days when Waiouru was an important junction of road and rail instead of the wayside hamlet it is today. Thence the road passes along the eastern side of Ruapehu, crossing the only stretch of genuine desert country in New Zealand. Here the road may be a chain wide, or a hundred yards. Its course is poorly defined, but good time may be made on the firm sand. That is just as well, for pitfalls lurk in the clay cuttings further on. It is an interesting fifty miles, the WaiouruTokaanu road, but if there are rain clouds imminent then the motorist should take both his chains and his sleeping bag.