FROM THE WATCH TOWER

Sun (Auckland), Volume III, Issue 838, 5 December 1929, Page 8

FROM THE WATCH TOWER

By “THE LOOK-OUT MAN."

HYMN OF HATE Why am I peevish? Why clo I rage? What is the flaw In this doleful age? Something is wrong With the daily scheme, And so I harp On a dismal theme. I’ll tell the tale In a simple lay: I planned a picnic, 'y esterday. Tiler: why do I writhe In grief and pain? It’s raining again. HITTING HAR'D Conflicting sentiments have been aroused by the outspoken comments of Major Gran, a Norwegian explorer, on Commander Byrd’s impressions of air travel in the Antarctic. But whatever the merits or otherwise of his comments, it will at least be generally conceded that the major has scored a Gran slam. BROPHY BACK “The return of Richard Brophy.”— No, this is not the caption of a romantic novel—just the synopsis of the adventurings of one whom several Aucklanders had the exceptional privilege of meeting when he was here only a few- months ago. After all, it is a privilege to meet* an Antarctic explorer, who also has the faculty of disappearing by means of a “fake” suicide. It Is unfortunate for Mr. Brophy that the advancement of the science of news photography led to his undoing and his involuntary rediscovery. All this happened in the office of a newspaper, the* “Omaha Bee.” We guess that bee had “some” sting! ’WARE PIRATE. S’ The shades of Morgan and Kidd might well rise gibbering at the news that Italian men-o’-war are to accompany a consignment of Italian art treasures that are being shipped from Italy to London. The need for all this elaborate by-play is not apparent at first glance. After all, few things could be more difficult to negotiate than a well-known masterpiece known to have been stolen on the high seas. Furthermore, the Mediterranean of 1929 is not exactly the Spanish Main of the old and gory days, and few buccaneers would consider a cargo of Botticellis and Titians worthy of the supreme honour of a cache on Treasure Island, with all the accompanying farrago of death’s heads, plans, and a leading mark by the palm that waves against the blood-red sunset. A VERY PRETTY WAR “Watihana.”—Dear L.0.M.: War must be a very beautiful thing at night—provided it is sufficiently far removed. We who live on the ocean side of the North Shore, saw and heard part of the New Zealand Navy in action last evening. It was a very pretty war. First, a scintillant constellation of parachute flares, then bang—bang—hang, and so on, until the slowly setting stars were extinguished in the sea. W’hat a lot of damage must have been done in those two hectic minutes! Evidently the Dunedin’s “enemy” was quickly disposed of for an armistice silence came over all, and endured. We were relieved it was only a war, because sorrie of us who had rushed outside were heard to speculate on the possibility that Rangitoto was up to some of his ancient tricks. TELESCOPIC Mention of telescopic masts at the harbour bridge inquiry is a reminder that such things are by no means unknown. If a tall ship glides under the harbour bridge of the future, after first lowering its collapsible top-mast into the hollow standard beneath, it will not be setting a precedent. Ships using the Manchester Ship Canal pass beneath an aqueduct—a canal crossing a canal —and to facilitate the process they customarily telescope the masts and even lop a little piece off the funnels. If evidence of this statement is sought, examine the next Federal, Shire steamer that comes within ken. Many of these ships have the top section of the funnel bolted to a flange so that the last two feet are removable. Arriving at Liverpool, the ship submits to the defunnelling process, and goes up the canal with an abbreviated stump. There is even an iron balcony round the funnels to make the task of the workmen easier. Liverpudlians watching this curious process of reduction scoffed when it was first introduced. But now Manchester can afford to laugh. It is the third port in the United Kingdom.