Modem Craze for Speed Has Its Drawbacks

Sun (Auckland), Volume III, Issue 857, 28 December 1929, Page 18

Modem Craze for Speed Has Its Drawbacks

In the “Good Old Days” At Least We Saw Something as “Passers 8y”. .. SOMEHOW or otlier we can’t help feeling just a trifle sorry for the uprising generation (although, quite frankly, that generation would tell us to save our sympathy for those that need it), writes Frank Mann Harris in the Toronto “Star Weekly.” Mr. Harris gives two reasons. First, because so many amazing things are happening daily that the younger generation is rapidly losing all power of being amazed. And, second, because it seems to get round so much, and go to so many places, without ever seeing anything greatly worth while. You pick up your favourite journal and read out to the family that Major Segrave has driven an automobile at the rate of a mile every 15 seconds or less. Or that Flight-Commander Orlebar has been clocked dawdling through the atmosphere at a mere six miles a minute. And the youngster, with his mouth full of pie, mumbles: “That’s going some.” and watches his chance to snatch the page with the latest sports news. It is nothing for the modern boy to travel a couple of hundred miles on a Sunday aud come back with no more vivid impressions than those of paved roads, gasoline fumes, billboards, filling-stations, the slowness of traffic near the Humber bridge and what a rotten driver the old man is. We overheard a boy, not so long ago, telling a friend about flying hundreds of miles just as unexcitedly as it he had been describing an errand to the corner butcher shop. And the little girls of our acquaint-

ance go to see pictures that move, talk, sing and squeak just as unemotionally as if such things had existed from the beginning of the world. Now, -when w-e were young there wasn’t much of anything ever happened, but we were continually amazed; and, though we travelled but seldom, when we did we got a “kick” out of every foot of the journey. There was the time, for instance, when the astounding news seeped into our village that the Glass Blowers were paying a visit to the neighbouring metropolis, population one thou-sand—large-hearted count—and three long miles distant. Glass Blowers, no less! Imagine that! Why, they take glass, all melted soft, and stick it on the end of a hollow tube, and they blow it up and twist it into every kind of a thing you ever thought of. Right in

front of your eyes, they do it, and each and every person that sees the performance gets a free souvenir. The Far-off Temple of Wonders

We start along the country road, inches deep in powdery, warm dust that sifts delightfully between naked toes and is gratefully soothing to stonebruised bare heels. In the bosom of every blouse is a newspaper-wrapped parcel of jjrovendor, and in the pocket —the one without any holes —of each pair of pants (we know “trousers” is more refined but these were pants) is the price of admission into the faroff Temple of Wonders. We trudge along, but not too speedily, for our way positively teems with points of interest which must be looked over, admired and discussed at length. Here, now, are the remaining stone walls of what was formerly a foundry, now long-dead but still unburied. The gaping squares that once had been windows are made for target practice, so we must pause until even the poorest marksman of us has managed, at last, to shy one rock through the tiniest one away up near the top. Comes a strip of bushland that we hurry past, because down among the trees is something that says "BoomBup, Boom-Bup, Boom-Bup,” and even though you know right well it is nothing more terrifying than a mechanical “ram” that pumps water to the farmhouse on the hill, there is an eerie sound about it to eight-year-old ears, and you feel better when you have put it behind.

And then there is old Granny Grimworthy, who is reputed to be over a hundred years old and lives by herself and, some say, works witchcraft —well, one could hardly be expected to pass by her cottage and not stop, at a safe distance, to have a good look at her sitting by her doorstep, smoking her pipe as contented as can be. Now, as we enter alien territory, we must all step warily. Everything appears to be calm and peaceful—very

jnuch like our own village, as a matter of fact—but still, you never can tell. Where the proud tents of the Glass Blowers are to be found, we don’t exactly know. Nor, naturally, do we dream of making inquiry, for the shyness of a small boy in strange surroundings is very great. But, after we have explored that village—north, south, east, west—until a factorywhistle informs us that noon-hour is over, a faint, but ever-growing suspicion pervades us that we have come too late. Our provisions., of course, have vanished hours since. It is so much more convenient to carry sandwiches inside you than in a parcel. So, after a drink at a handy pump, we sit down on a grassy bank near the silent schoolhouse and talk things over. Even yet we just cannot believe that, after all our efforts, the Glass Blowers

haven't waited for us. And yet, il they are still here, where do tier conceal themselves? A boy of about our own age, size afid state of life comes along tie street. He makes a feeble attempt to appear not to notice us, and pauc by, head partly averted, whistling. H< stops, turns, and repasses, still tryia; not to look, and still whistling Curiosity gets the better of him ai he halts, opposite, and seats hiimeif on the bank on the far side of the road. After many minutes of mutual stiring, the leader of our party finds hit tongue. Casually—oh. so casually—he says, “What —uh —what day tu it that the Glass Blowers went awayr “Wednesday morning," replies the native, “they only stayed here tvo nights.” “From what I heard, they was prettj rotten anyway,” answers our leader, loftily. "Come on, fellers, we mo« be moving if we’re ever going to get there.” I We rise and move around the I corner, just as if Glass Blowers and all their concerns were the least important, the most insignificant matters on earth; but a stethoscopic examination of six youths at that juncture would undoubtedly have caused a secsation in the medical profession. For it would have disclosed six heart! beating away down near where of boots would have been had we beet using boots. Still, youth is elastic, and mad may be done with little moae? And so, our wealth more-or-iec equally distributed among the six or seven shops that cater to the appetite of boyhood, we turn our backs on th« village. As we depart our leader rises to extreme heights of oratorio sarcasm. Overlooking entirely i fact that our own village has not beedeemed worthy of any sort of eat ; from the touring artists, be sneer derisively, . ■ “What’d you expect. It’s a wonder | those Glass Blowers would stay a j minute in such a miserable one horse Place.” „ We really do intend to speed on steps on the return journey; but then are so many things to be seen on tn* road—the other-side-of-the-river onethat the trip back takes just as MW if not longer, to accomplish. So it about the hour that mother is ing to fry the potatoes for when, footsore, weary but of the wonders we have seen, oar “"L band of pilgrims troops down theoMP way into the pleasant environs j Myville. i Now, as near Its we can Major Segrave would make that ■ tire journey iu something •** | minute and a-half, while | Commander Oriebar would be t# and back before be was well a that he had even started. But whether Messrs. Oriebar Segrave would gain, from their *- i creased speed, sufficient to make ! for their loss from having to ® seeing the groundhog, the snake, old Granny Grim worthy ing her cutty, and all the thousaw aud-one delightful items we ' ,av ® v had the space even to mention, something we take the liberty doubting. u ti These be wonderful times we in, and the youth of this dsy " more startling things in a day ■ we poor unfortunates set eyes r,. '| in ten years. And yet, we have ■ to find the lad who sc ems to S e * ; part of the thrill out of all toe • tacles, circuses, movie-shows, * a| exhibitions and the like, as our ' band of adventurers bad rom «jj > Glass Blowers troupe that none - ever set eyes upon. i ; For seeing things is an even ; privilege than going to places, e : j you go w ith the speed of a tn horse-power behind you; aoo * o|>e 0 |>e - power of being amazed is • esteemed than the chance of * s at creations which should ams* ’ i ! which don’t because of too muc l petition. (p* t Still, on the other hand, « i just one more instance of age e • youth, and attempting to mas* i envy behind a mask oi pity-