FROM THE WATCH TOWER

Sun (Auckland), Volume III, Issue 903, 21 February 1930, Page 10

FROM THE WATCH TOWER

THE FLEET IS IN Mr. H. E. Holland, M.P., considers that Commodore Blake’s opinion about Samoan affairs is uncalled for. Said Leading-stoker Funnel, As he lounged beside the gunn'l, "This Government will land us in a mess. It is stupid, misbegotten, And politically rotten.”— Thus spake Leading-stoker Funnel to the Press. But said Sub-Lieutenant Biffer, "Pardon me, I beg to differ. I believe in giving everyone his due, And I like the loans they’ve floated.”— Thus the mariner was quoted In the course of an exclusive interview. Then the captain, looking solemn, Rushed away and wrote a column. Said he: "I’ll read this out from IYA. Call the pinnace, get the band out, For I’m issuing a hand-out.” M.P.’s, beware! The fleet is in today. JOURNEY’S END London feminists are giving a fine demonstration of earnestness in pleading that sex equality should even be carried as far as the gallows. They argue that chivalry has no place in judicial matters of this sort. People who have always believed that feminists wanted plenty of rope will see in this a confirmation of their suspicions, and criminals impelled to offer their place on the fatal platform to lady friends or collaborators will fe that their sublime unselfishness now has strong endorsement. STOCKING VP The animals come in two by two, or in rather greater numbers, to fill the pens at the Auckland Z00,4' hut there are still some gaps to be filled. There is no rhinoceros in the zoo, which also lacks a giraffe free of suicidal tendencies. Nor has it a white elephant, though the City Council could easily fill this deficiency from the many specimens on its hands. Incidentally, the latest batch of animals for the zoo includes six rare specimens of tortoises. The more common specimen of tortoise, Testuda City Councillorum, is not thought worthy of a place. IN THE NAME OF SPORT Mishaps during shooting operations against the goats on Mount Egmont, suggest that this is a region from which the goats will never be completely extirpated. In certain of the wild and forbidding gorges the active creatures will always defy the huntsman, and constant vigilance will be necessary to prevent them from breeding and spreading again. Conversely, there are places where men do their'best to keep goats, but fail. Sheepfarmers on the Great Barrier Island stock the cliffs with goats, which eat the feed on the ledges, and thus discourage sheep from getting to inaccessible places. Unfortunately the well-meant efforts of the farmers are often defeated by launchmen, who take their boats right in under the cliffs, and pot at the goats from the deck. It is an arduous and thrilling sport. DOWNED TOOLS Popular conceptions of a wool buyer as a gentleman with an abnormal voice, foppish clothes and a thirst aggravated by the heavy atmosphere of wool stores, must be revised now that the buyers have so lowered their dignity as to go on strike. Hitherto the wool buyer has b'een considered an eminently desirable person socially. The very fact that he hails from Lyons, Genoa, Bradford, Baltimore, or may be, Timbuctoo, is sufficient to explain this, but now that he has become a common striker some of his social glamour may depart. There are those who may assert that this boycott of the wool sales is not ap ordinary strike. Nevertheless, the essential principles involved are the same, whether it is wool buyers or coal heavers who are concerned. The striking watersider or navvy employs his leisure in playing two-up dr in wondering where the next meal is to come from, whereas the idle wool buyer probably plays golf or goes fishing. But outside these influences a strike is a strike, no matter what the grade of toiler who downs tools. THE LIONS

In Hawke’s Bay, Wanganui, Christchurch. and other centres of culture a party attended by wool buyers has hitherto been considered the height of social achievement. At such gatherings the strong and masterful men whose falsettos spell poverty or plenty for the wool grower are invariably the centre of adulation. In some mysterious fashion the buyer manages to wrap around himself a garment of mystery and power. He is a king in his own little domain, but some rather foolish sycophants try to make that domain look a great deal larger than it really is. The aura of sanctity that surrounds the buyer is rarely broken. On the benches he is (to all appearances) a supreme power. In his hotel he is an aloof and reserved individual. But there is one place where the wool buyer becomes at one with ordinary mortals. In the light refreshment buffets which are provided at wool sales by welldisposed brokers he exhibits the same tendencies as all the rest of humanity. Some people never quite get over the shock of their first discovery That a wool buyer actually eats.