FROM THE WATCH TOWER

Sun (Auckland), Volume III, Issue 908, 27 February 1930, Page 10

FROM THE WATCH TOWER

By ‘‘THE LOOK-OUT MAN.” DEATH BEFORE DISHONOUR Madame Violette Morris, a famous French motorist and an all-round athlete, is determined to fight to the last against her expulsion from the Feminine Sporting Federation because she insisted on wearing trousers on a sports ground. Said Madame Violette: “I will wear the trousers yet. I claim the rights of Henri, George and Horace To enclose each nether limb In a garment heat and trim." And she buttoned up her braces—Madame Morris. And why should she not aspire To the masculine attire That will aid her work on plugs and carburettors? For it’s not an idle fancy To assert that when in pants she Acknowledges no men folk as her betters. Atalanta, draped in rags, X>id not favour Oxford bags. Rut she’d probably have done so if she’d had ’em, So from Nice to Armentieres. They are hoping through their tears That the verdict of the court will go with madame. * * m OPPORTUNIST “W. Bstey”: Dear L.O.M. —Feminists imbued with ideals of equality between the sexes should favour the Mount Eden tram, where such is the equality that masculine "commuters” rarely, If ever, yield up their seats to ladles. On the contrary, there have been examples of an opposite tendehey. The other evening when an elderly woman burdened with parcels got into a crowded car at New North Road, a younger woman got up and offered a seat. But before it could be accepted a strapping straphanger (that’s a good one!) dived in and captured the position. UNEASY HEADS Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown, and equally uneasy the statesman chosen to be “first gentleman in the land” in the United States. Every President during his term of office and aiter it is to some extent under sentence of death. Lincoln was assassinated in his box at a theatre, McKinley was fatally wounded when opening the Buffalo Exhibition. Now to "cool Cal” Coolidge, the silent exPresident, have come threats of danger. Even after his return to private life, a President may not be safe from dangerous cranks and anarchists. Accordingly the personal bodyguard which always accompanies Mr. and Mrs. Coolidge has been strengthened, and in the meantime the celebrated hero of the "I do not choose to run, etc.,” episode, will be left pondering whether the latest threat is a serious one, or just another of the meaningless frauds with which political celebrities are inundated. * * • EMPTY POCKETS The personal bodyguards of great or Important men accompany them everywhere. Neither a president nor a king is ever left entirely unprotected, and when the Presidents of the United States go walking for exercise there Is always a bodyguard ahead and one behind, while if it so happens that the route favoured by the distinguished stroller is likely to be known, a detective always goes out ahead and searches strategic hidingplaces for possible killers. On formal occasions when numbers of citizens are being presented to the President, his guards watch the line of visitors with eagle eye, and are ready to pounce at once on anybody disobeying the rule that hands must be kept out of pockets. When the President visits the theatre the audience is carefully scrutinised beforehand, and if any known criminal is recognised a special “detail” watches him unceasingly throughout the performance. * * * HANDS DOWN With a beautiful devotion to stern duty a group of London journalists has lately engaged In the greasy and unpleasant task of tasting various brands of butter. Though it is gratifying to our national pride to learn that New Zealand butter won hands down, and that one of Its European competitors was so highly flavoured as to make one of the tasters turn pale, in other respects the result of the test is a rather melancholy reflection on contemporary tastes. The robust appetites of our forefathers demanded butter with a real "kick.” Unlfygienic methods of manufacture did not worry them as long as the finished article could titillate their palates. It was the same with cheese—they wanted a cheese that could break evens in a one hundred yards dash—and it was the same with liquor; but in all these things the tastes of the world have steadily become insipid. There is a gradual toning down process in operation, and perhaps in the future, when the once active sense of taste has become finally and Irrevocably atrophied, people will swallow odourless, colourless, and flavourless foods, at the same time smacking their lips and saying, “How exquisite!”