FROM THE WATCH TOWER

Sun (Auckland), Volume III, Issue 918, 11 March 1930, Page 8

FROM THE WATCH TOWER

By “THE LOOK-OUT MAN." PRIVATE THOUGHTS OF A DELEGATE The five Powers naval reduction conference has resumed its sittings ill London. I love my (foreign) fellow man, I favour each pacific plan. For me no building of battleships; I favour war’s entire eclipse, On land, in the air, and on the sea; (But they can’t put anything over on me!) HIGHBROW 7 Mr. Fred Scholl at the Civic has been testing the musical preferences of his audience by first playing the prologue from “Pagliacci,” and then “A Precious Little Thing Called Love,” and asking for applause for each. A judicial observer has decided that the applause for the classics won by a narrow —very narrow —margin. This is highly creditable to the intelligence of Auckland moviegoers. But if Mr. Scholl had played the two pieces without first announcing their names, what then would have been the result? ALL IN FAVOUR The term “classical” as applied to music covers a multitude of dins, so diverse in character that there is plenty of room for individual preferences. People who are bored to sobs by some sonorous opus of a German master derive unlimited pleasure from a lightsome refrain like “La donna e mobile,” and in consequence of their enthusiasm feel that they may rightly describe themselves as lovers of the classics. In any case, what are theme songs and popular ditties but old melodies hashed up again? “A Precious Little Thing Called Love” was probably a classic in the first place, so what’s the difference?

AND NOW — BULL-FIGHTING From Valencia, “the land of orange groves and sweet content, tum-tum-pitty-tum,” comes the glad news that one more old-established sport has yielded to American artistry, a matador named Franklin having overcome four bulls with such brilliance that a bandillero dropped dead with excitement. The dictionary is not very explicit about what a bandillero is, but if he was one of that hardy breed celebrated in song by Mr. Peter Dawson, he does not seem to have died in a manner quite consistent with the rugged traditions of his profession. ABRAHAM’St DOG Great names crop up in the most unexpected places, and it is extremely refreshing to read in a report of the Coromandel Collie Club’s recent sheepdog trials that fourth place in the maiden event for locally owned dogs was filled by Abraham Lincoln’s Glen. It is rather a pity that with a proper sense of the respect due to a great name, the judge could not have overlooked Glen’s minor deficiencies, and placed her (or him?) first instead of only fourth. Still, this is the sort of setback -over which the original Abraham Lincoln would have loved to triumph, and perhaps through such adversity a prime minister of New Zealand will emerge from Coromandel yet. ADMIRAL’S CAP

With thfe news that Admiral Beatty wore his braided cap at that rakish angle by reason of a cranial peculiarity which gave him a headache if he wore it otherwise, one more vain illusion goes aboard; but somehow one imagines this belated explanation of the debonair affectation will have little chance of catching up the fighting earl’s reputation for doggishness. Striding the quarterdeck with his glass under his arm, his jutting chin sticking out like a battering ram, and the peak of his cap dropped jauntily over one manly eyebrow, the admiral embodied the war time spirit of devil-may-care, and even if the image were a false one, it is too precious to relinquish now. * ♦ * LUCKY BEATTY The biography of Earl Beatty in which this sartorial revelation is made should be a work of unusual interest. Known affectionately as “Lucky Beatty,” he married the only daughter of the great Chicago millionaire, Marshall Field, and professionally had that good fortune which Napoleon sought in his commanders, he was present at points where there was fighting, and always distinguished himself. He shared with Nelson the otherwise unprecedented distinction of attaining flag rank (rear-admiral) at the age of 39, and though under a cloud for a time through an acute difference with Mr. McKenna, then First Lord of the Admiralty, he was recalled in time to command the battle-cruiser squadron early in the war. It will always be a matter for debate among experts whether Beatty or Jellicoe erred in judgment at Jutland, but now that other experts are discussing ways and means of reducing the fleets to impotence, it does not seem to matter much.