FROM THE WATCH TOWER

Sun (Auckland), Volume IV, Issue 1079, 17 September 1930, Page 8

FROM THE WATCH TOWER

By “THE LOOK-OUT MAN.” CRAMPING HIS STYLE Mr. It. McKeen, M.P., in the House: I feel in such a way that there are no words in my vocabulary to express just how I feel. Oh had I the talent of Kipling I’d choose an appropriate term, To lash this incompetent stripling, And flay this political worm. Demosthenes, Cardinal Newman, Could put their opponents to shame, But I am so painfully human My epithets always seem tame. Oh, send me some phrases that blister, And epithets laden with bile To sling at this miserable twister, In decently decorous style. At present I’m hopelessly shackled, I cannot give vent to my spleen But though by the Chairman I’m tackled I think you will know what I mean. * * * OLD FRIENDS Lord Bledisloe, who has friends at Hollywood, reports to the Dental Conference that Charlie Chaplin once told him, “We have to supply the films that the public wants, or go out of business.” And if Mr. Chaplin refuses to make talking pictures he, too, may go the way of those who refrain from supplying what the public wants. THE EXP OF ALL THAT Just how easily the plans of mice and men may go astray is shown by the tame ending of different ambitious plans for the dock site. First it was to have been the site of the principal war memorial. Then the Harbour Board’s offices and Customs Buildings were to have been erected thereon. Motor-cars have been parked on it, revival meetings have been conducted there, circus tents have reared their canvas turrets over the scene; and, now, as a final anti-climax, a golf course is to be laid out there. It seems a pity the old dock was ever filled in. It would have made an ideal bunker. ON THE SHELL Oysters, those mute subjects of epicures’ dreams, appear to the lay mind to cause a good deal more trouble than they can possibly be worth. The latest development of the eternal oyster problem is the intimation that a petition signed by .‘14,000 Maoris is to bo presented to Parliament, inquiring if the rights of the native race under the Treaty of Waitangi are being respected by the present system. This will probably open up a very difficult question. The Maoris probably have some claim for tlieir position to be studied. In the midst of all this strife, however, nothing is heard from the oyster beds. A just hearing of the case will not be possible until Parliament has before it d petition signed by 34,000 oysters, praying that they be not picked. GLORIOUS GLORIT “St. Stephen” writes: —If “Tiwakawaka” pines to live in a countryside which will surround him with charming and apposite names, he had better remove himself as quickly as possible from the Auckland Province, if not from the North Island altogether. The environs of Auckland bristle with curious and illogical names. I should like to be informed of the derivation of the name “Kingseat,” which has lately come into prominence as the spot where the new mental hospital is to be built. Does it mean that the posterior of some lengendary monarch once left an impression there, or is it one of the Hon. A. J. Stallwortliy’s quaint inventions. There is also Glorit, on the Kaipara Harbour. What it means, nobody appears to know. Again,, there is Dairy Flat, the meaning of which is plain, even if the thought is not sublime. Digger’s Valley, Coatesville, Bunnythorpe, Bell Block, Bulls, Saies and Cross Creek supply further evidence that the South Island is not the only place where ugly place-names are to be encountered. * * * MURDERED M,l OKI Many of the seemingly curious names sprinkled over map of the South Island have (adds “St. Stephen”) interesting historic or topographical significance. In any case, it is better that way than .to have the place drenched, as the North Island is, in Maori names which are systematically mispronounced and misspelt by the educated barbarians who populate them. I would draw your contributor’s attention to Paki Paki,- Hawke’s Bay, which is regularly pronounced “Pukki-puk,” and to Hopu Hopu, south of Auckland, which passing motorists religiously refer to as “Hoppa-hop.” The cult of Maori names in this country, and in the North Island particularly, is frightfully overdone. People want to encumber the country with Maori names in the deluded belief that they are doing something to preserve the cultural traditions of the Maori, when in reality each fresh baptism adds another opportunity for the murder of the Maori tongue. I once had an aunt who always spoke of Hihitahi, where her cousin had a farm, as “Hitti-titti.” Ye Gods!