SHORT STORIES FOR BROADCASTING

New Zealand Listener, Volume 21, Issue 526, 22 July 1949, Page 10

SHORT STORIES FOR BROADCASTING

UNING in the other day, I heard part of a talk on the Otaki Maoris. Then came a short story. I did not quite catch the -title, but by the half-heard vowel sounds I expected a Maori story. It was Welsh, All about a horse that could climb stairs. Probably quite a good story, but as far from Bishop Hadfield and the building of a Maori church as Llandudno is from Bluff. So I switched off, thinking, Why Welsh? Why not New Zealand? A Mifori legend perhaps, or, say, that yarn of Roderick Finlayson’s about the Maori who thought he could walk on the water. That would seem, from memory, to be the perfect tie-up with the talk that had gone before. Then on the same day, one of those coincidences which have come to be accepted as part of a pattern brought a book called Best Broadcast Stories. Sent by the British Council, published by Faber and Faber, edited by Hilton Brown, they are specially written for broadcasting. Most are high standard material. All different, they yet all conform to the peculiaf demands of radio, Short. No involved sentences. Clear-cut characterisation, More’ often than not, the surprise ending. First and foremost, entertainment, with the best of them showing good psychological insight and sympathy. All readable, which every published story should be, they are also listenable, which every published story is not, The BBC thinks the short story important enough to warrant the setting up of a special department; and the thought comes, here, surely, is an opportunity for the NZBS to help-no, that savours of patronage-to co-operate with New Zealand writers in presenting New Zealand life to New Zealand listeners. Our market for short stories is limited by our small number of periodicals; but the daily, hourly demands of broadcasting present a different picture, Instead of Welsh whimsy, here is unlimited scope for the presentation of the New Zealand scene. No one would suggest that imports be cut entirely. The home-grown article would have to compete with overseas excellence. New Zealand writers would be put on their mettle. So that if we do have stairclimbing horses-and there’s no reason why we shouldn’t every now and again |-they might sometimes be New Zealand nags instead of Welsh ponies, while the men who owned them wouldn’t be the Evan ap Evanses from Aberystwyth, but the Pete Smiths from Waipukurau or the Joe Blakes from Central.

Sycorax