The Great Tradition of the Upright

New Zealand Listener, Volume 36, Issue 929, 31 May 1957, Page 9

The Great Tradition of the Upright

by

SUNDOWNER

MAY 10

NCE or twice in our lives, if they are long lives and fate is kind to us, we may enjoy the friendship of a man whose virtues lift him above our own level and keep him there. We are never suspicious of him or cynical about him, and if we are ever jealous of him

We are at once ashamed. It makes no difference at all whether we agree with

his opinions and ‘share his beliefs. Character is deeper than belief, and independent of it. We may not know what his beliefs are. I am not sure that I ever knew Sir Howard Kippenberger’s beliefs except in broad outline. All I knew was that they were based, deep down, on the foundation on which the upright have stood in all ages-the knowledge that we can explain neither life nor death but must accept both and walk without fear, I do not agree with those who think that Kip was without fear. I think he conquered fear as he conquered the crooked, mean, wobbling uncertainties most of us carry through life. It may have been easier for him than for some of us to be brave, easier to be honest, easier to be humble and just; but integrity is mever reached without struggle or held without sacrifice. In a test extending through 40 years his integrity was unshaken and unshakable. That is what made him the good soldier he was, and the good citizen. Since the worst thing anyone can do to a dead man is to say things about him that would horrify him if he were still alive, I speak now with my head only and not with my heart. But that does not prevent me from saying that the longer I knew him the more strongly I felt that he was in the great tradition of the upright-the line of Socrates and Seneca, More and Mazzini and Washington, Grant, Gordon, and Edward Grey. Ps *

MAY 11

I SAID the other day in my moral cups that conscience makes cowards of us, fools, and even blasphemers. But I did not know then how soon I would

pay for my irreverence. I know now.

I got up this morning determined to work in my overgrown

garden. But Jim apparently got up determined to doctor his sheep; and from my garden to his yards is about 50 feet. I sharpened my spade and decided, after half an hour’s deep thought, where to begin. Then Fluff barked, Jim’s maid-of-all-work. Though high trees separated us, I knew that Jim had begun, I knew, too, that dosing sheep singlehanded is like tying a knot with one hand, or going through the whole process of shaving. It can be done, as a dentist in desperation can fill his own

teeth. But it is not Christian or neighbourly to allow it to be done. Every time Fluff barked my gardening resolution got weaker. I knew that it was important not to listen to Fluff. For weeks the garden had been too wet to dig, but for three days the sun had shone and a gentle wind had blown. Now was the hour if the weeds were to be killed before winter, the onions sown, the peas put

in, the ground prepared for the _ beans. But Fluff’s barks had become a dull pain. I could see Jim holding a sheep with one _ hand, reaching for the gun with the other, twisting his back as he filled up again, opening the race gate with his knees, and being too late with his boot when a _ doctored sheep dodged back again among the undoctored. It would be shameful, if I started to dig, to persist in such circumstances. I must not start. But if I did not? If I rushed at once to Jim’s assistance and away from my long neglected garden? Did not charity begin at home? Was there not a tide in the affairs of gardeners on which they must rideor sink? Was it not a fact that I liked sheep work and hated garden work? Was not the Devil in Fluff’s bark, tempting me to further transgressions? Was it not my duty to resist the Devil? And if I could not help Jim, could I dare to help myself? Would it not be better to return the spade to the tool-shed and think the problem out again free of all distractions? Perhaps Thurber —

could help me, or Mr Explorer Douglas. If they were not co-operative there was Elephant Bill, just brought out in a Penguin. I tried Elephant Bill-spread myself flat on my back to avoid temptation from my legs, and went to sleep with Fluff still barking. It is the kind of thing conscience likes doing to us. rn 7

MAY 14

> bd Y chief consolation when the duckshooting begins is the thought that two ducks in every three will escape. Our duck population is not large, but it is large enough to survive a month’s

attack with guns of limited range during the day-

light hours of a season of limited duration. There is also, I think, a good chance that it will increase faster in the future than the number of guns arrayed against it-partly because there are more comfortable excitements now available to youth, and partly because many farmers will respond to the appeal of the Acclimatisation Societies to build more dams and ponds and an increasing number of the others declare their properties bird and game sanctuaries. In the meantime, I never see these "sportsmen" returning with their bags without wondering how many ducks have been hit and not killed and will die in a few days. I admit that I have never seen a wounded duck or found a dead one. But how many dead sparrows and starlings do we see in the course of the year, of the thousands that must die? Cats take some, and hawks; weasels, ferrets and possibly magpies. (I once saw two magpies running along the ground holding a live sparrow which they were tearing to pieces.) Rats remove some carcases and grass and leaves hide others. But the least common of our small birds must be numbered in thousands and not in hundreds. Thousands die every nesting season, but more thousands survive. If mature birds did not also die in thousands every district would have a hundred birds where it now has one, But no one sees the dead birds. They fall to the ground, and in nine cases out of ten must disappear before even the hawks find them. For all we hear, and often say, to the contrary, New Zealand is by no means burnt, eaten, or scraped bare. Millions of acres of forest have gone, but millions of acres of grass have followed, and it does not take much grass to hide a sparrow. (To be continued)