Contents
The Audit Office, Wellington, N.Z., 8th April, 1929.
I hereby certify that, after investigation of the publisher's lists and other records, the average circulation of the New Zealand Railways Magazine for the 12 months ended May, 1928, is in excess of 20,000 copies per month during the whole of that period and that, during the months of February and March, 1929, the circulation has increased to over 22,500 copies.
Controller and Auditor General.
The New Zealand
Railways
Magazine
Railways
Magazine
Published by the
New Zealand Government Railways Department
“For Better Service”
Circulation Over 23,500
Vol. 4. No. 8.
Wellington,
New Zealand
December1, 1929
New Zealand's Northland
There is a newness, a brightness, a varied beauty about New Zealand's northern peninsula that impresses the mind to a more marked degree the further north the traveller proceeds. It is a land of good cheer and happy people. It is fitted to be the permanent home of the Christmas family. Improved transport has here brightened prospects already made bright by the bountiful hand of Nature. Everywhere the rate of progress recorded makes the wonders told of Aladdin's Lamp seem but the weak efforts of an impostor.
It is a country rich in natural beauty and historical romance, and to these are added a soil and climate from which other wealth, though of a more perishable kind, is being increasingly won. Here the native element is more in evidence. Here are legends and evidences of age-long wars among the Maoris for the possession of healing waters or favoured valleys, from Ngawha Springs to Kirikiri—wars conducted with a zeal and joy in fighting that showed how the people's surplus energy—the pent-up steam of a strength-giving environment—found vent in happy killings all along the hills that still show miles and miles of hand-hewn slopes where ancient fortifications defended the pas of the tribes.
To the visitor it is a land of many delights, while it exerts a strange and powerful magnetic force on all its children, so that few who have lived on this happy peninsula are content to remain elsewhere.
Asked for a selective opinion upon the natural wonders of the North, one would give pre-eminence to the 90-mile beach, the Mangamuka Valley, and the Bay of Whangaroa.
The “beaches of Lucannon, before the sealers came,” had no charm to equal that degree-long stretch of sand of the alleged “90-mile,” which strikes northwest in an unbroken line from near Kaitaia.
The forest stretches of the Mangamuka Wonder Valley are so beautiful that they even lessen the overpowering effect of the grandeur found among the Kauris of Waipoua; while the magnificence of Whangaroa harbour, with its waterfalls, islets, bays, and coves, its brooding stillness, its warm and wooded beauty, is far beyond the power of brush or pen to portray—it beckons as the absolute ultimate in the world's treasure trove of natural beauty.
Fish of all kinds abound. This probably accounts for the success and popularity
but rather full eating.
New Zealanders who want a change of scene, and visitors from overseas, should realise the advantages for holiday-making which the Northland possesses. It is only in recent years that rail access has been available into the upper portions of the Peninsula, and for this reason the country has been rather a terra incognita to the average traveller. Now, however, the place is easily reached by good train services from Auckland City to the railheads at Okaihau, Opua and Kirikopuni, while beyond these points regular car services by road, and launches by bay or river, are available.
New Zealand'S Railway Chief.
Mr. H. H. Sterling, General Manager of Railways, snapped on alighting from the “Limited” Express at Thorndon Station, Wellington.
In the future development of tourist traffic within the Dominion the Northland, with its many charms, is sure to claim increasing attention.
* * *
Railway Booking Facilities Improved
Another extension of the travel facilities for the general public is announced by the General Manager of Railways. Up to the present the issue of tickets and the reservation of seats and sleeping berths have been restricted to a period of fourteen days preceding the day of travel. This restriction was removed on the 2nd December, and prospective passengers on ordinary trains or holiday excursion or other reduced-fare trains, are now able to get their tickets and seats or berth reservations at any time before the day of travel.
* * *
Town and Country Conter
When Mr. L. A. Paish, British Trade Commissioner in New Zealand, returned to Wellington from Auckland, after travelling on the Commerce Train in the Auckland district, he said how deeply he was impressed by the advantages of the tour to both town and country. “Of course there were formal speeches and abundant hospitality,” said Mr. Paish (in describing his visit to a representative of the Wellington Evening Post). “But,” he added, “it was the getting together, the little talks between the primary producer and the business man, that struck me as being so beneficial for both of them. Not only was the Pokeno railway route visited, and so on to Te Aroha, but much time was devoted to Northern Auckland, the potentialities of which strongly appealed to the business men; indeed, to some of them the country's productivity came as a revelation. It was all strenuous going for the party on the train, but I am sure it was worth it. This commerce train movement cannot fail to be productive of an immense amount of good, not only in enabling the city to obtain first-hand information of the country, but to strengthen the bonds of sympathy between the people of the urban and rural districts. To me, personally, it was an invaluable opportunity of seeing the country and getting a clear view of its conditions and possibilities.”
Peregrination charms our senses with such unspeakable and sweet variety that some count him unhappy that has never travelled.—Burton.
“How sweet it lies! how still and cool!
Half shaded by the crag on high,
A tiny place, a crystal pool,
Yet with its own dark depth of sky.“—Robert Buchaman.
Reflections in a pool on the way to the Silica Springs, Tongariro National Park, North Island, New Zealand. (This national playground is reached from National Park Station, on the Main Trunk Line.)
General Manager's Message
Analysing Points of Progress.
In going through the reports that chart the rise or fall in the tides of our various kinds of business, I have found it interesting and useful to discover the particular types of traffic in which a general upward tendency is disclosed, and to analyse through the component factors down to the basic principles upon which such favourable results are built.
The purpose of an examination of this kind is to find, if possible, a key that may unlock the door to success in dealing with those other classes of traffic where a diminishing business is revealed.
A recent analysis of this kind shows that the principal improvements in our returns have been either from ordinary goods traffic, or from certain types of business not, until comparatively recent years, dealt with by the Railways at all. Among the latter are night trains for passengers, the “Through Booking” of passengers, parcels, and goods between one island and the other, certain types of passenger traffic conveyed by special trains at reduced fare, and the hire of cushions for passengers on express trains.
All these special kinds of service, that add something to the transport facilities formerly provided, are proving particularly acceptable to the public. They might be regarded by some as the mere fringes of our business, but they nevertheless deserve special attention as being undoubtedly the kinds of additions to our ordinary services from which profit may be derived. Their success goes to show that in their introduction the public demand was accurately gauged, and it also indicates the general transport tendencies of the times. For this reason I look forward to the improvements which modern terminal facilities at our principal stations will enable us to provide for our clients; the completion of improvements in car rolling stock that will give opportunity for the employment of observation cars and coupé compartments; the introduction of light train units to improve local train services; and the extension of our refreshment services.
The general situation in regard to freight by rail is distinctly good, a steady and substantial increase being maintained. This indicates that our tariff charges are, in the main, favourable to shippers, and also that the public generally recognise the advantage of using the State system of transport.
The general benefits accruing both to the districts visited and to the large delegation of the Auckland Chamber of Commerce who travelled on a nine-days’ tour of the Auckland Province last month, have been very generally and cordially acknowledged. It has been particularly pleasing to me to find that the organisation of the tour was so perfectly arranged, and that every member of the Department who had to do with the arrangements or work of the tour carried through his share so efficiently. I desire to place on record my deep appreciation of this evidence of perfectly co-ordinated transport which brought such unstinted praise from the travellers.
I am desired by the Hon. W. B. Taverner, Minister of Railways, to convey, on his behalf, the season's greetings to all the clients and employees of the Department, and to express the hope that they may have a Merry Christmas, followed by a New Year in which a full measure of happiness and prosperity may be enjoyed by all.
In this expression of goodwill I and my Executive Officers heartily join.
General Manager.
.)Tangiwai
Now openeth the season when diners in sundry and many country hostelries eat their meals to the music of the buzzing bluebottle. At one backblocks hotel, last mid-summer, I happened to remark to the buxom young party who served me my lunch, something about the cheerful menagerie that hovered and zoomed in the ceiling—where the hanging decorations were. “Oh,” said she, “we never take any notice of them now. They don't settle, that's one good point about them, mister. The boss, he calls them our canaries.”
Auckland Commerce Train passengers recently saw a good deal of that placidly winding river, the Waihou, which flows through a populous rich country from above Matamata to the sea at the Thames. There was a time when it was the only way of getting inland in those parts. For many a mile about Te Aroha and the higher parts it was cumbered with snags, huge logs brought down by floods. That vigorous settler, the late J. C. Firth spent thousands of pounds in clearing the river, to give passage to his steamer, and the man who did the job is still living at Matamata. This veteran is Captain H. H. Tizard, one-time coasting trader, goldfields prospector, native agent, useful all-round settler. He lives not far away from that beautiful warm bathing pool greatly resorted to by the countryside folk. Mr. Firth engaged him to supervise the Maori toilers in the river work, and he found the active young sailor—he is an octogenarian now—just the man for that pioneering task.
Not only is there music in the sound of many a Maori place-name, but there is a melodious story in the name-origin. Not far from the Waikato railway line where it crosses the Whangamarino Swamp south of Mercer railway station, there is a small waterfall on the Whangamarino stream which the Lower Waikato natives say bears the name: “Te Ako-o-te-tui-a-Tamaoho” (“The Teaching of Tamaoho's Tui Bird”). The story is that it was here the ancestor named took his young pet tui to teach it to talk. The Maori belief was that the bird could best learn to talk within sound of a little waterfall where no other sound but the steady music of the cascade could penetrate to interfere with the teacher's voice.
At Waimamaku, Hokianga, the Commerce Train tourists last month enjoyed the chaffing-match between Dr. G. Smith, Medical Superintendent of Rawene Hospital, and Mr. E. Casey, Divisional Superintendent of Railways, on the subject of “trading in kind.” The Doctor suggested that it would be more advantageous to the country if instead of so much trading in finance, there were more trading in commodities, in other words, mutual barter. Mr. Casey's counter to this was
This payment in kind was not always mere matters for a joke at a convivial gathering. I remember well enough that it was the only way in which country settlers could discharge their indebtedness. There was once, for instance, a genial Irish doctor in the Upper Waikato whose patients paid him with a ton of firewood or half-a-ton of potatoes, or a load of fruit and vegetables, or a supply of oats for his horse; now and again a sheep or a few sides of bacon.
A Favourite New Zealand Train.
(Photo, W. W. Stewart.)
The “Limited” Express passing through Manakau, on the outskirts of Wellington, on the last lap of its 426-mile run from Auckland to Wellington, the capital city of New Zealand.
This was all very well in one way, but the doctor used to complain, good naturedly enough, that he couldn't pass the bacon or the “spuds” on to the town business house which supplied him with drugs for his surgery, and that when he wanted to buy a medical book to keep himself abreast of the times it wouldn't be a bit of use shipping a ton of tawa logs to the bookseller.
The first published report of the outbreak of that famous geyser, or rather muddy-water volcano, Waimangu, was made by Dr. Humphrey Haines and the late Mr. J. A. Pond, of Auckland, who were camping at Rotomahana in March, 1901. They gave the new geyser its name, meaning “Black Water.” But it was really Mr. E. Phillips Turner, the present head of the State Forest Service, who actually saw the first eruption of the tremendous “puia.” Mr. Turner was on the summit of Haparangi Mountain, near the present Rotorua-Atiamuri Road, about October 20, 1900, taking theodolite observations—he was then a Government surveyor—and he saw all at once an extraordinary cloud rising, in the direction of Rotomahana lake. He saw the phenomenon repeated a little later, and at once concluded that a huge thermal eruption had taken place in the vicinity of Rotomahana. Mr. Turner was taken seriously ill before he could explore the district, and when in Sydney recuperating in the following year he read the account of the discovery and naming of Waimangu. There may have been eruptions earlier than October, 1900, unseen by anyone, but it is pretty certain that Mr. Turner was the first to witness the wonderful spectacle that presently became world-famous.
Round the turn of a path in a beautiful old-fashioned garden in Napier lately I met a tattooed warrior figure who confronted me with a decidedly
totara.”
Pan of Maori Land certainly looked at least a century old. His knock-knees were firmly planted in the ground and one three-fingered hand caressed his lichen-mossed belly; the other held the remains of a club. His neck was stiffened with wire, age-rusted like himself, and a rusty iron cap like a steel helmet had been set on his head to keep the rains from soaking down the cracks into his brains. He looked the most proper of guardian wizards for that historic old garden.
When I get a garden after my own heart, a comfortable garden where everything grows as it chooses and nothing is trim and Dutch-like, I shall get me a Maori golliwog of an Atua like that old lad with the carved face in that Napier garden. If he is newly-carved by a Rotorua artist, Wellington's climate will soon reduce him to satisfyingly weather beaten conditions, and a charge of shot into his front and a tomahawk slash across his nose will give him historic interest for my visitors. I shall call him Te Kooti, and tell my friends it is unlucky to leave the garden without placing an offering of a silver coin at his feet.
In The Nelson Province, South Island.
The Railway Station at Seddonville.
Talking of golliwog-carvings reminds one that we have very few examples in New Zealand of the stone-carving art of a past generation. There were some whiskered masks in wood that adorned an old Wellington hotel, but they have vanished with the demolition of the place. The only existing examples of gargoyles and corbels or whatever they are called that come to mind at the moment are those on the old post office front in Shortland Street, Auckland, and the heads on the Supreme Court building in the same city. These were the work of an artist of the ‘Sixties of last century. The Court, quite unlike any other courthouse in the Dominion, is copied from an old Tudor castle in Warwickshire, and indeed it has quite an antique atmosphere about it. The mossy old corbels that adorn the outside of the Court are quite good portraits of long-gone worthies of Auckland, with here and there a Maori—the old Chief Paul Tuhaere, with his tattoo and his side-whiskers, is one of them. There is a judge or two, and there is a Governor. The stone-carver was a cunning artist in wood, too; he carved with beautiful finish some of the inside furnishings—the ends of the jury seats, the panels at the back of the judge's seat. I hope the modern touch of “improvement” won't touch that picture-like old Court on Constitution Hill.
Ken Alexander
Decorous reader, doubtless you contemplate Christmas as a prescribed and definite date indicated by cabalistic characters on a calendar; bootless, you consider the season of salubrity in terms of Time; and this, unfortunate reader, is where you go for a skate on the orange peel of error, rumpling your reason and lacerating your logic, for Christmas dwells more in the consciousness than on the calendar. It is a psychological sensation which embrocates the emotional emanations and metamorphoses the metaphysical millinery, causing the cry of cankerous Care and the dictates of dismal Duty to gurgle and gasp in the loud-shrieker of daily endeavour.
Truly, time and tide are terminological twins, but Yuletide should neither be tied to Time nor timed to tide.
As proof of this dictatorial declaration, let us suppose that, consequent on some lunary lapse, or a convolution in the cosmic cuisine, the Michaelmasticatory microbes were to antedate their annual activities by a moon or more, would we not still react to the bite of the boisterous bacillus, irrespective of the calculations of the calendar?
Dear sir and her, we venture to projagulate that the joy-germs would nip as niftily in Octember as in Devember.
In other words, Time, as applied to Xmas, is Not the essence of the contact.
Anyway, what is Time but a titular termigant who terrorises the timid?
Mr. Einstein, the most tireless time-killer of our times, devoted a great deal of time to proving that Time is timeless, but at the same time we are prepared to wager a boy-proof to a waterproof that while denying mean time, he was never guilty of defying meal time.
Time Is mean. Time is a scurvy cheat; he takes the best young years while we value them least, and when we totter into his place of business to redeem them he hands us nought but regrets. He encourages us to pledge the substance for the shadow, to pawn juvenility for due senility. Time's real name is Tempus McFugit; he wears a kilt and operates between the waving palms.
Some there are who testify that Time is merely the chronological crop in the process of passing through Eternity's harvester, to be chopped into chronometrical chaff and used for tabulating trains, and timing racehorses and eggs. Others aver that Time is a metrical myth manufactured to keep humanity on the hop in the hope of catching up with something that isn't there.
The more time we devote to this durational diagnosis the deadlier is our desire to bite the
“The daily dictates of dismal duty.”
Now, having proved that time Is or Is Not (as you like it), the question before the bored is: “How can we chop up something that isn't here and dispose of it on tick?”
In view of the fact that we can neither see nor smell time, it is safe to say that on the voting, neither the eyes nor the nose have it.
After all, bewildered reader, notwithstanding nor with lying, Time is what we make it. For instance, to the lag who is bagged with the swag, it represents anything from a couple of spring-tides to a brace of Yuletides; to the clock-watcher who combines lead-swinging with ink-slinging, it is a grey daze between paydays; to the motorologistic moron with the one-way mind, it is mere material for satisfying an amputative ambition, frequently ending in an ambulance; to the harassed hen, it is a Mournful Lay; to the captious “cop,” it is Beats and Eats; to the watchmaker, Time is money; and to the railwayfarer, it is a scenic sequence of high-frequence.
To all of us, Christmas Comes but Once a Year; it is the spot marked X-mas on the mental matrix; it is the cue to introduce the light comedy touch into twelve acts of dreary drama. But why wait until the fall of the curtain to put the laugh across the “lights”? Why not shoot up the Whole show with comic capers?
“Look after the laughs and the laments will take care of themselves,” should be our clarion cry. It should be our aim permanently to pulverise the populace with lashings of laughter, to minister to the masses with the microbes of merriment, to jollify the jeremiads with japes of joy, to pepper the pessimists with persiflage, and generally to wake the welkin with salvos of song. Such need not take the form of vocal vibration or laryngitical levity; it may be a silent song of the soul, an internal interlude—dumb but delicious, soundless but satisfying, a genuine generation of joy notes in the jazz organ.
Think you, dear reader, how often do you really Laugh? Certainly you smile bleakly or meekly or weakly in direct ratio to the status of the joke of the moment, but how often do you unfurl the loud squeaker so wide that the ears must needs step back a pace or sever relations with the belfry; how often do you unlimber the larynx, elevate the eyebrows until they slip over the top into no-man's-land, fling up the face so high that the collar becomes a body-belt, and heave a hatful of head-noises into the rafters. How often do you proclaim a bargain-day in the fun-factory and bray with boyish blithesomeness or gurgle and gasp with girlish gaiety.
“Mean-time.”
“A grey daze between pay-days.”
Madeto laugh each day;
It is said that he who laughs last laughs best, but methinks that he who laughs most carps less; likewise every dog has his day, but some dog's days are only daze.
But we must not forget, buoyant reader, that Christmas is here and the goose—we hope—has attained that desirable state of obesity entitling it to a place in the menu. Laughter litters the landscape, and the hand of Care is in a sling. The lid has been prised off the gasometer of glee and at any moment there will be an explosion of merriment that will blow a hole clean through the mists of melancholy.
The steel rails are running hot to the pounding of drumming wheels. They are the throbbing threads which draw friend to friend, father to family, children to the old roof-tree; they whisper and sing of the grand things of life—love and laughter, the cup of gaiety; the joy of fine living, of work well done and leisure well earned; of high adventure and romance; of the splendid things that are man's heritage.
Christmas has come, and the spring-tide of Yuletime whispers on the sands of Happiness; peace on earth and goodwill to all men—a laugh, one peal on the bell of human joy, and—why, life is worth the while.
Beat wheels beat, like the giant heart of happiness on the road to Destiny. Whirl us to the foot of the rainbow where is buried the magic talisman of Life, and with the wooden spade of childhood let us disinter it from the mould of almost forgotten things. For this magic token is the spirit of Christmas. Let's grasp it firmly, we human hunters after happiness, and make it the spirit of Every day, lest through our neglect it fade and turn to dull stone.
“A mournful lay.”
Undoubtedly, Christmas has crystallised, and down the rainbow, which is the permanent way of the milky way, Father O'Christmas is sliding on the Joy Unlimited, with the throttle open and the furnace glowing with the fires of enthusiasm, while the funnel flings star-dust to the ends of eternity; the track is “open” to the earth, and the tender is weighted with the good old bag of tricks, which include railway excursions and divers diversions, reduced fares to reduce cares, square deals for round trips, special concessions for family processions, limiteds unlimited, and miles of smiles.
Father O'Christmas is a bhoy—one of the lads; we expect to see quite a deal of him:
“Tickled with feathers and bits of hay.”
Me Bhoy.
In conclusion, dear reader, let us hope that Father O'Christmas will “sock” you well and truly on Christmas Eve. When you trip with him by rail there will be no changing at the junction of joyous anticipation and merry realisation.
Railway Gasette.)
Railway Engineering Achievements in New Zealand.
The construction of the Waikare viaduct on the North Island East Coast Railway, shewing a steel girder suspended in mid-air. The viaduct will be over 612ft. long and 256ft. above water level.
Our London Letter
Passenger train speed records provide a never ending source of interest for railwaymen and public the world over. During the past twenty years, average passenger train speeds have increased to a marked degree, and some really fine running is now performed. All the West European lands present many interesting fast runs, Britain and France leading in the speed championship of Europe, and in fact, of the world. In his current contribution our Special London Correspondent deals with present day train speeds and reviews recent railway developments in Britain and on the Continent.
On the Home railways the fastest running is found on the Great Western and London and North Eastern lines. Fastest of all quick runs is the Swindon-London flight of the daily express from Cheltenham to London, on the Great Western system. On this trip 77¼ miles are covered in 70 minutes—an average start to stop speed of 66¼ miles per hour. This is a world record, and one of which Home railwaymen are rightly proud. On the same railway, the 107 miles between London and Bath are traversed in 105 minutes—an average start to stop speed of 61 miles an hour. A similar speed is attained by the Westbury-London express, covering 95½ miles in 94 minutes. On the London and North Eastern line there is a regular daily run from Darlington to York (44 miles) in 43 minutes, and another from Leicester to Nottingham (22½ miles) in 22 minutes, both of which give average start to stop speeds of 61½ miles an hour.
Now for the long-distance runs. Probably no country in the world can boast of finer performances than those of the “Cornish Riviera Limited,” the “Flying Scotsman,” the “Royal Scot,” the “Torbay Limited,” and other crack trains of the Homeland. The “Cornish Riviera Limited” daily covers the 226 miles between London and Plymouth in 240 minutes; the “Flying Scotsman” and the “Royal Scot” make the four hundred miles flight between London and Edinburgh in 8¼ hours, while the “Torbay Limited” covers the 200 miles between London and Torquay in just 210 minutes. Across the Channel, there is an outstanding run in the “Sud Express” of the Orleans and Midi Railways of France. This daily train travels from Paris to Bayonne, 482½ miles, in 9 hours 31 minutes, including seven stops, or 9 hours running time. This gives an average speed of 53½ miles per hour for the run of nearly 500 miles. On the French Northern system, 200 minutes are taken on the 194 miles run between Paris and Dunkirk. The Eastern Railway of France has a quick run of 237 minutes for the 219 miles separating Paris and Nancy and on the same line is another noteworthy performance in the 165 minute flight of the Paris-Bar-le-Duc express (157 miles).
With the ever-increasing demand from the travelling public for high speed running, and the growing weight of passenger trains, locomotive engineers are seriously concerned as to the future. Working on conventional lines, it is doubtful whether gauge and other limitations will allow of much more power being encompassed within the casing of the main-line steam
The general design of Diesel engines is at present developing along well-defined lines, the weight per horse-power having been reduced to the low figure of 12lbs. The problem of transmission however, is still in the experimental stage. Five main methods are generally favoured, viz., clutch and gearing; hydraulic transmission; pneumatic transmission; electric transmission; and combined Diesel and steam, as in the Kitson-Still experimental locomotive. One of the most interesting types of Diesel locomotive in use in Europe is that designed by Professor Lomonosoff, and built for the Russian Soviet Railways. This employs electric transmission, and is of 1,200 horse-power. In Britain, Messrs. Beardmore and Co., of Glasgow, have under construction an engine of 3,000 horse-power. Another interesting development is the employment of the Diesel engine for rail cars. The London, Midland and Scottish Railway have in service a four-car Diesel-electric passenger train of about 500 h.p. The engine has eight cylinders (8¼in. by 12in.), and the drive is transmitted to the two axles at the trailing end of the power car by two motors rated at 280 h.p. at 580 volts. Accommodation is provided for 287 passengers, and the total weight of the train is 144 tons. For branch-line working, power units of this type promise to perform most useful service in time to come.
A Powerful British Locomotive.
The “King George V.” 4-cylinder 4-6-0 Express Passenger Engine.
Railways all over the world rightly attach the greatest importance to the question of eyesight, so far as locomotive drivers and firemen are concerned. On the Home Railways a certificate of good eyesight, signed by the railway medical officer, must be possessed by every locomotive man. Examinations for eyesight are conducted on special testing grounds, and are usually made during the summer months, when visibility is at its best. The conventional form of testing apparatus consists of a set of about six signals of standard size and pattern, which have to be picked out at distances ranging from 150 to 1,000 yards. The signals are operated by means of a hand lever by a man who alters the position of the boards on receiving a ring on a bell from the officer in charge at the point where the test is being conducted.
It is interesting to note that, in the single eyesight test, it is usual to employ a light wooden shield, painted black, to obscure the vision of the disengaged eye of the man undergoing the test. This arrangement is adopted for, when a man closes one eye by covering it with his hand, it often happens that the pressure placed upon the eye is liable to blur the vision temporarily, thus producing a detrimental effect when subsequent tests are carried out with that eye. In addition to the tests outlined, all would-be drivers and firemen at Home have to undergo a stringent colour vision examination.
The design and operation of freight marshalling yards offers a most fruitful avenue of study. At the International Railway Congress, to be held in Madrid, Spain, in May, 1930, this topic is to be very fully considered. In this connection an advance copy of a report covering
In the main, Mr. Byrom's report deals with the question of wagon retarders for use in the larger hump yards. This invention comes from two Americans—Messrs. Hannaeur and Wilcox—and the first large-scale utilisation of wagon retarders is the Markham Yard installation, in Chicago. As yet, their employment in Britain and elsewhere outside America has not become general. The reason for this is stated to be the initial high cost of such equipment, and the doubt which exists in the minds of the railway officers outside the United States as to whether this heavy cost could be justified by subsequent savings. At present, the L. and N.E. Railway is experimenting with a wagon retarder system at its new Whitemoor Yard, near Cambridge. The installation is of the German “Froelich” type. The L.M. and S. system is also contemplating conducting retarder experiments at an early date.
The “Iron Horse” Of The Future.
Fast electric passenger locomotive on the Swiss Railways.
Subject to confirmation of the favourable impression gained from the comparatively little knowledge and experience yet available, Mr. Byrom remarks that there seems to be no doubt that modern wagon-retarding methods, combined with electrically controlled switch manipulation, are much to be preferred to the older methods of hand-braking and manual switch operation at hump or gravitational yards by reason of the larger margin of safety they provide in respect to both men and material, apart from any economies rendered possible. By railways all over the world the subject of wagon retarders is being closely watched, and data concerning the very exhaustive experiments being conducted by the L. and N.E. Railway will doubtless, in due course be circulated, and received with interest by all.
The topic of railway and road co-ordination is now becoming somewhat hackneyed, but it is an all-important subject at the present juncture, and any noteworthy advances in this direction are of the first moment. During recent times marked progress has been effected by the European railways in rail-road coordination, and, at Home, the railways are by degrees acquiring important interests in the leading road carrying organisations.
In Scotland, the L. and N.E. and L.M. and S. Railways have jointly come to an agreement with a big road transport house known as the Scottish Motor Traction Company, whereby the railways undertake not to compete in road transport with that concern, the arrangement being that the two railways and the road transport company will co-operate in the provision of road and rail services throughout
The German railways, like those of the Homeland, are tackling the problem of road competition in energetic fashion. According to the recently published fourth annual report of the German Railways, covering the year ended December 31st, 1928, the number of private motor cars, motor buses and motor wagons in use in Germany at July 1st, 1928, totalled 473,000, as against 255,000 in 1925. The most important road transport undertaking in Germany is the Government postal department, and, as a result of recent negotiations, it is proposed that the railways shall take over from the postal authorities much of the road transport work at present handled by the Post Office.
Apart from the launching of road services by the German Railways, the Berlin railway authorities have submitted their freight tariffs to complete revision, to enable them to meet the ever-growing competition of the roads.
Modern Railway Publicity.
Interior of the London Publicity Bureau of the German Railways.
The annual report of the German Railways makes exceptionally interesting reading. The report is prepared by Monsieur G. Leverve, the Commissioner for the German Railways to the Reparation Commission, and it is stated therein that the year 1927 was a period of exceptional economic activity, the traffic handled developing in a most favourable manner. The receipts for that year totalled 5,039 million marks, being an increase of 11 per cent. as compared with 1926, and 8 per cent. as compared with 1925. In 1928, economic development was less rapid, but receipts for the German Railways, taken as a whole, showed an increase of 2.4 per cent. over the boom year, 1927. As compared with 1925, the first business year of the reorganised railways of Germany, there has been an increase in receipts in three years of 10.5 per cent. In each year of operation the nett operating surplus has amply covered reparation payments, and, in 1928, reparation payments represented 12.7 per cent. of the total receipts.
W. S. Dale
An investigation of the theory of modern industrial psychology has been made by Mr. Dale to exhibit the extent to which it has been applied to the working of the New Zealand Railways system.
Iconcluded, last month, the first instalment of this article, with a reference to the superior results, upon output, following the introduction of improved working methods, and to the evil significance of an improper conception of the worker's time unit which results in speeding up.
Turn now to the second case in which the employer changes the technique of the job. It can be understood readily that in changing the mode of attack a greater output may be ensured during the time unit, but there may be, relatively speaking, no greater expenditure of energy. As a matter of fact, some methods, as shown in typing, are designed to conserve the energy of the employee. It can therefore be said, with certainty, that if the output is increased, but there is no added energy over and above the greatest reasonable expenditure, as under the old method, and during the given time unit, then “speeding-up” is absent.
This explanation should serve two purposes, namely, to dispose of the idea that psychology in business means greater effort, and also that it is a subtle move to “speed up” for it indicates conclusively that, under normal conditions, an increase of output is not necessarily the result of “speeding up” operatives. At this point the reorganisation of the Railway Workshops serves to give point to the facts. In this instance methods of work were investigated and, having regard to the application of the mental deliberations or acts of decision, as required when assembling, the lay-out of the work was reorganised so as to make such work more automatic. This simple adjustment was clear-cut psychology in that making decisions means mental strain, and, as such, demands energy which might otherwise be used in production. Moreover it is a time-saving device which increases output without any extra effort or energy.
Finally it should be remembered that, while industrial psychology aims at reaching industrial efficiency, it has no claims on the worker outside the factory, foundry, or workshop, although the worker's leisure is undoubtedly coloured by work shop or factory conditions. In America where standardisation is synonymous with workshop practice the Daily Mail Trade Mission noted that the workers enjoyed their leisure to the full despite the heavy demands on their energy by the work they performed. The evidence gathered showed that it was the scientific direction of effort in work rather than a multitude of labour saving devices which increased production without unduly fatiguing the workers. This also applies to the New Zealand Railways.
The General Manager has lately been illuminating on the subject of saving. The rank and file have had placed before them figures indicative of how losses can be stopped. No business can succeed unless the goods can be put on the market at the least cost, but the accomplishment of this aim is not easy. It involves many variable factors which, because of the differences in human beings, are more or less independent. Since we cannot cut all to a pattern, psychological science has, therefore, touched but one side
A boy desires to enter the machine shops. He has always been keen on machinery, and the salary sheet indicates a satisfactory rate of pay. The shops have become specialised, and the boy may be required to fit pins to centres of small rollers. This, of course, is a simple example. The skill demanded to perform this job is found in muscle and eye co-ordination, the pin must go straight in if the job is to proceed at a normal rate. The operation demands that one movement only must be made, there must be no bungling, no hesitation, no mis-hits. To ascertain his fitness for this task he is put before a simple machine, and tests for his fitness are made. The machine consists of:—
1. A metal stand with series of graduated holes which the boy must pierce with needle (5) at intervals. This interval is governed by factory conditions.
2. A dry cell connected with 1 and 5 and 4.
3. A delicately constructed watch which draws the time line on drum A.
4. A make and break magnet attached to a needle which draws a record on drum A.
A simple testing machine used to ascertain a worker's fitness for the performance of specific operations.
When the record is complete the sheet is taken off the drum (shown under the apparatus). The record shows a “hit” when the needle makes a contact with the metal plate; this breaks the circuit and the needle at 4 drops. As the needle 5 is withdrawn from the plate the needle 4 lifts. When the hole is pierced cleanly by the operator nothing happens and the record is a straight line. This is the essence of the job in the shop so that if the pin does not go “home” at regular intervals then the boy is judged to be unsuitable for that type of work. Of course, one trial does not condemn. Practice is needed; but, after a time—sufficient for eye and muscle to work together—if results on the graph indicate no improvement, then output is being slowed up because of the operator's inability to overcome certain psychological difficulties, and he must be transferred to another job where his ability can be used. A more lengthy consideration of selection will be made later on when the utilisation of specific abilities will be made. In any case, selection is not a menace to the employee, rather it is an asset, for it means work in accordance with ability and psychological fitness.
Enough has been written to show the scope of the subject—that it has a definite part to play in industry. The application of the ascertained facts of industrial psychology can increase output without increasing the demands on the energy of the worker. Selection of workers on a basis of fitness will assist in relieving nervestrain and slowing-up; and, finally, by studying the job, construct new methods of work which are improvements on the old.
The next article will deal with some mental factors relevant to industry.
“Panel and circumscribing wall
Of latest feature, grand and tall.”—Thomas Hardy.
The imposing booking hall of Wellington's new railway station (looking towards the Dining Room.)
W. R. Davidson
In the following article, Mr. W. R. Davidson gives some interesting particulars of the layout and architectural features of Wellington's new railway station. A point of special interest to Wellington citizens is that both engineers and the architect responsible for the work are representatives of old Wellington families. The new station will, therefore, be the work of her own sons. All three have toured the world in recent years, so that their local knowledge is supplemented by a personal study of what has been done in other lands.
When Nature with a mighty seismic impulse formed a site for Wellington she left much for its future inhabitants to do, and for well nigh a century they have been doing it with a dogged determination.
She lured the first settlers into a magnificent harbour, but gave them only a meagre foothold between the hills and the sea. Three generations have now been consolidating and expanding that foothold. They have forced the ocean back foot by foot until several hundred acres have been reclaimed, and what was once sea and sandy beach is now great city blocks and streets teeming with traffic.
Nature, too, had ringed them in with a solid rampart of hills that had to be surmounted before the rich lands beyond could be reached. Thus to the westward one line of railway climbs by a steep sinuous track up a grade of 1 in 40 through a series of seven tunnels. To the eastward the other railway, after winding tortuously for six miles along the narrow shore of the harbour, and traversing a rich, populous river valley, climbs the Rimutaka Range and descends into the wide and fertile Wairarapa Plains by a centre-rail track on a grade of 1 in 15.
Up to 1908 the West Coast railway, to Longburn (83 miles) was owned and operated by the Wellington-Manawatu Railway Company, the East Coast line to Napier being part of the Government system.
With the opening of the Main Trunk railway to Auckland (426 miles) in 1908, the Government took over the Manawatu line. With the unification of ownership in 1908 the separate passenger terminals at Thorndon and Lambton, three-quarters of a mile apart, were retained, and though schemes were immediately formulated for combining the two terminals they still remain separate entities in this year, 1929.
Much planning has been done in the intervening years, and but for the Great War, Wellington might now have had a central railway station in keeping with the growth and business of the city. Still, the wheels of progress have not been altogether idle, and Father Neptune has been robbed of another 70 acres of his domain and held at bay with a sea-wall nearly a mile in length and costing a quarter of a million sterling.
The natural barriers already mentioned rendered such reclamation necessary for the provision of an adequate railway terminal in Wellington, a terminal that would efficiently serve both East and West Coast railways, and, most important of all, would handle expeditiously the heavy overseas and inter-island freight passing over Wellington's wharves.
Wellington has long been distinguished by a fine outer portal in its splendidly equipped wharves and waterfront stores, berths for the largest ships at any state of the tide, and lifting and transporting gear equal to anything in the world. In strong contrast the inner portal of the city has been shabby and inadequate to the last degree. It has been a poor introduction to the rich lands and scenic wonders that lie beyond it.
The public, no doubt, have been long suffering in regard to their railway station, but it is well to give an appreciative thought to the men who have had to carry out their duties under adverse
The Chief Engineer Of Railways.
Mr. F. C. Widdop, M.Inst.C.E., whose name will always be identified with the planning of Wellington's new station.
Now the plans for a large up-to-date railway terminal at Wellington are practically complete, and Cabinet has given authority for the work to proceed forthwith.
The plans are the outcome of a long and patient study of the railway transport conditions obtaining in Wellington. Past statistics have been searched and tabulated with a view to forecasting future requirements, but even then the seer is needed as much as the statistician. Transportation is so much in a state of flux that the imagination must be brought into play in making provision on broad lines for future possibilities that are outside the range of present figures.
It is well, at this point, to remember that the railway terminal in Wellington has a function quite apart from service to the city. It handles great quantities of produce and merchandise direct between the country districts of the North Island and overseas, and inter-island shipping, necessitating the very closest contact with the wharves.
Planning for this has been comparatively easy. In the development of its other function, service to the local community, the weaving of the railway transportation system into the city transportation system, and thereby into the life of the city has been a much more difficult problem.
It would do much to disarm hasty criticism if it could be known how many channels were patiently explored, how many interests studied, how many opinions obtained, how many parallels sought before final decisions were arrived at, and what were the limitations imposed upon the designer by the awkward boundaries of the site.
The maze of railway tracks which will eventually cover the Thorndon Reclamation has probably little interest for the general public. Here, however, lies the real heart of the matter. This apparent maze is an intricate organ of transportation which will deliver the very life blood of commerce. Day in, and day out, must the wheels be kept moving between East Coast and West Coast, country and city, ship's side
The Assistant Chief Engineer.
Mr. W. R. Davidson, M.Inst.C.E.
The passenger station itself must necessarily be the chief point of interest for the man in the street, for here he makes personal contact with organised transportation, and in just so far as his comfort and convenience are met does he approve.
Collaboration On Station Plans.
Left.—W. R. Davidson, M.Inst.C.E., Asst.-Chief Engineer. Right.—W. Gray Young, F.R.I.B.A., architect for the new station building.
The main intention of this article is a brief description of the passenger terminal as finally planned.
The site of the station building was the first consideration. The position was influenced by the necessity for keeping all passenger platforms and the trackwork serving them, to the south of Davis Street. This brought the building into the position shown on the plan. Fortunately this position fitted in with some other important considerations. There was room here, between Featherston Street and Waterloo Quay, to develop an adequate layout fronting towards Bunny Street and at such distance from that street as to provide a broad plaza for the circulation of city traffic making contact with the station—trams, buses, motors and pedestrians.
The station building will present a perfectly symmetrical front to this plaza, with a central doorway giving entrance to the main booking hall.
As Featherston Street is essentially a passenger thoroughfare the passenger facilities and amenities were developed on that side of the building. In the same way luggage, parcels and
Planned On Approved Modern Lines.
Railway Station Wellington
Plan Of Ground Floor & Platforms
Bunny Streef
Ground floor plan of the new station building shewing the arrangement of the platforms and station facilities.
The central feature of the station layout is the large concourse which provides an internal circulating area, and which has direct access to Featherston Street. A subsidiary concourse also with access to this street will deal with the suburban passengers, so that they will not hamper the movements of long distance travellers within the station.
City approaches to the new station.
The arrival platforms will be served by a wide carriage road from Waterloo Quay. Passengers will be able to step direct from train to motor car, and so reach the city with the briefest delay possible.
A large mailroom with rail access is provided for dealing with bulk mails.
A study of the plans will show that the station offers to the traveller all the amenities of a first-class hotel, except sleeping accommodation. Several beds will be provided in conjunction with the women's rest room for those overcome by the stress of travelling, particularly those coming off the South Island ferry after a rough night and wishing to proceed by train.
The new station block will make close contact with the inter-island ferry wharf, and it is expected that, in the future, when inter-island and inter-colonial traffic further develop, additional facilities in this direction will be provided.
The site of the station having been definitely settled, it now remains to finalise the arrangement of street and traffic approaches; in other words, the welding of railway transportation to city transportation. This has been fraught with
It is unfortunate that Featherston Street, one of the principle arterial roadways should pass the station, but this is offset by the fact that Lambton Quay will carry a very large proportion of the northern road traffic entirely clear of the station.
The building will rise to a height of five storeys, in order to accommodate all railway staffs in Wellington, including the chief executive offices, the result being a very impressive structure. Its site is not without æEsthetic features. The main facade of the building, with its pillared entrance, will show to great advantage across the wide plaza, particularly to those approaching from the wharves and from Stout Street. From the plaza itself will be obtained a view of the Government Buildings, destined in the future to be a monumental structure. Up the wide vista of Bunny Street will be seen the Houses of Parliament, with trees, green lawns and gay flower beds surrounding them.
If in the future it be decided to remove the Government Printing Office and remodel the Hotel Cecil block then the stage is set for a splendid entrance to the capital city. The Featherston Street facade of the railway station will certainly be an outstanding part of that setting.
The Station Building.
The proposed new railway station for Wellington.
A brief mention of the men most directly concerned in the technical development of the scheme may not be out of place. The name most closely associated with the investigation and planning of Wellington's railway requirements is that of Mr. F. C. Widdop, M.Inst.C.E., Chief Engineer, New Zealand Railways. His investigations have extended over the past twenty years. It has, however, been the duty of the writer to handle the planning of details in their later stages. Transportation conditions have changed greatly in recent years, and some of the old ideas have had to be recast. The final consolidation and harmonising of the functions of a railway station bring out numerous difficulties, and many new possibilities have had to be explored before reaching an ultimate decision.
The station building itself must necessarily lie outside the scope of the engineer. He may map out its ground plan in relation to his platforms and sidings, but to translate that ground plan into a worthy structure requires the architect.
It was wisely decided by the Government that the best architectural ability in Wellington should be made available to the engineers, and so for the past two years Mr. W. Gray Young, F.R.I.B.A., has been in close collaboration with them. He is directly responsible for the plans now presented to the public and will handle the job to completion.
A Racing Holiday in New ZealandThe Iron Horse helps the public to enjoy the Sport of Kings
Busy scenes outside Lambton Station, Wellington.
A race train arrives at Trentham.
“They're off!” The start of the Harcourt Cup.
“Pink Coat” winning the Harcourt Cup, with “Seatown” second.
Her Excellency Lady Alice Fergusson presents the Harcourt Cup to Mr. Morrison.
Iron steeds waiting in the Railway Yard at Trentham to haul the race trains back to Wellington.
., etc.)Dr. Chas. Chilton , M.A., D.Ss., Ll.D., F.L.S
The following article by Dr. Chilton was written shortly before his death. He was one of New Zealand's most distinguished scientists. Apart from his more technical writings, which have permanently enriched zoology, he has written much (in “The City Beautiful” of which he was editor) intended to help in improving the appearance of our cities. This article contains some valuable suggestions regarding the wider adoption of gardening schemes to make railway station surroundings more pleasing to the eye.
Towards the close of the Nineteenth Century it was my good fortune to live for over four years—1895 to 1899—in the ancient and historic city of Edinburgh—dear “Auld Reekie.” Certainly there were “reeks” in abundance. If one stood on the summit of Arthur's Seat at the hour when the domestic fires were being lighted and looked down on the old town and saw the smoke issuing from the many chimney pots, it was not difficult to imagine that it was a gigantic railway yard that lay before one, with the smoke of many engines rising from the sheds. A little to the right lay Calton Hill, at the one end of Princes Street, and in front, but further away, Edinburgh Castle, rising in majestic solidity, too often half obscured by the smoky haze. Just beyond it was the Caledonian Railway Station, then comparatively new and well ordered, while at the foot of Calton Hill was Waverley Station, the centre of the North British Railways, fortunately half-hidden in the valley, for it was in all the confusion and disorder of rebuilding. Between these two stations many hundreds of trains ran every day, and from each terminus they branched off in various directions. They were all drawn by coalburning locomotives, for that was long before the days of internal combustion engines and electric motors. Edinburgh was more a University town than a manufacturing centre, but there were sufficient factories, foundries and printing works to add appreciably to the atmosphere's “dusty freight.”
And yet Edinburgh was a very pleasant place to live in even for one accustomed to the clear skies and open spaces of New Zealand, and this was not altogether due to the intellectual and historical attractions of the Scots capital. There were green spaces on the surrounding hills, in the Meadows in the old town, and in the semi-private squares of the new, and the recollections of the first day spent in Edinburgh are rather of the hyacinths and other spring flowers in the gardens than of the grimy streets and dull, dingy closes. The Princes Street Gardens, lying between the two large railway stations and almost on top of the railway lines running from the one to the other were, every summer, a brilliant mosaic of green grass and bright flowers always in bloom.
If all this was possible in Edinburgh under such unfavourable conditions of climate and fuel, is there any reason why the railway stations throughout New Zealand should, in 1929, be anything but patches of beauty to add to the natural charms of the country?
Pleasant though it was to spend the time in Edinburgh, it was a delightful change, after several mouths, to get away by train and visit the Scott country—Melrose Abbey, Abbotsford, Jedburgh, Dryburgh Abbey, and so on. But the most astonishing things to be seen during that trip were the railway stations with their bright flower beds and well-kept, tidy premises. In New Zealand one had been accustomed to bare, open yards, with a shingle-covered platform and dry, dusty approaches leading to the equally dry and dusty roads. These New Zealand stations were, of course, only of recent construction, the Scots ones were much older and more venerable; the newness of the buildings had been effaced by time, everything had the appearance of substantial strength and solidity, and all the portions not required for traffic seemed to have blossomed out into brilliant flower-beds set in restful areas of green grass.
Later on we learnt that these station gardens were encouraged by the enlightened policy of the North British Railway Co. Inspection of all the stations was made periodically, and after consideration of the conditions of each case they were arranged in order, first, second, or third class, and prizes awarded the most deserving; the results being published in the Scotsman and other papers. Great rivalry and desire to excel was the result, and apparently all the employees at each station took pride in the condition of the station under their care.
Seen From The Train.
The archway at the north end of the platform at Wingatui Station, Otago.
Railways have become so much a part of our ordinary business life that we are apt to forget how modern they are. Yet it is only a little more than a hundred years since the first railway was opened; the Stockton and Darlington Railway was commenced in 1821 and opened in 1825, for the transport of coal only. New Zealand Railway history dates back only to 1860, when a contract was let for the construction of a line from Christchurch to Lyttelton. The first portion of this line was opened on the first of December, 1863, and though other lines have been formed since then at a rate surprisingly rapid for such a sparsely populated country it is still possible to find, not only children, but elderly adults who have never seen a railway locomotive. Many of us can remember the excitement when the railway train was first seen making its way across the tussock-clad plains or through the virgin bush, and we have often descended on a dark night at some lonely “station” consisting only of a landing platform of shingle or earth lighted by the kerosene lamp carried by the guard travelling with the train. For years the settlers who used these railways had something more urgent to think about than the formation of gardens, even at their own sod whares or timber-built shacks. At the flag-stations there was no stationmaster to attend to the passengers and the goods, and even at the stations dignified with the presence of an officer-in-charge there was for many years no thought of a station garden other than the patch of vegetables and perhaps a few flowers around his own cottage.
But progress has proceeded apace in this as in many other matters in this rapidly growing country—now no longer a Colony but a well settled and dignified Dominion. There are flag-stations still surrounded by native vegetation, but at the officered stations this has been replaced by introduced grass and garden flowers around the homes of the stationmaster and his assistants. More recently the landing platforms and the public ground immediately around them have received attention, and the station garden proper is now to be seen in many parts of the country. The first of these were probably started by officers for their own pleasure and enjoyment, but it was not long before they attracted the notice and approval of passengers travelling by train, and they have more recently received official recognition and commendation from the railway authorities. A brief notice of some of the station gardens was given in the issue of this magazine for June, 1928, and it will be pleasing to those who are acquainted with the North British Railway lines to learn that the only part where the encouragement of station gardens is organised on a substantial scale is Otago. There the Otago Women's Club has set in motion a big scheme for station beautifying, and the staff throughout the district has readily responded. Cups and prizes have been offered and keenly competed for, the ladies themselves doing the judging. It
The Canterbury railways, with their headquarters in Christchurch, the “Garden City,” cannot afford to be left behind by Otago in this matter, and already many of the stations are well and favourably known for their floral displays. For some years the gardens and rose beds at the Rakaia Station have earned well-merited commendation, and there are others ready to contest their supremacy.
A Well-Ordered Station Garden In Otago.
A view of the north end of Wingatui Station, shewing the flower beds.
First impressions are all important in the formation of opinions. On a certain voyage to England, towards the end of 1911, the steamer was forced, unexpectedly, to call at Madeira. Scarcely had the passengers landed, after some weeks at sea, when they were delighted at the profusion and abundance of the semi-tropical flowers to be seen everywhere, and they were still more surprised and delighted to have beautiful blooms thrown to them as they were being carried up the little railway to the heights above Funchal. Some of these passengers later on, in the spring of 1912, reached Basle, the
Spouts Aerating Water.
(By courtesy of “The City Beautiful.“)
Drake Reservoir, Plymouth, England.
Another point may be urged. These garden plants and shrubs, beautiful though they are, may be quite familiar to the visitor, and he has probably heard of New Zealand's wealth of ferns and of the fine plants peculiar to the country. Yet he fails to see them on his arrival, or in the cities he usually visits. There are plenty of ferns hardy enough to be grown at any railway station in New Zealand; at New Plymouth and other places in the North Island they grow luxuriantly, and it would be easy to arrange them at the stations so as to give the same impression as that conveyed to the tourist by the illustrations he has doubtless seen in the guide books descriptive of the beauties of New Zealand. Naturally the railway gardens must be planned and planted with due regard to the climatic and other local conditions of the situation. At mountain stations, such as Arthur's Pass and Otira, some of the “mountain lilies” (Ranunculus Lyallii), Ourisias, Ratas, and shrub by Olearias, could be grown and, at the proper season, blooms from these could be offered to visiting botanists and others specially interested in the vegetation of New Zealand.
One can imagine the reader saying: “Yes, this is all very well in theory; but it is not so easy to grow plants in a railway yard, where the engine smoke makes its presence felt and the trains are constantly passing to and fro over the gravel-covered shunting yards.” Of course some places are more difficult to deal with than others, but few are really hopeless to the true lover of flowers. Our peculiar “mat-plants,” species of Raoulia and other genera, grow in abundance in the riverbed shingle, and would grow equally well in some of the railway yards; a small introduced Sedum is abundant on waste areas near the railway lines at several places in Canterbury, and might be induced to come a little nearer if properly encouraged; in other places garden escapes of Escholtzias, Cat Mint and Bugloss
For most plants the great essential is sufficient moisture; the character of the soil is relatively unimportant. The railway locomotives resemble the plants in their craving for water, and a sufficient supply has to be provided. Could not some of this water be used for the benefit of the station gardens and enable plants to grow in places that without water would remain bare and give rise to nothing but dust? Small ponds could be formed in suitable areas in the shunting yards, and it would not be difficult to add to these small water sprays, or spouting fountains, that would form a pleasant sight for the passengers while waiting for the engine to get its supply of water in another part of the station yard. With the fine nozzles that can now be obtained delightful showers of spray fine as vapour could be formed with comparatively little expenditure of water, and could be used to keep the flowers growing vigorously, or to moisten the more tender ferns.
The Constant Delight Of Train Travellers In Switzerland.
(By Courtesy of “The City Beautiful.“)
Railway Station Square, Basle, with beds of Hyacinths, Fountain, and Strasburg Monument.
These are but suggestions; but with the perseverance and enthusiasm already shown in the care devoted to many station gardens, and with the co-operation of the members of the staff they might become realities and make our stations not the least beautiful places in a beautiful land.
Britain's Vast Railway Industry
The important position of the railways, as one of the largest employers of labour in Britain, cannot be over-emphasised (says the Railway Newsletter). In addition to nearly 700,000 permanent staff, their large orders for materials and manufactured goods give employment to many thousands in various industries, and it is claimed that at least one-twelfth of the population of the country is dependent for its living on the railway industry.
The amount spent by the four railway groups annually for upkeep and development totals more than £40,000,000, and they are among the largest purchasers of coal, iron and other materials in the country. Materials for the repair and renewal of the permanent way cost £4,250,000 per annum and for locomotives, carriages and wagons £14,500,000.
Rodan Hathaway
To the city dweller, whose hours and days are passed amidst the bustle and clamour of modern civilisation, whose very life is lived in the smothering confines of office walls, the irresistible appeal of the holiday which comes for so short a while each year is a precious thing, something to be carefully and delicately used.
A morning arrives when the business man need not rush off with fevered haste to catch his tram, and thus begin his day … for the happy hours that stretch before him are his … are free of care, they are his holiday!
The man who, year after year, spends his vacation pottering round his garden; or he, who, having rushed to his office early each morning, passes his free days lounging round his home or drowsing in bed, will never realise the delightful value of the holiday, will never have experienced the glowing excitement of travelling away,—away from the fret and care of city life.
Golden Marlborough'S Northern Gateway.
Beautiful Queen Charlotte Sound, South Island, New Zealand.
Is there anything more thrilling than the bustle of a railway station … tourists, laughing eager; officials, hurrying through the crowds; the hissing and the piercing scream of an engine; bags, trunks, boxes; everywhere the mystery of suppressed excitement? If only people would realise!
And there are so many places to visit, so many wonders to see, and yet I have heard the old question, “Where are you going for your holiday?” And the answer, “Oh, the usual place!”
Ruts—to many they seem inevitable, but they are so easily avoided. A holiday should be interpreted as meaning new scenes, new faces, new ideas—in short, a change.
We envy those who return to their duties with happy memories of their vacation, and with renewed vigour for the coming year, but we deliberately resign ourselves to a holiday in “the usual place.” It may be an ideal resort, we may know everybody who stays there, but the fascination palls after our first few holidays in the locality. We know it so well; its mystery and joy are gone, but—with a sigh of resignation—where can we go?
Every day, every hour, perhaps every minute, there are trains leaving some station for some destination. Every map of New Zealand is sprinkled with names that you and I have never heard of, never dreamt existed—and no matter which name you choose, you will find it alluring, a place to be explored!
So when the great event draws near—our holiday—just sit down with a map of New Zealand, a railway timetable, and a determination to enjoy. Then when the day arrives, shake your shoulders free of worries, pack your bag, and with a gay heart—commence your ideal holiday!
Taranaki in the ‘Sixties
Interesting Railway History
The following letter, extracted from historical papers recently handed to the Editor of the “New Zealand Railways Magazine,” throws an interesting light on early Taranaki history and on the first proposals to construct a railway between New Plymouth and Wellington. This section was completed in 1886.
Sir,—I have the honour to lay before you, and to offer as a suggestion, my simple opinion as to the construction of a railroad through the Province of Taranaki. Sooner or later we may presume that the rebels of this province will be conquered, and the question will then be, how are they to be held in such subjection as to prevent future aggression?
In The Taranaki Province.
The New Plymouth-Wanganui passenger train passing over the railway bridge at Stratford.
I have long given consideration to the civilising and colonising of this province. We have no harbours of refuge, our maritime expenses are great, and the making of a metalled road, constructed at great cost and indefinitely prolonged as to its completion, is, I fear, a slow process of populating a district. The expenses of military tenure for holding a large country with a scattered population, for an indefinite time will, I am satisfied, greatly exceed its advantages; and metalled roads, without the accompaniment of harbours adjacent thereto, will place the outlying districts in a very disadvantageous state, obliging them to purchase all articles of import at an advance of 20 per cent., and to sell their produce at a similar reduction on the average prices, thus necessarily retarding their progress in civilisation as in countries similarly situated.
The time of adjustment must come, when every province must pay its just share of the cost of the war, but I regret to say that this province will be unable to meet its liabilities in that respect while in its present position as to land and finance.
I now come to the question of a railroad, and I believe that one on the broad gauge principle, to carry a locomotive of 20 tons, may be constructed (including surveys and rolling stock) for the sum of £5,000 per mile, and that 179,200 acres of rebel land will make the railroad complete, say from Mokau to Patea, 105 miles. By way of illustration, let me suppose the survey finished and the contract let at £5,000 per mile. A block of land may be surveyed in the centre of the province containing 40 square miles, 10 miles long by 4 miles wide, equal to 25,600 acres. In the centre of this block let a township be laid out, consisting of 600 acres, with a frontage of one mile by a depth of half a mile on each side of the railroad, less 40 acres to be for sale, with an upset price of £3 for the rural land and an average price of £50 per acre for the township, the
Seven Settlements, 15 miles apart, containing 25,000 acres at £3.
Seven Settlements, 51 miles apart, “township,” containing 600 acres at £50.
And I am sanguine that this work could be completed in eighteen months after the conclusion of the war. I beg further to submit that the Government should construct this work beyond the limits of this province. A railroad should unite Auckland and Wellington, making them the maritime inlets and outlets of the western side of the Northern Island, the cost of which, in accordance with the previous calculation, will be as follows:—From Auckland to Wellington, 420 miles, at £5,000 per mile, £2,100,000; and the amount realised by the disposal of the 28 settlements at £105,000 per settlement, would be £2,940,000, the produce of the sale of 716,000 acres of land.
The North Island East Coast Railway.
(Rly. Publicity photo.)
On 6th Nov. some 300 residents of Napier and towns en route joined the first excursion train to run over the newly constructed portion of the East Coast Railway. Our illustration shews the excursionists at the present terminus of the line (Putorino) listening to an address by the General Manager of Railways, Mr. H. H. Sterling.
In conclusion, I would observe that, should the present Government construct this great work, it will lay the foundation stone of New Zealand and make it, in the words of a great Statesman, “The Britain of the South,” and should my proposition be thought worthy of consideration I shall be prepared to answer any question that may be required of me.—I have, etc.,
W. Bayley, New Plymouth.
Olive Scandlyn
“Oh, soldier!” came a happy voice. “Is my sash tied properly?” and the baby doll danced up to the toy soldier.
He smiled down at her. “Yes, baby doll, it is tied nicely. You look ever so pretty!”
“And you look nice in your new uniform, too, soldier. Oh, isn't it lovely to think that this is Christmas Eve?”
“Hurrah for Christmas!” cheered the golliwog. “I am feeling so excited!”
“Oh, I am excited, too!” cried the jack-in-the-box, bobbing up from his box. “I wish Father Christmas would hurry!”
Suddenly the baby doll grew quiet.
“I forgot! Oh, toys, won't it be just dreadful if we have to be parted? We have been so happy together. I would find it so lonely without you all.” And a bright tear fell on to her silken dress.
The little toys grew silent; then the jack-in-the-box said bravely:
“We must not think of that. If we are parted, we will just have to be brave. Come on, toys, cheer up!”
“Haven't we had some lovely times together?”
“Oh, yes!” came a merry chorus; “we just have!”
Waiting For Father Christmas.
(Photo. C. R. Barrett.)
Three little Maori boys at Rotorua, New Zealand.
Tap! Tap! Tap!
“Oh, listen!” cried the toy monkey. “Here comes Father Christmas.”
Hurriedly they all scrambled over to the open fireplace, and just as they reached it Father Christmas appeared.
“Oh, I nearly got stuck! Wouldn't it have been dreadful—for then we would have missed the train! Yes,” seeing their puzzled look, “we are going to travel by train to-night. We will pass the Fairyland stations, and go through the Dreamland tunnel, right to the land of girls and boys. It will be such a wonderful journey, and I am sure you will enjoy it.”
“Yes, we will, Father Christmas; you always think of such lovely surprises,” answered the golliwog; but his voice trembled.
Father Christmas turned to him in surprise. “Why, what is the matter?”
So the little story was told—how the toys were so afraid that they would be separated.
“My little toys! Why, I never dreamt of parting you. I know how happy you have been! And now let me whisper—you are all going to one little girl, who is going to love you very dearly. Now, isn't that lovely?”
“Oh!” came a happy cry of pleasure. “Father Christmas, you are just a dear!”
“And now, come on, toys! No; we won't go up the chimney, because you would get so dirty. You aren't used to climbing chimneys, you know,” laughingly; “we'll go out through the window!”
So they did, and soon they were all settled comfortably in the train. But just before the whistle blew, the little toys turned to wave farewell to the old toyshop, where they had spent so many happy hours.
“Goodbye! Goodbye!”
James Cowan
On the map of New Zealand, Stewart Island seems a long way out of the world, remote from city and town. Yet it is quite easily reached by a short sea-run from the Bluff, the southern terminus of the Dominion railways. It is a place of unusual attraction in climate, vegetation, sea-cruising, and types of people; and many visitors from the south mainland make it their holiday resort in the summer. In this article Mr. Cowan, who has written so much about New Zealand landscape and its human interest, sketches the topographical and historical aspects of the island, its Maori lore and nativebird charm.
There was a time when the South Island of New Zealand was officially styled the “Middle Island,” a curious description which was retained on some of our maps until a few years ago. It was hard, apparently, to convince the Authorities that to regard the South Island as situated between the North Island and Stewart Island was just about as absurd as it would have been to describe Australia as lying between Papua and Tasmania.
Even less happy was the official nomenclature of an earlier date, “New Ulster,” “New Munster,” and “New Leinster.” Fortunately, that kind of thing soon excited someone's sense of the ridiculous, and the misfits in place-names soon went into the discard, followed by such names as “Newcastle,” “Carlyle,” and “Petre” (for Ngaruawahia, Patea and Wanganui). The ancient Maori sailors and explorers had a better sense of geographical proportion and fitness in island names. There is a certain bold and poetic imagery in the name of the North Island, Te Ika a Maui. Less well-known is the equally poetic name for the South Island, Te Waka-a-Maui. The final touch of fancy, combined with topographical aptness is given in the honorific name for Stewart Island, Te Punga o te Waka a Maui (“The Anchor of Maui's Canoe”).
These Southern names you will not hear from the North Island Maoris. I first heard them from old people of the Ngai-Tahu and Ngati-Mamoe tribes, at Moeraki and other South Island settlements. The tradition among these old legend-keepers was that the South Island was Maahunui, the canoe of the demi-god Maui, and that it was from it that he fished up the North Island, as he stood with a foot mightily braced against a taumanu or thwart—the Kaikoura peninsula. The bow of the “Canoe” is pointed towards the South; it was near the stern he hauled the Ika up from the rolling deep. Down yonder at its bow hangs the Anchor, the Punga (or Puka, in the South Island dialect), which is our Stewart Island.
It is really a wonderful example of Maori-Polynesian genius in exploration and sense of orientation. Centuries ago the brown sea-rovers circumnavigated these islands of ours, and with remarkable accuracy noted the configuration of the new land and the relative positions and sizes of the land masses.
Rakiura (Rangi-ura), meaning “Glowing Sky,” is the popular Maori name for Stewart Island. It is usually assumed that it is a locally descriptive term, but while it is a name of beauty and poetry I do not think we can claim for Rakiura that its skies are more glorious than those of other parts, or that sunrise and evening glow are finer there than elsewhere. Rangiura is a Polynesian name rather widely distributed. The Maoris brought it with them from their ancient tropic homes, just as they brought Hikurangi and Maketu and Whangara and many other beloved ancestral names that reminded them of the coral atolls and high volcanic Islands of Hawaiki.
That much by way of native place-name explanation; hereafter a note on the pakeha name of the island.
Our country is a land of islands, great and small; islands guarding the gulfs and bays, islands strewn like tree-groves on the calm waters of sea-lochs, islands bold and cliffy presenting a granite front to the long send of Southern seas; islands woody and resounding with the bell-song of birds, charmed isles of Aves. All manner of shapes and sizes in islands, some islets of a fairy-like beauty, some craggily hard and savage of aspect.
“Golden the prospect, earth, sea and azure heaven.“—Robert Buchanan.
(Government Publicity photo.)
A glimpse of Half Moon Bay, Stewart Island.
But here, right away down at the butt-end of the mainland, the largest off-shore island of all seems to combine in itself something of the features that distinguish, in their several ways, the other isles of the New Zealand coast waters. There is something of everything here—a coast here wildly rugged, precipitous, facing the howling gales that come from west and south; there softly verdant, clothed from mountain range to sea-shore in an almost unbroken green blanket of foliage; mountains of rounded form, a mountain that was once a roaring volcano, its crater now a peaceful lake; bays and coves innumerable, and archipelagos high and hummocky or low, and everywhere clothed in forest and fern and bright in season with the gay flowers of the Maori isles. Beaches curving in dainty crescents of shining sands, bastions of rock, tree-hung, dividing bay from bay. And over all the land a kindly breath of air, a climate mild and pleasant for work or play; a place of sunshine and warm airs on its sunward looking northern and eastern parts.
A place of birds, where the tui and the bellbird, the pigeon and the kaka parrot liven the allenveloping bush. These are some of the things that make Stewart Island so attractive, strangely attractive indeed, when we consider its distance from the centres of population and its isolation.
But half the interest of a land of landscape beauty often lies in its human interest, in its atmosphere of history and man's adventure and endeavour. Stewart Island has a background in quite curious contrast to the sedate plains of Southland, a little more than a score of miles away to the north. No doubt its greatly broken coast outline, and its in-and-out contour, with bays within bays and sheltered cove after cove, its deep harbours and small-craft retreats, is the feature that had most part in shaping its story. It seems formed by kind Nature as a place of haven—many havens—for far-wandering sailormen, and a breeding-place for generation after generation of the men that follow the sea.
A map of an island is always a document of interest, sometimes of a peculiar charm, due to its shape, its names of inlet and headland, and the human associations that such names suggest. For the aroma of adventure in a map, I know of no island chart that equals that of Stewart Island. What stories those names hold for the enquiring mind—such names as Port Adventure, Smallcraft Retreat, Murderers Bay, Glory Cove, Pearl Island, Sealers’ Cove, Ulva Isle, Bravo Island. Half Moon Bay could not be bettered as a descriptive name, unless it be Horseshoe Beach. Some of the names are those of ships of old time, such as Sydney Cove. There are olden heave-downs, that is, convenient beaches where a vessel could be put on the ground for cleaning and repairs. The best places were close to the forest-edge, where hawsers could be made fast to the great trees on shore and the ship hove over till she was on her beam ends.
“Clusters of woodland, knolls and bosky bowers.”
(Government Publicity photo.)
A scene in Paterson's Inlet, Stewart Island.
On the 22-miles run across to Half Moon Bay from the Bluff Harbour the visitor to Stewart Island is likely enough to see something of the island men before he is across Foveaux Strait. Oyster-dredging craft work the sea-bed for the famous Island oysters; fishing vessels—usually ketch-rigged, with auxiliary motor power—haul up the blue cod that are the very best sea-fish ever caught.
As we near the Island we see not far away on our port hand the cluster of rocky islands masking the entrance to Paterson Inlet, the rendezvous of the Norwegian steam whaling fleet that works the far southern seas. Here the harpoon-gun-armed killing steamers lie up between seasons, while the mother ships, with huge cargoes of oil in the holds, go all the way round the world to Norway and return in time to lead the hazardous voyage. Yon islands, humped, terraced or rounded, are some of the celebrated Titi or Muttonbird Islands. From the end of March, for six weeks or so every year, the whole native population, centred usually at The Neck, is away on the various petrel islands hunting, killing and cooking the titi. The birds arrive “from parts unknown” in the spring, and these off-shore isles are their breeding places. It is the young birds that are taken for food, when they are preparing to fly away with the old birds before winter comes. Most of the titi are captured in the burrows in which they live in the soft soil. All hands are busily engaged in the work of killing, plucking and cleaning and dry-salting the muttonbirds, which are packed in bags made of sea-kelp, covered again with strips of totara and stowed in Maori flax kits. The containers are made perfectly air-tight and so sealed the titi keep for many months. A taste for titi is not easily acquired; but to the Maori palate it is more agreeable than, say, roast chicken. Certainly it is a healthy
haangi, the Maori earth-oven in your backyard, and cook it there. But you can't do that in a flat!
Yarning to the old sealer and whaler and titi-catching habitants at The Neck, I heard many curious little stories of the Titi Islands, as these dusky petrel-teeming isles are called, and bird-lore and sea-lore.
“Where native birds with their harmonious notes,
“Sing to a spring that smileth as she floats.”
(Government Publicity photo.)
In Thule Bay, Stewart Island.
There is a mysterious bird, they say there, that is never seen but often heard at night. The fowlers are perhaps sitting round the fires that blaze in the open in that solitary place, when there is a sudden swoosh! of great wings, and some unseen creature sweeps past them crying as it goes, “Hákuwai, háAkuwai, u—u!”
That “ooh!” is prolonged until it dies away in the distance in a most eerie note. What bird is that? No one knows. They call it the “hakuwai” from its mournful startling cry. Probably it is one of the large night-roving petrels, but it is a kind of ghost-bird to the Maoris, with its banshee-like eldritch call.
Half Moon Bay, with its comfortable looking little township of Oban—Rakiura's only town—, Port William, just to the north-west of it; Paterson Inlet, with its cloud of islets; Port Adventure, Lord's River—where the rare white heron or kotuku, still survives—Port Pegasus, that splendid haven away in the south, are the principal indents in this forest-blanketed island. But there are innumerable minor coves and bays and estuaries, that would take “a month of Sundays” to explore.
Paterson Inlet, where the modern whalers go, is a glorious place for a boating holiday. Once, sailing around it and around its islands, I heard from old Mohi the Maori some scraps of folk-talk about birds and trees and islets. We boiled the mid-day billy in Kaipipi Bay, and while gathering dry sticks for the fire, the old man said, “Now, don't take any of those Kotukutuku branches; they are the most unlucky firewood. If we use them for cooking, we'll be makutu'd—they'll bring on paralysis of the legs. We don't want that, do we?” We certainly did not, so I left those Kotukutuku—the native berry-bearing fuchsia—severely alone.
There is a wonderfully pleasant isle of trees and birds to which Mr. Arthur Traill, old settler of these parts, took me in his whaleboat to see. His brother is the lone-handed habitant. It was a little Eden of a place, with its dense woods and its sweet birds. We landed on a beach of whitest sand between two-tree-crowned points. There was a store there, the whare-hoko where all the native folk of The Neck and thereabouts did their shopping, and there was a little post-office where you could mail a remarkable letter, the leaf of the puharitaiko tree, a senecio. A letter could be written on this thick, leathery, glossy-green leaf and sent off through His Majesty's mails. But this privilege no longer exists, I believe; summer visitors would soon have posted away all the puharitaiko leaves in the island. Ulva is its pakeha name; there is a Scottish flavour about a number of these Stewart islets. Settlers from the far-north Shetland Islands, too, have given names to skerry and voe.
It was a pretty sight that Saturday afternoon, all the native folk sailing in to Traill's island to do their week-end shopping. Sails of all degrees of white and tan flecked the waters of the inlet. They lay over to the piping breeze, some cannily reefed down before they started, in readiness for little squalls that now and again sweep down even on this sheltered sheet of water.
“There is a beautiful stillness breathing here,
Its mellow richness on the clustered trees …“—Longfellow.
(Govt. Publicity photo.)
Ulva Cove, Paterson's Inlet, Stewart Island.
In and out of those coves and bays, cruises of delight, we saw creeks that came stealing in from the recesses of the island, from the long forested slopes of Mount Rakiahua. Away in yonder there are deer for the rifleman, and there was a time when it was a grand place for the man with the shot-gun, but pigeons and kaka and all their kind are now strictly protected; all that up-and-down land, with its perpetual twilight of shade, is a sanctuary for the native birds. The sea is the best hunting ground here. You can catch amazing quantities of blue cod and a dozen other kinds of delicious fish, if you are one of those whose delight is baiting and hauling in lines and getting hooks stuck in your fingers.
Bravo Island, near Glory Cove in Paterson Inlet, is a place with a queer story. It is said that it was so christened by an early settler there, a Cape de Verde Islander, of Portuguese blood, who was one of the crew of a whaleship. He died on the island, and his spirit was supposed to haunt the house he built.
And there are the three rocky mound-islets, all foliaged to water-edge, called Faith, Hope and Charity, and as is proper, the greatest of these is Charity.
(To be continued next month.)
Travelling by Train
It must be admitted by all who do any longdistance travelling by train that the railway authorities are doing a great deal to make railway journeys more attractive and pleasant than they used to be (says the Eltham Argus). At frequent intervals throughout the journey between New Plymouth and Wellington, a train assistant passes through the railway carriages and with a suitable duster carefully wipes the backs of the seats and the window ledges, thus removing every particle of dust and keeping the carriage clean and tidy. He is also supplied with a brush and dustpan and carefully clears up any litter from the floor. Some travellers are untidy, and think nothing of throwing cigarette butts, spent matches, and fruit peelings on the floor of the carriage, but these are quickly removed by the attendant, and the floor kept tidy. In addition to this, the same attendant, at intervals, comes through the carriage with a pleasant-smelling disinfectant which freshens up the whole of the compartment. These attentions are much appreciated by the travelling public, and certainly should popularise railway travelling. Ladies, there is no doubt, appreciate the attentions of the train attendants. On the way up from Wellington the train stops for a few minutes at Paekakariki for refreshments. Ladies find it difficult to be served with refreshments in the short time at their disposal, the counter sometimes being lined with men before the ladies can reach it. But before reaching the railway station an attendant passes through the carriage and undertakes to bring into the carriage any refreshments the ladies require. This is a great boon to them, especially when they are accompanied by children. The refreshments are brought in, there is no occasion for hurry, and they may be consumed at leisure. The cups, saucers, and plates are placed in the rack, and removed in due course by an attendant. There is no doubt railway travelling has been made much more attractive than was formerly the case and credit must be given to the authorities for the improvements that have been effected.
A Train from the King and Queen
Master Gerald Lascelles, the younger son of Princess Mary, and his paternal grandfather, Lord Harewood, recently celebrated their birthdays—Master Gerald is five years of age, and the Earl of Harewood is eighty-three. The King and Queen sent their little grandson a clockwork train with lines. The Prince of Wales's gift was a collection of painting books, and Princess Elizabeth gave her cousin a toy imitation of her own dog.
Conducted bySheila G. Marshall
The Parcel
Two days before Christmas Jones came home with a large brown paper parcel—square and flat. He carried it carefully upstairs, and hid it in the usual place for such things—the wardrobe—behind his row of neatly pressed suits. Jones was a neat man—both in his mind and clothes. One could imagine his thoughts arranged in orderly rows; the shabby ones at the back, the good serviceable ones at the front ready for use.
He shut the wardrobe door and went down to tea, feeling secretive and clever. In reality he was perfectly transparent and a “dear old ass,” as his wife often said. To-night he felt extremely pleased with himself, and the world—so much so that he refrained from mentioning that the joint was overcooked. “Well, my dear, it is nearly Christmas again,” said he to his wife. She had heard this remark exactly seven times before—she had been married seven years, and she hated being called “my dear.” It made one feel so middle-aged and dull. However, Jones was not to be blamed for this, for he was nearly middle-aged, and just a little bit dull—moreover, “my dear” was with him a term of affection equivalent to the “dearest” and “darling” and “angel” of the very modern couple next door.
Now Betty had seen her husband walking ponderously up the path, from her seat in the window; she had observed the large flat parcel, heard the “dear old thing” tip-toeing up the stairs—heard the creak of the wardrobe door. “What delightful babies men are—even when they are frightfully dignified,” thought this discerning young woman. “I wonder what it can be?” When Jones opened the door he had been greeted by “Hallo, Stephen dear, I didn't hear you come in; tea's all ready.” (Oh, pernicious woman!)
Betty was very kind that evening, she poured out her husband's coffee for him—just as he liked it—and perched on the arm of his chair while he read the paper. She thought of the wardrobe upstairs, and nearly kissed the back of his head, but remembered just in time that Stephen hated sentiment. Instead, she sat at the piano, dreamily playing French love songs. Betty was still young and rather romantic.
Lately affairs had become rather strained in the Jones establishment. Betty had been reading dozens of novels where all the heroes were slim, dashing and passionate. She realised dismally that her Stephen was just a little bald, rather plump, and very matter of fact. While he, returning from a tiring day at the office, was beginning to be aware that tea was never ready, and Betty always out playing Bridge. One day she had actually said “Damn!” when he casually mentioned that his shirt was altogether minus buttons. Such a state of affairs obviously could not continue.
This twenty-third of December night Betty decided that Stephen wanted to make amends, after the manner of men, and had bought her the little chiffon frock she had wanted so much, as a Christmas present and a peace offering. She thought of the parcel upstairs with a delicious little thrill. In fact, that night she could hardly sleep—such is the effect of a billowy, fluffy chiffon frock upon the mind of a woman. Stephen, the unromantic and middle-aged, had an excellent night.
Christmas Eve! That jolly day when all the world rushes about and laughs joyously. Betty had helped Stephen on with his neat black coat, resisted a temptation to ruffle his smoothly brushed hair — waved to him as he went his dignified way down the little path to the gate. “Dear old Stephen,” she thought. “Betty is decidedly improving,” mused the unsuspecting husband, as he walked to the tram stop. Stephen never ran; also, he never missed trams. The man, as I said before, had an orderly mind.
An Ever-Popular Playground.
A scene at Tongariro National Park, N.I.
Betty was dusting the bedroom — little flicks here and there—for she was preoccupied. She stopped before the mirror, thought of the chiffon frock — dainty, filmy, devastating! “I must just peep at it!” We will have to excuse Betty for this—most other women would have felt the same—especially about a frock. She opened the wardrobe door, saw the rows of suits, actually kissed the sleeve of one, for she was a romantic little thing—and, behold, there was the parcel, containing the fulfilment of her dreams. She lifted it out, rather guiltily, I must admit—undid the string, stripped off the covers with reckess abandon, and found—not a fragrant mass of chiffon loveliness— but a picture!
Betty sat on the bed and wept. It wasn't even the kind of picture she liked—a bleak landscape, and a few fat, sleek cows grazing. “Beastly thing!” she sobbed. Naturally she was prejudiced, and could not appreciate its beauties. She dashed downstairs to the telephone, her mind bent on revenge—a ghastly and cruel revenge. “Is that Simms's Hardware? It is Mrs. Jones speaking. Would you please send up a large garden spade at once—thank you. I particularly want it to-day!” Now, Stephen was not at all fond of gardening; it was one of the few things he really disliked. Also, Betty knew that he had wanted a complete set of H. G. Wells—that he expected it for his Christmas present.
That afternoon she hurried off to one of her endless Bridge parties, feeling triumphant, a little wicked, and, also, it must be confessed, more than a little mean. By the way, she played a very bad game, once even forgetting what was trumps! Her hands seemed to be full of spades — ace, king, queen—they swam before her eyes: she wanted to throw the cards across the room. “Really, partner, you're awfully lucky with spades this afternoon!” remarked her hostess. Oh, bitter irony! On the way home Betty saw that the chiffon frock was gone from the window, she felt acutely miserable at the thought that someone else would wear her chiffon frock. She decided that Stephen was not only a thoughtless idiot, but what is far worse—a heartless beast. That evening Mrs. Jones was cold and haughty, and Mr. Jones puzzled and miserable. And it was Christmas Eve!
The Joneses were having breakfast—porridge, bacon, toast and marmalade. Stephen liked order, even in his breakfast. Afterwards he departed upstairs, and Betty sat in silence, wondering how she could bear to look at the hateful picture again. She heard him open the wardrobe door—then a silence—then his footstep upon the stairs. She wanted to rush out into the street. Instead, she remained glued to her chair, staring at a slice of toast. “Happy Christmas, my dear!” Stephen was leaning
Betty smiled sweetly. “Thanks, Stephen,” she said; and began very slowly to undo the string and peel off the wrappings which screened the bleak landscape and the sleek cows from her eyes. Stephen hovered about, watching her furtively, his eyes beaming with good humour and a certain kindly tolerance.
The last wrapper undone, Betty found a flat cardboard box which she hadn't noticed before. Lifting the lid reluctantly she saw—not the cows grazing—but a heap of diaphanous chiffon, fragrant and beautiful. Then an extraordinary thing happened. Stephen saw his wife's curly head go down upon the table, heard a little despairing cry of “Stephen, my dear!”
Mr. and Mrs. Jones often laugh about the picture, which, by the way, he had bought for his brother. The spade is one of Stephen's most precious possessions, and though the chiffon frock is worn out, Betty, because she is still a romantic little thing, keeps it carefully hidden away. It reminds her of Christmas.
Tramping for Girls
Here are a few hints for the tramper, for summer is here, and the “long white road,” the knapsack, and the camp fire are calling us. Very few modern girls can resist a long day in the open, a jolly lunch miles from the “madding crowd,” and a limp home in the twilight.
There is absolutely no need to make yourself a hideous spectacle merely because you are going for a tramp. I have seen creatures (I cannot call them women) stalking along the roads, an insult to the beauties of Nature, and a perfect example of the poet's words: “Where every prospect pleaseth, and only man is vile.” Why look a freak, and probably be horribly uncomfortable, with thick riding breeches and heavy hob-nailed boots? You must remember that not being a man you are accustomed to light shoes and silk stockings, and you cannot change suddenly. Your feet simply won't stand it—and why should they?
First of all, do not go too far; it is a great mistake, and you won't enjoy it. We are all familiar with the girl who strides along, head down, swinging arms, steaming face, never a glance to the right or left. Next day she will proudly tell you that she walked thirty miles! What an achievement! But did she really have a good time? We doubt it. For most of us, fifteen to twenty miles is ample, and allows us time to stop here and there—on the summit of a hill or by a cool stream, perhaps to take a few snaps, or just to look. Life is such a rush that we have little enough time to see the leaves and the clouds, therefore let us feast upon them during our tramps, and carry back in our hearts a fresh green little corner—a lasting memory.
Now for a few “common sense” hints, something practical. Wear a cool, comfortable frock, with a pleated skirt, to allow you to scramble over fences and jump streams. No tennis shoes and silk stockings, but light wool and brogues. If you soap the insides of your stockings you will be spared the agony of blisters, and they are agony when you have a last five miles to do! Although it is summer, take a woollen jersey—something light—which you can stuff into your knapsack. You will be thankful for it on the way home.
Just one word more—do not carry too big a load, it is unnecessary, and often spoils your fun. It is hard to climb a stiff hill when you are shouldering a fifty-pound pack! When you are packing the “grub” remember two or three cakes of plain chocolate—sandwiches are apt to get very “squashy”—a loaf of bread is far better, and more easily carried.
Best luck for your holiday tramps.
Books to Read
“The Cabala,” by Thornton Wilder. If you enjoyed “The Bridge of San Luis Rey” you will find “The Cabala” nearly as fascinating. There is a curious charm about these “impressions” of a modern society sect in a modern Rome—a charm which cannot be described. You will find this a delightful book.
“Toad of Toad Hall.” Every child who has been thrilled with “When We Were Very Young,” “Winnie the Pooh,” and “The House at Pooh Corner,” will simply love A. A. Milne's latest book, “Toad of Toad Hall.” It is perfectly delightful and will give the kiddies some very happy hours.
The Blouse and Skirt
This season it is going to be very fashionable to wear a blouse and skirt, a reversion to our school days, or to the girlhood of our mothers. There is a great difference—no stiff collars and long skirts — but a soft silk shirt with open neck and wide tie, and a smart pleated skirt worn at the waistline, with a leather belt and buckle. Nothing could look smarter and nothing could be easier to make. You can buy a pattern anywhere, and you will be delighted with your little sports suit—for street and office wear.
To Freshen a Faded Carpet
In some cases a carpet can be brightened considerably, after cleaning in the usual way, by washing with a prepared carpet soap or soap jelly. If a special soap is used, care should be taken to use a soap of a trustworthy make containing no free alkali. The carpet should be washed in small patches, rubbing first of all with a cloth wrung out of hot water and then with a cake of carpet soap. If soap jelly made by dissolving ordinary soap in water is used, this should be rubbed over the surface with a small scrubbing brush. All traces of the soap used must be rinsed away afterwards, by rubbing with a cloth wrung out of fresh water, and then the surface should be dried as far as possible by rubbing with a clean soft dry cloth.
Another method of treatment is to rub either with a cloth or brush dipped in petrol. This being exceedingly inflammable, however, the work must on no account be done where there is a fire or naked light either in the room or in its vicinity.
If the carpet is too worn or faded to profit by treatment such as the above, it can either be sent away to be dyed professionally, or, if it is not worth this, it is possible to recolour it fairly satisfactorily at home. Any good make of home dye can be used for the purpose, and a hot, strong solution of this should be made. To keep it as hot as possible, the dye solution should be stood in a pan containing boiling water, and the solution applied to the carpet by means of a brush. Naturally, when a carpet is dyed in this way, the colour is not so permanent as when treated professionally and actually immersed in the dye bath, but the treatment does not take any very considerable time, and can be readily repeated when necessary.
A Beautiful Waterway.
Cruising on the Wanganui River, North Island.
A “Safety First” Publication
The quarterly journal of the National “Safety First” Association (Inc.), published by the proprietors, The National “Safety First” Association, 119 Victoria Street, London, is a bright, interesting and informative publication. The September issue, which reached us recently, lives up to its reputation in this respect, containing, as it does, many instructive and constructive articles on the various phases of “Safety First.” Dealing with the question of road safety, for instance, Sir Herbert Austin, K.B.E. (to whom much credit is due for the heartening stimulus given to the British Motor Industry by the increasing popularity of British motor cars in the motor markets of the world) contributes a thought - provoking article—“Building Safety into Motor Vehicles”—an article containing many valuable suggestions tending to minimise the increasing toll of road accidents.
The activities of the Association and its branches are many and varied. One of the measures adopted in England to safeguard the younger children leaving school, is by senior scholars acting as school safety patrols. Their duty is to assist the younger scholars safely across the streets. “Teachers supervise the working of the arrangements, but they are not often called on to interfere. The children are proud of their achievements, and would regard an accident as a reflection on their own efficiency, and youth knows no greater blow than that.”
Special articles on industrial accident prevention and safety organisation are also published.
Amongst the useful safety slogans contained in the September issue, the following may be quoted:—
The Journal is ably conducted, and is doing a most useful work in awakening the conscience of the individual to the perils of carelessness and to the need for exercise, at all times, of vigilance, to the end of reducing the toll of accidents which bring so much human suffering and economic loss in their train.
Told ByLed Fanning
There are dreams and schemes for peace and goodwill among men—millions of dreams and thousands of schemes. Many of the schemes are in a muddle of ink on paper, but they are mostly in the air. Everybody hopes that somebody will do something in the making of goodwill, but everybody has to feel the force of the truth that everybody must do something. The world does not need bubbles of hope and babbles of orders for goodwill.
* * *
Voices and hopes in Parliament! The visions of the man who secretly believes that he is a born orator, a natural “crowd-compeller,” spellbinder, who strives for years to be elected, and finally finds himself in the House of Representatives talking to his fellow members. How different to the calm serenity of his listeners, from the warm enthusiasm or the bitter hostility of audiences in those fervid hours on the hustings! However, the average member survives those shocks and slights—which are given without intentional cruelty—and is usually pleased to seek re-election.
* * *
When a man has a new idea, a good idea, it is usual to meet far more objections to it than promises of support. A new idea is always a disturbing thing; it threatens somebody's rest or rust.
* * *
Humanity swings between the poles of idealism and materialism. The swing varies in an individual at different periods of life. Indeed at one time a man may be a medley of materialism and idealism. “There is only one really startling thing to do with an ideal, and that is to do it,” wrote Gilbert Chesterton.
* * *
Some conservatism is wise and some is foolish, but whether it is wise or foolish it will be always inherent in human nature, which will always tend to take the line of least resistance, in obedience to the law of inertia.
There is nothing that succeeds like failure, when a proper understanding of the failure becomes a great inspiration, a stimulus to success. Some men are spoilt by a series of small successes. Others rise to greatness in the rebound from one big drop.
* * *
“History repeats itself,” somebody or other keeps saying. It is the only thing history can do, just as the only thing the old earth can do is to keep rolling round and round the sun. So that old-time journalist, the town-crier, has returned in the radio announcer.
* * *
Of course we all know the difference between a hobby and a fad, but it is not easy to put our opinion into words acceptable by the world at large. Our own enthusiasms are high principles, articles of faith, or respectable hobbies, but the illusions, delusions, or toys of others may be fads. As usual the dictionary is a hindrance to a clear understanding of the matter. My book says that a hobby may be “any favourite object, plan, or pursuit,” and that a fad may be “a favourite theory, crotchet, or hobby.”
* * *
Unpaid hobbies have more affected the course of events in the world than paid occupations have done. Direct monetary gain has not been the main driving force of the world's greatest conquerors, statesmen, churchmen, scientists and poets.
Attitudes about to-day and to-morrow may be largely dependent on climate. Even a lazy Eskimo will not defer “digging in” against the cruel threat of his Arctic winter. But in the sunny South Sea Islands the placid Polynesian may have scant relish for the British belief in to-dayism. That is why more than a third of the population of the Hawaiian Isles is Japanese, and why Hindoos are numerous in Fiji. When labour was wanted for the sugar fields of Hawaii long ago the native showed no yearning for a working place in the sun. He would be pleased to go swimming or fishing, or to put the fragrant hibiscus bloom in his hair and a wreath of bright flowers about his neck, and sing softly for hours about his ancestors or fabulous birds and beasts—but it was a perpetual to-morrow for the canefields. He did not need cane-sugar, nor money. “Why should he work?” a commentator has written. “He could grow a little taro, find plenty of fruit; and there were fish in the sea, wine in the palm, and pigs in the bush after the white man came. What more could any man want in a benign climate amid surroundings entirely beautiful?”
* * *
Many writers have found themselves in difficulties with weather in various chapters of their books.
“The work of a State in the long run is the work of the individuals composing it.“—J. S. Mill.
(Courtesy, Mr. H. H. Sterling.)
A recent view of the Parliamentary Buildings, Wellington, New Zealand.
* * *
It is so long since I heard the toast of “The Ladies” proposed at a banquet that the formula and the supporting remarks are a little blurred in my mind. Perhaps I did not listen very keenly, for this toast usually came near the end of the feast, and the speeches generally were not very sparkling. However, the conclusion of the salutatory utterance—which might be stuttery, stammery, halting, or confused—was definite: “Gentlemen the Ladies!” And the glasses were lifted on high, with hearty ejaculations of “God bless ‘em,” and the customary chanty of cheers…. Things have moved since then. Now that the girls have taken to men's sports and “spots,” they may have their own smoke-specials—they would not, of course, be “soak-smocials”—and one of the concluding toasts may be: “Ladies, the Gentlemen!” And perhaps somebody might kindly exclaim: “God bless ‘em.” Let the men hope so. They need it.
Among The Books.
Our Book Causerie
The Gift-Book Season—A Spate of Annuals.
Christmas and New Year festive—we had almost written restive—season is with us again, and with it comes that annual problem—the choice of presents for the children. The choice of toys we are glad to leave to the mothers and the aunties of the little ones. Generally, we find the job of advising parents and friends on the choice of books as presents for children is sufficiently bewildering. This year it is more so, the number of new books of a high order, as regards matter and make, quantity and quality, being greater than ever before. The variety of choice presented in the various booksellers’ catalogues is so great that no taste need be left unsatisfied—unsatiated; but the actual business of selecting is attended with so many anxieties that, were it for ourselves we were asked to choose, we would beg to decline, by saying that we preferred to borrow an old one!
It was “Owen Meredith” (Lord Robert Lytton) who once upon a time penned the now well-known lines:
We may live without poetry, music and art;
We may live without conscience and live without heart;
We may live without friends, we may live without books;
But civilised man cannot live without cooks. To-day, we feel certain, that civilised man would subscribe to the above only on condition that the rhymes of the closing couplet were transposed. In these new lands on the fringe of the Empire many men do live without “cooks,” but if their lot is cast in circumstances where they are shut out also from “books,” then, they do not live—they merely exist.
The Christmas catalogues contain the titles of over four thousand books for children—from the “very young” to young men and young maidens attending college. Many of the volumes named are, of course, old favourites; quite a number of them, books that our fathers and mothers, and their fathers and mothers, read when children. Their appeal is as potent to-day; so here they are again, like the clown in the pantomime—R. M. Ballantyne, W. H. G. Kingston, G. Manville Fenn, Charles Kingsley, G. A. Henty, etc., back to Dickens and Scott. Volumes with such names on their title-pages need no words of commendation from us, at least, in regard to their literary content. That has been tasted and tested out long ago, and not found wanting. As to their dress—printing, binding, illustrations, etc.—in every case these are all that could be desired, indeed, much more than, only a few years ago, could have been produced at double the price.
Among the new books are the ever entertaining Annuals. Almost every publisher to-day caters for the child reader at this season of the year by issuing several Annuals under well-known distinctive titles.
“Blackie's Boys’ Annual” provides a remarkable amount of adventure and romance, while at the same time finding space for interesting articles dealing with camping, swimming, and other topics calculated to stir the boyish imagination. “Blackie's Girls’ Annual” shows us how varied are the interests that appeal to the modern girl, for here, besides most interesting and arresting fiction, we have articles on the various pastimes and amusements, and also spare-time occupations for girls. Then we have “Blackie's Children's Annual” and “Blackie's Little Ones’ Annual,” two most enjoyable miscellanies for youngsters of both sexes, whose stage of development may be represented as midway between the “boys” and “girls,” and those who are “little ones.”
Messrs. Hodder and Stoughton's publications are beautiful volumes, ranging from “Tommy Tucker's Stories” and “Cinderella,” to George Eliot's “Adam Bede” and R. L. Stevenson's “Kidnapped.” Besides many books for children there is an excellent array of the best standard fiction. These books, like their contents, their paper, printing and binding, are all in the front rank.
Every year the illustrated Annuals issued by the Oxford University Press provide a fresh occasion to admire the skill, the taste, and the thoroughness with which they have been prepared to appeal to the various grades of juvenile readers. The editors, as in former years, therein show a real flair for the topics and treatment best calculated to attract and hold young readers, boys and girls, at various stages of development. “The Oxford Annual for Boys,” which, this year, marks its twenty-second birthday, presents a wealth of tales of adventure and much other instructive and no less interesting matter. “The Oxford Annual for Scouts” contains, in addition to stories, much instructive matter that all true Scouts will read with avidity and take care to remember should the need arise. “The Oxford Annual for Girls” more than maintains its repute for excellence in stories, general articles and illustrations. Then comes “The Oxford Annual for Tiny Folks,” with picture and letterpress to suit. And last, “The Oxford Annual for Baby,” which is prepared with a due recognition of the fact that the youngest and weakest member of the family is also the most destructive.
On The Way To A Popular North Island Health Resort.
The Auckland-Helensville train passing the Auckland Domain. Helensville, forty miles north of Auckland, is noted for its hot mineral springs.
Nobody with any experience of children but knows how difficult it is to hit upon just the right kind of book to suit a particular case, so that Willie, age eight, may not be provided with a volume more suitable for his cousin age twelve, or that Jean, age fourteen, does not get an “Annual” which, in her matured opinion, is only suitable for a mere “kid!” If the mere choosing of the particular book for a child is so difficult, one can appreciate the task of the editors of these wonderful “Annuals.” In this particular, the four “Annuals” issued by Messrs. Collins, are equal with the best. These are “Collins' Cub and Brownies' Annual,” “Collins' Boy Scout Annual,” “Collins' Girl Guides' Annual,” and “Collins' Adventure Annual.” These are all substantial volumes, full of good reading, both stories and articles of the “How to —” kind, of which boys and girls never tire, and with plenty of illustrations.
There are dozens of other “Annuals,” but limitation of space makes it impossible for us to mention them all. Of this we can assure our readers—they are all of a very high standard as such books go.
Promotions Recorded During November
DivisionI.
Ames, H., to Clerk, Gr. 6, Thorndon.
Andrew, A. P. L., to Clerk, Gr. 6 District Traffic Manager's Office, Wellington.
Bailey, A. G., to Clerk, Gr. 6, Stores, Hutt.
Beaton, T., to Stationmaster, Gr. 6, Normanby.
Brown, D. A. to Clerk, Gr. 6, District Traffic Manager's Office, Ohakune.
Chapman, C. G., to Inspector of Permanent Way, Gr. 5, Milton.
Cheeseman, R. S., to Clerk, Gr. 6, Wellington Goods.
Chitty, W. W., to Clerk, Gr. 6, Whangarei.
Christian, E. G., to Stationmaster's Clerk, Gr. 6, Thorndon.
Cook, J., to Inspector of Permanent Way, Gr. 6, Lumsden.
Crawford, H., to Relief Clerk, Gr. 6, Auckland.
Cummane, S. L., to Stationmaster, Gr. 6, Utiku.
Dodd, W. J., to Clerk, Gr. 6, Opua.
Felton, C. R., to Stationmaster, Gr. 6, Remuera.
Fitzgerald, P. C., to Clerk, Gr. 6, District Traffic Manager's Office, Wellington.
George, A. T., to Bridge Inspector, Gr. 5, Waipukurau.
Goddard, S. W., to Clerk, Gr. 6, Waitara.
Graham, J. H., to Loco. Foreman, Gr. 4, Whangarei.
Grant, A. G., to Stationmaster, Gr. 6, Te Wera.
Grose, T. S., to Clerk, Gr. 6, Loco. Foreman's Office, Christchurch.
Halpin, A., to Assistant-Relieving Officer, Gr. 6, Taihape.
Harwood, W. R., to Clerk, Gr. 6, Henderson.
Hay, D., to Booking Clerk, Gr. 6, Hamilton.
Hester, R. E., to Clerk, Gr. 6, Petone.
Hill, W. P., to Sub-Foreman, Gr. 6, East Town.
Hogan, T., to Clerk, Gr. 6, Levin.
Johanson, H., to Stationmaster, Gr. 6, Fordell.
Loyell A. E., to Passenger Agent, Gr. 4, Auckland.
Lynch, R., to Clerk, Gr. 6, Napier.
Mangan, W. R., to Statistical and Correspondence Clerk, Gr. 6, Divisional Superintendent's Office, Auckland.
McKenzie, L. D., to Clerk, Gr. 6, Spare Relief, Auckland.
McKenzie, S. J., to Goods Clerk, Gr. 6, Hastings.
McLeod, S. E., to Clerk, Gr. 6, Lambton.
Mitchell, V., to Order Clerk, Gr. 5, Stores, Newmarket.
Moore, E. L., to Assistant-Relieving Officer, Gr, 6, Kawakawa.
Osborne, M. B., to Clerk, Gr. 6, Training School.
Pattle, T. T. P., to Clerk, Gr. 6, Sawmill, Mamaku.
Pettit C. A., to Clerk, Gr. 6, Relief, Otahuhu.
Poole, G. T., to Clerk, Gr. 6, Spare, Frankton Junction.
Pritchard, E. H., to Signal and Electric Lines Inspector, Gr. 5, Whangarei.
Rowe, H. S., to Stationmaster, Gr. 6, Ellerslie.
Saunders, W. P., to Sub-Foreman, Gr. 7, Addington.
Scott, A. M. L., to Clerk, Gr. 6 Chief Accountant's Office, Wellington.
Shepherd, J. W., to Clerk, Gr. 6, Spare Relief, Auckland.
Snell, H., to Clerk, Gr. 6, Eltham.
Taylor, A. F., to Clerk, Gr. 6, Head Office, Wellington.
Yanko, T. A., to Sub-Foreman, Gr. 7, Otahuhu.
Young, C. H., to Clerk Gr. 6, Feilding.
Shunters to Guards.
Cosgriff, J., to Spare, Greymouth.
Evans, S., to Spare, Thorndon.
Fraser, D. C., to Spare, Fairlie.
Henderson, R., to Spare, Auckland Passenger.
Howard, T. J., to Spare, Christchurch Passenger.
Martin, J. A., to Oamaru.
McCready, T. P. to Ohakune Junction.
Mill, J. W., to Spare, Frankton Junction.
Scorrar, L. H., to Ohakune Junction.
Sheehan, P., to Wanganui.
Taylor, E. E., to Spare, Dunedin Passenger.
Woods, E. L., to Spare, Palmerston North.
Signalman to Guard.
White, T. W., to Spare, Paekakariki.
Porters to Signalmen.
Lay, G. H., to Gr. 2, Ohakune Junction.
Wormald, G. H., to Gr. 2, Taumarunui.
Porters to Shunters.
Connor, S. H. to Burnside.
Hartneady, J. J. M., to Wellington Goods.
Miles, H., to Dunedin Goods.
Thomas, W. G., to Spare, Frankton Junction.
Thompson, J., to Frankton Junction.
Locomotive Branch.
Skilled Labourer to Lifter.
Wilks, J. E., to Gr. 2, East Town.
Coalman to Skilled Labourer.
Eunson, W. G., to Hillside.
Labourers to Fettlers.
Eunson, W. G., to Gr. 2, Hillside.
Landreth, R. L., to Gr. 2, Hillside.
Labourer to Holderup.
Marslin, W. J., to Gr. 2 Hillside.
McMillan, J., to Gr. 2, Hillside.
Maintenance Branch.
Striker to Blacksmith.
Sloss, J. A., to Invercargill.
Surfacemen to Gangers.
Cronin, J., to Gr. 2, Sutton.
Muir, A., to Gr. 2, Seddonville.