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Controller and Auditor-General.
2/12/37.
“Where the morning re-illumes Gullies full of ferny plumes …”
—Sir
Henry Parkes.
The Mangaroa Stream
—a picturesque and peaceful resort near Wellington, North Island, New Zealand.
(Rly. Publicity photo.)
From science and invention, courage and cooperation has come a great thing for New Zealand and Australia—the commencement of regular air mail services with Great Britain. The last hundred thousand letters, sent by sea mail the 25th July from New Zealand to the Old Country, marked the end of an era in letter-communication with the Homeland that has seen little material change in the last fifty years. Two or three months for letter and reply has, during almost the whole of that period, been the accepted time-lag in business arrangements between New Zealand and England. The Empire air mail brings New Zealand, for correspondence purposes, as close to England as to the United States and Canada. We are, in fact, many days' marches nearer Home.
The importance of this major improvement in communications could hardly be overestimated. It calls for lyrical interpretation from the poets:
* * *
These are hopeful signs, for, with better communication, general understanding should be improved greatly.
Cables and radio messages are useful and convenient emergency substitutes, but the real business of the world is done either by letter or by personal contacts; and letters, to be appropriate to the occasion, should not loiter on the way. Both will be aided by the new regular air services.
The better understanding induced by better communication should encourage the development of confidence and tolerance upon which the whole future of the world depends.
Gone are the days when the gods could be advanced as an excuse for the failure of an enterprise, or as an occasion for self-glorification, if successful, as who should say—“ See how great and important I am—the gods smile on me!” The hampering influence of innumerable superstitions is gone as a major force in the more civilised portions of the world. Gone are the ghosts, the banshees, the evil spirits which added terrors to the Dark Ages, when conditions were made bad enough by the requirements of the more established gods of the day and country.
But remnants of their influence are still to be found in most people, even among the highly enlightened, who keep fear of something or other in the foreground of their thoughts—reasoning, with Swinburne:
“… For who knows
What wind upon what wave of altering time
Shall speak a storm and blow calamity?”
They do not realise that the wind, on the average, blows more prosperity than calamity; that it is just as likely to blow neither as either; and that the wind isn't everything anyhow!
If we could all dine together daily, tell each other a story or two, and discuss the day's work and the week-end's play, wars would be impossible and misunderstandings no more than amiable bickerings amongst small groups. Better communication is bringing nearer the day when we can all dine out in spirit, and gain the tolerance which the breaking of bread together usually brings.
The other day I was seeing, or rather hearing, a musical moving picture called “The Broken Melody.” It was made in Australia by a brilliant young friend of mine, but the outstanding feature of it was the fascinating music. It was original and haunting, and, to my ear, had qualities I had not met before in this type of musical background. There was also an attractive theme song which had no possible likeness to the flimsy tunes usually adorned with that title.
The music was by Alfred Hill, our own famous fellow-countryman, and it occurred to me that it would be a pleasant task to see what had been done in the realms of music, painting and the kindred arts, by New Zealanders, in the time since our country made its start.
The article which follows can only be a brief sketch, but even in its short compass, there is material for just pride in what has been achieved by our own people in these august regions of higher art creation.
Earle Andrew, photo.)
Miss Valerie Corliss, a leading New Zealand musician and lecturer, who is the moving spirit in the British Music Society in this country.
There is a healthy trend all over New Zealand to take stock, preparatory to our Centennial celebrations.
I n the quiet and earnest way which has become traditional in these islands, an effort is being made to look carefully back over our first hundred years, and see what the count looks like on all the aspects of our achievement.
We have already written into history a considerable chapter of world leadership in social endeavour and experiment, but we have performed no exceptional miracles in the arts. It is not undue enthusiasm to say that we will—as the centuries go by.
Music in one sense is the oldest of the arts, and, in another, it is the newest. Primitive man probably chanted and sang even before he put his drawings into cave temples in the dawn of time.
But music in its modern European sense is not more than five hundred years old. Until the fifteenth century, music was identified with singing; there were musical instruments, but they were all “one note at a time” affairs, and no accompaniment to singing was possible, in our sense. The difficulty also existed that there was no system of notation, no method of recording a melody, much less a harmony. Just as the failure of the Romans or Greeks to invent a practical sign language for mathematics held back their development, so the evolution of music was arrested by this lack. However, some genius thought of putting notes above and below a line, someone added other lines, and soon there was the full stave of to-day.
This enabled harmony to be put down on paper and a new world of beautiful sound was born.
Strangely enough, it was an Englishman, John Dunstable, who was the first great pioneer in this world revolution.
The English choir became the model for choral singing. Then came Palestrina, and music took permanent, living form, and commenced to grow into the vast and glorious flower garden of beauty we know to-day.
There is a difficulty in considering musical history. We know as much today of the Greek theatre as many of their own provincial inhabitants. We can know nothing of their music for there is no way of hearing it. In the future this will not be a trouble. In addition to the written records, we have world libraries of sound records, from Gladstone's voice to the last number by Jessie Matthews.
Music is the most plastic of the arts; it changes most. According to one great authority, “the advance is so tumultuous, and so revolutionary are its banners of change, that in a hundred years' time, Beethoven may appear on programmes now and again, as a musical curiosity.”
Music, then, being the newest and the most fluid of the great arts, would seem to be the best medium for the expression of our new nationhood, if and when we attain it.
Our Maori predecessors had a fine and established art of rhythm and melody, and this is having its direct effect in our composition. The Maori flute was a start towards a distinctive instrumentation, and the Maori ear for intervals is extraordinarily acute. Bernard Shaw was amazed and enthusiastic on his visit here about the Maori sense of rhythm and said it was the best in the world.
Spencer Digby, photo.)
Miss Imelda Fama, the New Zealand musician, fresh from continental triumphs.
Alfred Hill, to whom I referred above, has gone a long way towards interpreting, for European ears, the essential Maori melodic ideas. “Hinemoa” and “Tapu” were full dress grand operas of distinction and of Maori cultural descent. A number of his songs such as “Waiata Maori” (incorporating the “Komate War Chant”) and “Waiata Poi,” have passed into the current fare of concert hall and old boys' dinners, and rival “The Deathless Army” and “Keys of Heaven.”
Many Maori composers have written sound compositions, and Maori choral work has its own charm and a haunting beauty that has found a permanent place in New Zealand hearts. Much of the best of this is permanently enshrined in good recordings, thanks to the public interest so warmly manifested when the ZB stations started to make regular features of Maori concerted numbers.
In the world of modern music-making, New Zealand is taking an important place. Miss Valerie Corliss, who is responsible for the impressive progress by the British Music Society group, says that the creative imagination of the young New Zealand composers of this decade is of high value and great originality. Among the young writers she mentions are Miss Mary Martin, Mr. A. Martin, and Mr. Eric Waters, whose work for string combinations and other media is of notable quality. Then there is the brilliant young Academy scholarship winner, young Terence Vaughan, who has rocketed into London prominence in quick time.
He has had a composition for full orchestra of sixty, conducted by Sir Henry Wood, and has won the most coveted of all composition prizes in the Old World, the Agnew Prize. He is just twenty-one, and is now being treated seriously as a conductor-composer in London.
The list could be largely extended, because I find, on enquiry, that since the inception of the British Music Society, even with its high critical standard, it has presented the works of no less than forty-seven New Zealand composers.
I have spoken first of the creative side of music, the music makers, but on the executant side, our achievement is of no less magnitude. Our singers of the front rank include such folk as Amy Murphy, Stella Murray, Hubert Carter, and the world figure, Rosina Buckman, and this list is also possible of much enlarging.
Our two leading men on the academic side are such great figures in the overseas world of music as to give us just cause for being almost overbearingly proud. Frederick Moore is the Professor of the Pianoforte at the Royal Academy of Music, and this Dunedin boy has become a towering force in this wide sphere of activity.
Arthur Alexander, younger than Frederick Moore, is Professor of the Royal College of Music, and exercises great influence on modern musical trends.
Trevor Fisher, Frederick Page, Lionel Harris, Noel Newson, and others have established fame.
Then we claim two very great women
S. P. Andrew, photo.)
Mrs. Murray Fuller (left) with her friends, Mr. and Mrs. Lamorna Birch, during their recent tour of New Zealand.
Lastly, we have here in New Zealand, Imelda Fama, whose career in Middle Europe was a series of genuine triumphs. In super-critical Vienna, and in others of the musical capitals of Europe her recitals were accorded the highest possible praise. I quote from the “Wiener Gesellschaftsblatt”: “She plays with a fine living spirit, fresh and joyful,” and goes on to speak of “rapturous applause.”
We can claim, then, with all modesty, that in the great arena of Old World musical art, where music is subjected to the severest critical appraisement, that New Zealanders have, to use our own phrase, “more than held their own.”
About painting, and its companion arts, design, sculpture and architecture, there exists a tremendous body of exact knowledge. The reason is simple—the record is almost complete. When the Marquis de Sautola, in 1879, found some vividly coloured drawings in the dark recesses of a Spanish cave, it was definitely established, after much ridicule, that they were the work of prehistoric man, before the Stone Age. Man has been drawing and painting ever since.
The two practical problems of the artist were to get his colours, and then to make them stick. The disappearance of Grecian and Roman paintings, as well
Earle Andrew, photo.)
The late Mr. Murray Fuller, who brought many great paintings to New Zealand galleries.
Strangely enough, but so very usual in the history of any art, modern painting became possible through a small practical discovery. We know that the Egyptians invented ink, and that they learned to make coloured inks. These were all right for stone walls and slabs, and similar media persisted in the lovely illuminated missals of the early Middle Ages. The artists of this period struggled with all sorts of articles to get a medium which would make the colour stay—among them vinegar combined with white of egg and countless other notions. In the early part of the fifteenth century two Flemish brothers, the Van Eycks, stumbled quite by accident on the solution; they mixed their colour-powders with linseed oil. The news flashed all over Europe, reached the vast assemblage of Italian art workers, and the new world of painting was born.
As with music, therefore, the art of painting, in its modern sense, is not more than five hundred years old. It is the source of endless humbug and imposture, but it is also one of the greatest living forces in the culture and uplifting of mankind. The new vision of a great creative painter brings new vision to his fellow beings. The new beauty that he sees becomes the permanent possession of the world.
It is this perpetual discovery, and rediscovery, that gives the art of painting its final and lasting values.
For instance, here in New Zealand, such men as Nugent Welch and T. A. MacCormack, have provided their fellow New Zealanders with new eyes. They pluck from our everyday sights and scenes, the inner loveliness, make a record of it which is permanent, and “a joy for ever.”
I give their names first, for they have remained in New Zealand, devoted to the sacred duty of picturing New Zealand for us.
Only the future, too, will show the full value of the growing collection of good portraits done by Mrs. Elizabeth Kelly.
Painting is an art which, of necessity, flourishes best in the soil of the older cultures.
In this far-off land we lack the thousand examples of great work which must surround the worker in this branch of the arts. The verse, the drama, the novel and the music, written by a great genius in any Old World centre, reaches us within a week or two of its making. Our workers and students in these can study them, absorb their beauty and derive help and inspiration from them.
The paintings of Michael Angelo or Cezanne, Titian or Matisse, remain in the great galleries of the Northern Hemisphere.
Many a man here with a good library has nothing but coloured prints on his walls. It is a matter of numbers; fifty thousand copies of Bernard Shaw's last provocative play come into the world at a blow, so to speak. Sir William Orpen's Self Portrait is a single copy. I mention this last work for the reason that this picture happens to be here in New Zealand, and it enables me to pay a tribute to the two missionary people of New Zealand who made such a marvel possible.
The late Mr. Murray Fuller, and Mrs. Murray Fuller wrought even better than they knew when they initiated the enterprise of bringing the best modern painters' work to New Zealand. They managed a miracle when they secured the hearty goodwill of such world figures as Orpen, Augustus John, Dame Laura Knight, Lamorna Birch, Hugh Speed, and others of the great ones of the earth, and the works of these leaders are in many of our houses and our galleries. Just what noble effect this will eventually have on our large and growing legion of painters it is difficult to estimate; it is incalculable. However, the residual difficulty remains, and it would seem necessary for anyone with talent to trek to older lands to enable his genius to burgeon.
Two great men must be mentioned who really founded whatever approach to a school of painting exists here. These were Van der Velden of Christchurch, and James Nairne of Wellington, Dutch and Scottish respectively. Their influences were widespread and of enduring value. Further back still are the remembered names of Gully and Goldie.
Our list of painters who have won world place is small, but contains names of importance. The greatest of these, the Katherine Mansfield of our painters, is a woman, Frances Hodgkins. She has passed from our ownership, as it were, to be the prized idol of the international community of art. Frances Hodgkins is always in the van, a pioneer in abstract art, with all the qualities of a great painter, a “Beethoven in her chosen sphere.”
She is known and worshipped in Europe, Japan, the Americas and China, as the greatest woman painter of the day. In future histories of the arts, hers will be a glowing page, causing students centuries hence to find New Zealand on the map.
Earle Andrew, photo.)
Nugent Welch, one of the great New Zealand landscape painters.
She is our countrywoman, the daughter of an Otago surveyor who was himself a talented amateur painter.
Another woman painter of international distinction is Eleanor Hughes,
Then there is Sidney Thompson, the son of a Canterbury farmer, who went to Europe, settled finally at Concarneau, in the South of France, and became a striking figure in the Paris exhibitions. He almost paints light itself, and has a method which is peculiarly his own and has brought him international respect. Miss Edith Collier is known abroad, and the great etcher, Heber Thompson, is a Dunedin boy who left New Zealand before the Great War.
Before I close this part of the story, I must plead the difficulty which assails the growth of this art in New Zealand. Our galleries, notably the great National temple in Wellington, have ample room for pictures. It is a sheer question of money, and nothing else, unless it be intelligent selection.
The native ability is here, deriving from our pure British heritage of race, and our British cultural tradition. It can only be made to reach its full growth, if the best work comes here to adorn our walls.
Before I finally end this article I must mention Miss Mary Butler in sculpture, and in architecture, the great Uren, and those two lads, Messrs. Connel and Basil Ward, who made their way to London in the stokehold and won the Prix de Rome.
Lastly, a word must be said as to the estimation of the arts in New Zealand. I have always been amused at the suggestion that the cultural average of the million and a half New Zealanders is in some way lower than that of Shropshire or Manchester. It simply is not true. It was probably said of the Greeks by the inhabitants of the vast old cities of Asia Minor.
Good pictures, good music, good books are as necessary to the fulness and the joy of life as good bathrooms or a new car. All these are produced by artists, in endless tribulation of toil and anguish of creative effort. Let us as a community, see that they are rewarded not only in the commonsense bestowal of decent living conditions, but in the far greater reward, that of full and generous appreciation.
Our modern navigators, coastwise and deep-sea, are generally understood to be the most abstemious fellows alive. Once upon a time, as this story will remind you, there were bibulous doings afloat; nowadays, of course, Mercantile Marine Jack is a changed man. As for our Navy, they tell me that half the lower-deck ratings of the New Zealand and Australian cruisers will not touch their grog.
Cast your imagination back a little matter of eighty-four years and picture the scenes aboard this coastwise passenger carrier of early New Zealand—one of the precursors of our inter-island liners—described by a certain Captain F. W. Mackenzie, whose diary I have just been reading. Fill in the details in this jerky but eloquent little journal story of the schooner Wellington and her alcoholic crew, and thank Heaven for the liners of to-day.
Captain Mackenzie—he was a young lieutenant then, a subaltern of the 8th Regiment, Bombay Native Infantry—walked and canoe'd from Auckland to Wellingon via the Waikato and the Wanganui Rivers in 1853, and went on to the South Island, looking for a suitable place for settlement. Some years later he became a sheepfarmer at Pomahaka, in Otago, but at the time of this episode he was returning from Canterbury to Wellington, rather disappointed with the look of the Southern country. He felt worse before the ship reached Wellington. That ferry passage occupied sixteen days. Now our ferry liners do it in twelve hours or less.
Mackenzie took passage at Lyttelton for Wellington in a schooner called the Wellington, tonnage and skipper's name not given. Let his diary tell the groggy tale:—
“Thursday, Jan. 19, 1854.—Hanging about all day in hopes of the wind changing. The Captain is drunk.
“Friday.—The same as yesterday.
“Sunday.—Wind came fair towards evening. We weighed anchor and stood out. The Captain still drunk. Wind came stronger and we lay-to all night off Motunau.” (The small island on the North Canterbury coast).
Here, under Motunau, the schooner had to take in wool from a mainland station, managed by Mr. Coverhill, and all hands set to work—all except the captain, who apparently was never sober. Entry on Wednesday: “I went off to the schooner and found the captain and men all drunk.”
The Wellington had a narrow escape from going ashore there, in a shift of wind. The men, now “pretty sober,” slipped the cable and got clear of the reef at Motunau only just in time.
A few days later the schooner was hove to in a northerly gale somewhere off Kaikoura—nobody knew exactly where. Diary entry: “Our water is nearly done. The captain and crew use nearly four bottles of grog a day. They say the captain has never been sober, when he could help it, for the last twelve years.”
“February 1.—Gale still holds. Some of the men got grog up out of the hold, and at half-past 1 o'clock Johnston and the captain were quite drunk. The passengers (another man and myself) are obliged to look after the ship. We can only show a small corner of the mainsail. The sea is all white, but our little vessel rides it like a cork, and the deck is seldom wet.
“Feb. 2.—Saw the Kaikouras to the west and land in sight north. We think it is Cape Palliser. The captain is too drunk to know what it is, and the men are of different opinions. Our water is nearly done.
“Feb. 3.—Calm all night; breeze from S.W. We stand in towards the land, which I think is Cape Palliser. The captain came up to-day and ordered the vessel to be steered N.W. (which will just clear the Cape. He thinks it is the Kaikouras. While I was below one of the men took upon himself to alter the course and steer N., by which we have lost the day, for when we again steered in and made the land night had come on again and we could not make it out, and had to lie-to all night.”
Next day's entry, February 4, began: “The captain came on deck and declared the land to be Cape Palliser. We see the Kaikouras and the low land on the opposite side, so there is no doubt now as to our position. Had the captain been sober we should have got into Wellington last night; as it is we have the prospect of being here some days without water. Calm and light winds all day, so we have made no progress.
“February 5.—Thick weather and light rains. Land is in sight—Port Nicholson Heads. We have no water—not a drop. On making the land said to be Port Nicholson Heads it was declared to be Cape Palliser. Last night one of the men let go the anchor. Fortunately one part of it was fast, or it would have been run out and lost. I was in my bunk at the time and thought the ship had run against a rock.
“We steered for the Heads, but owing to the thick weather we passed them and continued west until we sighted Cape Terawhiti. A small schooner which followed us discovered the mistake and put about. We followed and lay-to all night.” (There was no Pencarrow Lighthouse at the entrance to Wellington in those days).
“February 6.—This morning Port Underwood land (in the South Island) in sight. The captain, who is suffering from want of water, wants to put in to the former; but, as Port Nicholson is near and the wind is equal for both places, we steered for Port Nicholson and soon sighted land, which, after looking at my map and an old Port Cooper (Lyttelton) Almanac, I make out to be Cape Terawhiti. We steer more east, and sight Cape Sinclair, and soon after see the Heads. Wind is S.E., so we hope soon to be in.
“Johnston and the captain are drunk this morning. John (the other passenger) is at the helm. He knows the entrance well, and, as the wind is east, takes us in through Chaffers' Passage (the inside channel, used only by small coasters). As soon as we got within the Heads I called up the men, who were sleeping off the effects of the grog they had taken” (they got it out of the cargo in the hold, apparently with the captain's acquiescence)” and made them get up the chain (to anchor). I went down and told the captain we were in. He seemed quite delighted, and said he would rather hear that than get a hundred pounds.”
* * *
Apparently there was no marine authority to whom complaint could be laid against that remarkably hard-boiled skipper, at any rate Lieutenant Mackenzie seems to have considered it useless to do so. But he commented thus: “It is disgraceful that such a man should be allowed to sail a ship. He told me that about 14 years ago he was whaling at Queen Charlotte Sound, and that his employers sent from Sydney large quantities of grog, which was sold by him to the men at high rates, and that it was then he first took to drinking.”
I do not know what vessel Mackenzie chose to make his next inter-island voyage in, but I am tolerably certain it was not the schooner Wellington. A passage to Lyttelton might have landed him at the Chatham Islands.
There was something peculiar about that day from the moment I opened my eyes. Although it was winter still and I had gone to bed shivering and cursing the cold, I woke up with the pleasant realisation that I could sit up in bed to drink my tea and read my morning paper without feeling chilly about the shoulders. Oh—and about the tea—it was for once neither too hot nor too cold, neither too strong nor too weak, and the proportion of milk and leaf infusion was as near perfect as mortal hands could make it—and none of it had spilled into the saucer. The morning paper had a different air about it, too, and after a few minutes reading I realised what it was. The headings were quite happy ones—there was no mention of war—apparently no one had been murdered the day before—there was a most unusual absence of floods, earthquakes, storms and disasters at sea and other misfortunes that bring so much human sorrow in their wake. There were no photographs of car smashes—no illustrations of battle-grounds or places marked with a cross where some poor devil's body had been found. The editorials were lacking in their daily sting and strafe, and indignant complaints. There was a gentleness and bland pleasantness throughout.
The newspaper folded itself easily and without the “malevolence of inanimate objects” which seems concentrated in one's morning paper. And for once there was no loose single page to fall out and thus bring impolite references to the methods of gentlemen responsible for the make-up of the paper.
I rose, felt very fit and refreshed, and in the bathroom, found that no one had been there before me to run off all the hot water and to leave cold wet patches on the bath mat. The soap did not play its usual daily game of hide and seek, nor flirt elusively with my groping hands. I carolled gaily and the reverberations were even more self-satisfying than ever before, and there were no cries of complaint from my family, nor vocal opposition from my neighbours. The razor glided easily—almost caressingly—across my face and I did not notice even one new grey hair at my temples. I viewed my face in the mirror with a certain smug satisfaction instead of the disturbing dislike of my own image which had hitherto assailed me—and increasingly so of late. My available socks were such as matched the shirt and tie I wanted to wear and were not either in the wash or awaiting repair. The knife-edge crease in my trosusers was such as to increase my self-respect, and I entered the dining room with a smile and a cheery word of greeting.
After a singularly well-cooked and appetising meal which consisted of everything I just happened to feel like, I heard a voice saying: “Your bag is packed, dad, and the car's ready!”
My son and heir is, as a rule, one of those lads who, by cajolery, threats, or downright misrepresentation, turn a car-owning father into a reluctant pedestrian, but this morning he not only allowed me to drive the car myself, but actually complimented me on my slick and silent gear-changing and my clever handling of the car in traffic, so that by the time we arrived at the station I felt an inner glow—the like of which I had not experienced for many years.
I bade my son good-bye, with a backward glance of pride at his straight and manly figure and his gentlemanly bearing.
Have I mentioned that it was a glorious day? It was! One of those marvellous, still, clear, champagne-like days that Wellington very often and suddenly springs upon her citizens.
Immediately I entered the great hall of the station, I found a porter at my elbow. “Where for, sir?”
It was then that I realised that I hadn't a notion of my destination except that it was somewhere very pleasant, very beautiful and very restful. I managed to convey something of this to the porter, who, instead of saying that there was only one place for “a fellow who comes along to a busy railway station wasting the time of busy railway porters,” said, “Well, now sir, I'd advise you to take the
I thanked him—booked a ticket (I can't remember what station I asked for) and found my porter had taken my one bag to the train and had secured for me a corner seat, back to the engine, in a smoking compartment.
The train steamed gently out almost immediately. There was a lady with a child sitting opposite to me, and—being rather afraid of very young babies—I smiled a bit rather shyly. The baby smiled back—waved a podgy hand vaguely in my direction and cooed. I had never been cooed at by a baby before and I found the experience quite thrilling. The baby's mother said: “Smoke if you want to—I like it and it won't hurt the baby!” We chatted pleasantly and admired the scenery through the windows. It was all strange country to me.
At some period later in the day (I had lost all sense of time by now) the guard had touched me on the shoulder and informed me that we should be arriving any minute now. The train, which throughout had travelled swiftly and smoothly, began to slow down perceptibly and finally came to a stop.
I said good-bye to the mother and child and received a smile from the one and a gurgle from the other, and stepped out on to the platform. The air was warm, but not oppressive—it entered my lungs and filled me with a welcome feeling of well-being. The hotel was just over the way. I registered and handed over my bag to a cheerful youth who conducted me to a bedroom overlooking one of the loveliest landscapes that I have ever seen. How long I stood there bathing myself in its beauty I do not know, but I was brought to earth by the musical tinkling of the dinner gong. I washed and cleaned up generally and descended to the dining-room, where I was shown to a table overlooking a pleasant and carefully laid-out orchard and kitchen garden with, beyond, a haze of purple-blue hills, catching the golden pink after-glow of sunset.
My waitress had a happy friendly smile and a swift but unobtrusive service. Her suggestions, which I invited, for my meal, proved sound. The vegetables had obviously just recently been taken from the kitchen garden outside the window and the fruit had not long ago been hanging on the trees in the orchard. The chicken was in its first—and not its second—childhood, and, with a sigh of satisfaction and repletion, I ambled through to the lounge for coffee. And the coffee was good. The conversation about me was good, too—and after a while I went for a quiet stroll outside. The moon was just rising over the hills I had admired through the dining-room windows. The air was quiet and still. Everything appeared to have ceased growing at the very peak of perfection. All nature about me, in its several and varied lovelinesses enveloped me in its magic. It was like being alone in a very beautiful open-air cathedral.
When I felt that my eyes could not bear the sight of such beauty any longer, and my heart was overflowing with that breath-taking sadness which the contemplation of superlative loveliness always fills me, I returned slowly and almost reverently—to the hotel. In my bedroom, my pyjamas lay folded and ready on the bed—the clothes of which were invitingly turned back.
I undressed and got into bed to be wooed almost instantly by its enveloping comfort, to sleep. I awakened to the sound of a cup of tea being placed on the little table by my bedside. To my dismay and astonishment the air was chilly and cold. I sat up and attempted to read a refractory newspaper—a loose sheet fell out as I opened it. I sipped my tea—weak and tepid—and half of it in the saucer; the headlines in the paper were harsh, warlike and full of hatred and threatened trouble—the editorials were biting and viperish. I threw it from me in disgust—left my unfinished tea (to give it an undeserved title) and strode to the bathroom. There was just sufficient hot water to deceive me into running a bath, only to find that it was stone cold when I attempted to lower myself into it. The bathmat was wet, and I cut my chin shaving. The bacon was underdone and the eggs overdone, and I stepped out into a cheerless world, where a particularly biting southerly carried stinging rain into my face. Summer seemed a long way off! Ah me!
“Oh yes! there are fashions in tobacco just as there are in lots of other things,” said the weed merchant to the inquisitive reporter, “new brands are always coming and going. In years long gone by the most fancied imported lines included Shag and Black Plug, but there's not much enquiry for them now save perhaps by sailors who generally chew more than they smoke. The modern smoker is more fastidious. He wants something of finer quality with flavour and bouquet to it. “Toasted” is all the go now as any tobacconist will tell you. That's not very surprising either, because the five genuine toasted blends, Cut Plug No. 10 (Bulls-head) Navy Cut No. 3 (Bulldog) Cavendish, Riverhead Gold and Desert Gold range from superfine cigarette baccy to full flavoured for the pipe, and supply a brand for every smoker. They're all made from the choicest leaf and, being toasted, are comparatively free from nicotine. It's often said there's no ‘bite’ in them—and there isn't.” “How about imitations?” queried the reporter. “All as dead as mutton,” laughed the tobacconist.*
The inaugural ceremony associated with the official changeover from steam to electric traction, and the introduction of multiple-unit passenger trains on the Wellington-Johnsonville suburban line, took place on Saturday, 2nd July, 1938. Platforms 2 and 3 at Wellington Station were reserved for the opening ceremony, and seats were placed for 600 invited guests. In the vicinity were the units of the new service, the commodious Aotea, the first of the standard railcars, and the electric locomotive for the Paekakariki line and other modern units. The speakers on the occasion were the Hon. D. G. Sullivan, Minister of Railways, Mr. T. C. A. Hislop, Mayor of Wellington, Mr. C. H. Chapman, M.P., Mr. R. A. Wright, M.P., Mr. L. G. Lowry, M.P., Mr. G. A. Lawrence (Chairman, Johnsonville Town Board), Mr. H. L. Cummings (Chairman, Ngaio Progressive Association), Mr. M. S. Galloway (Chairman, Khandallah Progressive Association), Mr. S. Cory-Wright (Cory-Wright and Salmon Ltd., New Zealand Representatives English Electric Company Ltd.), and Mr. G. H. Mackley (General Manager, New Zealand Railways). The Hon. W. Nash (Minister of Finance) and the Hon. P. Fraser (Minister of Health) were amongst the distinguished guests present. Mr. Nash addressed the gathering at Johnsonville.
Opening his address by expressing the appreciation of the response of the public to his invitation, Mr. Sullivan said that they were that day making national transport service history in respect to the railways. The ceremony ranked among the really important occasions, especially for the residents along the line to Johnsonville. It had a national significance because it was the first section of railway line in New Zealand to be benefited by the multiple-unit form of transport.
A line through Johnsonville was first spoken of in 1874, but the proposal did not attract much attention then. In 1877 interest was renewed, a road was decided upon to connect Wellington and Foxton, and a contract was let for the first six miles from Wellington to Johnsonville. The work was carried on until 1880, when a Royal Commission condemned the proposal and the work was stopped, after £43,000 had been spent. The people of Wellington were very indignant at a “mass” meeting attended by 30 citizens. After this meeting the Manawatu Railway Company was formed in 1881 with a capital of £500,000, extended to £850,000. A contract was entered into between the Government and the company in 1882, and the line was laid to Longburn in 1886. It was taken over by the Government in 1908 and a through connection with Auckland was made in 1909. The steep grades and sharp curves of the Wellington-Johnsonville section had always made operation by steam traffic difficult, and the number of tunnels had been a constant cause of complaint from suburban travellers.
The Minister detailed the steps that had been taken until the opening of the Wellington railway station, since
Rly. Publicity photo.)
The gathering at Wellington Station being addressed by the Minister of Railways, the Hon. D. G. Sullivan.
“In appearance and comfort the new service offered all that could reasonably be desired in a service of this nature. When the time-tables were examined, it would be found that in speed and frequency of service they would bear comparison with the best to be found in any area of similar population in any country.
“A power sub-station was erected at Khandallah and the main sub-station at Kaiwarra (for the Wellington-Paekakariki electrification) was strengthened to meet the needs of the Johnsonville line,” said the Minister. “One important new element in the electrification of this line was the use of mercury-arc glass bulb rectifiers at the sub-stations. These converters were the largest of the kind to be used on any railway, and in all the tests they
Rly. Publicity photo.)
Mrs. D. G. Sullivan cutting the ribbon to mark the inauguration of the service.
“It is possible, Mr. Nash, that you may have to build more houses in that area, as the result of the Department's transport developments,” continued the Minister. “Meanwhile the local bodies concerned have done much to advance the claims of the district in a public-spirited way. They have co-operated with the Railway Department in obtaining the best possible transport service. I am assured by the officers and the Department that the conferences with the district local bodies have been most helpful. I know that Mr. Mackley and the staff concerned in the construction have cooperated to make it as successful as possible. It remains for the public to use the services to the best advantage in order to justify the considerable expenditure that has been entailed in making a first-class suburban electric train service out of the old Wellington-Johnsonville line.”
“It is certainly an occasion which marks a great advance in the transport affecting this city,” said the Mayor (Mr. T. C. A. Hislop). “It has solved for Wellington a problem which was causing us much concern, because obviously if we had had to replace the railway service here, it was going to involve the city in a very heavy expenditure indeed. We were glad to be able to join with the Department and the residents of the district to bring about this excellent solution of that problem. That area will now be served by a service as excellent as it is possible for a service to be. I congratulate the Minister of Railways on the service, and I wish it every success.”
“Besides being an important occasion for the residents of the district affected,” said Mr. C. H. Chapman, M.P., “it will be a partial solution of the acute housing problem in Wellington.”
Mr. R. A. Wright, M.P., in a reference to the early settlers, said: “If they went to the Upper Hutt they walked. If they went to Johnsonville they walked, along a bush track. If they were here to-day, how they would be astounded!” He congratulated the Railway Department on the progress it was making in so many directions.
Mr. L. G. Lowry, M.P., added to his congratulations of those benefiting and the English engineers, a word of praise for the local artificers, without whom the result would not have been possible. He also stressed the debt the community owed to the men on the
Rly. Publicity photo.)
A flashlight photograph on the run to Johnsonville.
Mr. G. A. Lawrence, Chairman of the Johnsonville Town Board, said that the date, July 4, might be taken to signify the independence of Ngaio and Johnsonville. The representatives of the district had always been received with the greatest courtesy by the Department and its officers.
Mr. H. L. Cummings, Chairman of the Ngaio Progressive Association, congratulating the Government on the high-grade service it had developed, and speaking as Chairman of the committee representing the three districts which, since 1931, had continued to make representations for an improved rail service, referred in the highest terms to the consideration given to them by the railway authorities.
Mr. M. S. Galloway, Chairman of the Khandallah Progressive Association, said that it was a proud moment for residents. He was pleased to have been identified with the negotiations. They now had a first-grade, and from the point of view of the users, an economical service. He expressed his belief that the multiple-unit service would prove to be the gem in the crown of the Department.
Mr. S. Cory-Wright (Messrs. Cory-Wright and Salmon Ltd.), representing
Rly. Publicity photo.)
Arrival of the first train at Johnsonville.
Mrs. Sullivan cut the ribbon expertly and everyone made for seats in the first electric train to Johnsonville.
Souvenir programmes, illustrated with pictures of the new forms of rolling stock, were distributed to the invited guests, and special tickets were also issued.
The first train was crowded, and the second train was filled before the first pulled out. The run was a surprise to passengers in the way in which the steep grades, up which the steam engines used to puff for half an hour, were taken easily by the motor coaches and their trailers. Each pair pulls its own load in the coupled trains, and the number of vehicles that can be combined in this way will easily cope with the morning and evening traffic on this line. The coaches carry either 72 or 60 passengers, and the two pairs of units with a reasonable number standing, could accommodate 400 people. The multiple unit trains are as steady on the rails as the steam trains they have displaced. They are comfortably heated, and have excellent seating, and provision for a large number of “straphangers” by means of neat rubber grips.
The train left at 3.34½ p.m., and arrived at Johnsonville, after stopping briefly at all stations, at 3.50 p.m., a run of 16½ minutes, well ahead of the scheduled time of 19 minutes. The running was delightfully smooth.
There were crowds on every station, and at Johnsonville the whole of the platform near the station was packed, so much so that movement, once the speakers had commenced, was impossible. The crowd was essentially a family one, the number of children being very noticeable.
The gathering at the Khandallah Hall in the evening representing the three districts, served by the new electric service, was a memorable one. It was a combined celebration, Mr. H. L. Cummings, Chairman of the Ngaio Progressive Association, presided, and there were present the Minister of Railways (the Hon. D. G. Sullivan), Mr. G. H. Mackley, General Manager
Rly. Publicity photo.)
Interior view of one of the coaches on the multiple-unit train.
After twenty years of representations for better access, they were in the same position in 1931, but a committee had been formed, and its co-ordinated efforts had been well sustained, said the Chairman. In 1932 the matter was presented to Mr. Mackley as a commercial one. He was sympathetic, and had since given great help. It was largely due to his recommendation that they had to-day's service. Thanks also were due to the local committee which had worked for seven years to achieve the desire of the districts, and he hoped the residents would support the service.
Speeches followed from the Minister of Railways, the Hon. D. G. Sullivan, Mr. Hislop, Mayor of Wellington, Mr. G. H. Mackley, General Manager of Railways, Mr. R. A. Wright, M.P., Mr. L. G. Lowry, M.P., Mr. W. H. Field, Mr. G. A. Lawrence, and Mr. M. S. Galloway.
Refreshments concluded an evening, which was brightened by an excellent programme of entertainment.?
Description of…
On the 24th June, 1936, the Government approved the acceptance of the tender submitted by the English Electric Company, Ltd., through their New Zealand agents, Messrs. S. Cory-Wright & Salmon, Ltd., for the supply of six electrical multiple-unit motor coaches and six multiple-unit electric-control trailing-coaches, with various other items of equipment, including spare parts for the units, to be used for passenger transport on the Wellington-Johnson-ville electrified section of railway. The new vehicles are of pleasing modern design and of all-steel construction.
The rolling-stock is built on the multiple-unit principle, which permits making up the units into one or two up to eight-coach trains to deal with varying traffic conditions. The complete train is controlled by one driver in the usual way. The normal unit consists of one motor-coach and one trailer, and driving positions are furnished at each end of the unit so that it is not necessary to turn the trains at the terminal stations.
The rolling-stock is of special all-steel lightweight design providing for comfort and safety of passengers, who entrain and detrain through wide doors, which are opened and closed automatically under control of the guard. This ensures the complete safety of passengers, as it is not possible for the driver to start the train until all doors are securely fastened. The driving controller is fitted with a safety device, which operates in the event of the driver becoming ill or leaving his driving position for any purpose. In these circumstances the safety device shuts off the electric power and applies the brakes, bringing the train to a standstill.
As a further safety provision, the braking system is of the latest form of electro-pneumatic brake, similar to brakes which are fitted to the underground coaches of the London Transport Board, and the brake is arranged in such a way as to give instantaneous application of the brakes throughout the train.
The electrical equipment is mounted on the motor-coach, four driving motors being fitted on the bogies, and the electrical-control gear (which is of electro-pneumatic type) is mounted in waterproof cases on the coach underframe. This arrangement leaves the whole of the floor space available for passengers and baggage. Power is taken from an overhead trolley wire at 1,500 volts d.c., supplied from the Government hydro-electric system, and an auxiliary supply (at 120 volts d.c.) for the lighting and control of the train is obtained from a small motor-generator mounted on the underframe.
Special attention has been paid to the
Arrangements were made to obtain supply from the Public Works Department's substation at Khandallah at 11,000 volts, in order to feed the Railway substation at Khandallah, the balance of the supply for the line being supplied from the Kaiwarra substation, which is fed by an alternative 11,000 volt line via the Tawa Flat tunnels.
The substation equipment consists of 11,000 volt armour-clad switchgear, supplied by Messrs. Reyrolle and Company, for the purpose of connecting the 11,000 volt supply to the transformers and rectifiers. The supervisory and remote control equipment was also supplied by Messrs. Reyrolle and Company.
For the purpose of converting the 11,000 volt alternating current supply into 1,500 volt direct current to drive the multiple units, converting apparatus consisting of transformers and glass-bulb rectifiers was installed. The glass-bulb rectifiers were supplied by the Alliance Electrical Company, Ltd., Wellington, on behalf of their principals, the Hewittic Electric Company, Ltd. These rectifiers work in pairs, each bulb being capable of supplying continuously 300 k.w., so that a pair of rectifiers can continuously supply approximately 800 h.p. These bulbs, which are capable of supplying four times this amount for short periods, are of the largest size made for 1,500 volt traction work.
After the power has been rectified to 1,500 volts it is connected to the overhead line through high-speed circuit breakers. The breakers are capable of disconnecting the supply on the occurrence of any fault in .02 of a second. They are provided not only to form a connecting link between the substation and the overhead, but also to prevent the substation being damaged in event of a fault occurring on the overhead.
The overhead equipment was designed in New Zealand, and many of the detailed parts were manufactured at the Department's Workshops at Woburn. The contact wire, consisting of hard-drawn copper, is .25 sq. ins. in section, and the catenary wire, which supports this, is stranded hard-drawn copper of the same sectional area. There is a total length of 8¾ miles of contact wire installed, including the sidings and the Johnsonville Station-yard.
As soon as normal running is begun on the Johnsonville line the substations will be run without any attention, the necessary switching being carried out by remote control from the control station situated in the main power-house at Wellington. The movement will be accomplished by operating small telephone keys, and every movement made is checked back to the operator before final movement to complete the operation of the circuit-breaker is carried out. The positions of all circuit-breakers are indicated by means of coloured lights, not only in the substations, but also in the remote control station in Wellington, and, in addition to this, indicators are provided in the District Traffic Manager's Train Control Office, so that the train-control operator has a continual indication of the condition of the line always in front of him.
That is a brief description of the electrification system as apart from the rolling-stock, but, in addition to this part of the work, mention should be made of the special signalling system which has been installed. This system, designed by the Railway Department, presents a number of entirely original features. Full automatic working will be provided between Wellington and Johnsonville, the movement of the trains thus causing the points to operate at the various stations—depending upon the condition of the line. Arrangements are made whereby the points will not operate and allow a train to enter a single-line section unless that section is clear for it to do so, and the starting signal will not go toz
At Johnsonville special provision is made so that during certain hours of the day electric trains will go on one side of the platform and at other times of the day to the other side of the platform, and, further, if one side of the platform is already occupied, then the points will automatically set to divert the following train on to the other route.
Train-control telephones will be provided at all stations, and an indicating light will warn train crews that they are required to stop and speak on the telephone.
Provision is made at Ngaio and Khandallah for the signal cabins there to be switched into use, so that shunting of certain trains can be accomplished by means of the operation of the signal-levers, but under normal working conditions the operation of these stations, including certain specified shunting movements of multiple units, can be carried out automatically without having to switch the signal boxes into use.
In addition to the signalling there is the provision of mechanical train-stops for trains travelling down the grade, so that, if the points are not correctly set, power will be cut off the train and the brakes automatically applied. At the Wadestown crossing-loop, in addition to these facilities, an electrical train-stop is installed which will again cut off power and apply the brakes if the speed of a train is higher than is prescribed.
Interior, second-class carriage in service on the Austrian Railways.
Efficient and economical passenger working over secondary routes often presents something of a problem. On the London, Midland & Scottish Railway, experiments are at present being undertaken, on the 77-mile stretch of track between Oxford and Cambridge, with a new streamlined three-car diesel-driven light passenger unit, which may revolutionise branch-line operation.
The new diesel train is painted outside in aluminium and red. It is about 185 feet long overall, and weighs in full working order 73 tons. Seating accommodation is provided, in three saloon-type vestibule cars, for 24 first-class and 138 third-class passengers. A conventional main-line unit affording similar accommodation would weigh (with locomotive) 173 tons, so that, in weight alone, the diesel unit offers a substantial margin of economy. Arranged on the articulated principle, the three cars of the unit are constructed of high tensile structural steel. Drive is by six Leyland diesel-hydraulic traction units, each six-cylinder oil engine developing 125 h.p. at 2,200 r.p.m., giving a train speed of 75 m.p.h. All six engines can be simultaneously controlled from either end of the train by electro-pneumatic equipment, there being a driver's cabin and luggage compartment at either end. Each of the three cars is of the centre-vestibule type, and Empire timbers have been used for interior decoration. Altogether, we have here a most interesting light unit, which would seem to hold out great possibilities.
Railcar operation has made tremendous progress in France, and at the present time there are approximately 700 railcars in daily service, covering more than 90,000 miles daily. Actually, in point of view of numbers, France heads the list of continental railcar users, being followed by Germany, Czechoslovakia, Italy and Roumania. The Paris authorities favour railcar operation, not only for branch-lines, but also for many main-lines, such as Paris-Lille, Paris-Lyons, and Paris-Le Havre. On some of these latter routes, speeds of as high as 87 m.p.h. are maintained, specially fast units being employed. In the main, however, the French railways have not found it necessary to have a large number of different types of railcar to meet the varying requirements of the service. To be efficient it is considered that a railcar must be suitable for any service, either fast or slow, with or without a trailer, and so designed as to be capable of being coupled up to one or more cars to form a longer unit at peak periods. A standard railcar has been developed, capable of speeds up to 75 m.p.h., and accommodating sixty seated and sixty standing passengers, or sixty seated passengers and a considerable quantity of mails or baggage.
Exactly one hundred years ago, the first travelling post-office ran over the Home railways. At the recently held centenary celebration at Euston Sta
From time to time, the Home railways have sent on exhibition overseas specimens of their locomotives and carriages. Next year the L. M. & S. Company is to send out to the World's Fair in New York a complete “Coronation Scot” train, while afterwards this crack express will make a tour of the United States and Canada. Tremendous interest was aroused in America five years ago by the visit of the same company's “Royal Scot” train, and during next year's tour of the “Coronation Scot” thousands of Americans will be able to view at close quarters typical British railway equipment. The “Coronation Scot” service was commenced in July, 1937, linking Euston Station, London, with Glasgow. It covers the 401½ miles between the two cities in exactly 6½ hours. Special streamlined high-speed steam locomotives are employed, and normally the train consists of nine luxury carriages. Nearly 74 ft. long overall, the “Coronation” class locomotives weigh 164½ tons. Driving wheels are of 6 ft. 9 in. diameter. Steam pressure is 250 lbs. per sq. in., and the four cylinders each have a diameter of 16½ in. The six-wheeled tender is fitted with a steam-operated coal-pusher, while the cab equipment includes double sliding windows, tip-up seats, and draught-preventing doors and look-out screen. The nine-car train seats 232 passengers, and two kitchen-cars are included.
On long express runs immense quantities of locomotive coal are consumed, and great efforts are now being made by the Home lines to cut out fuel wastage. On the London & North Eastern system, a special leaflet has just been distributed among the foot-plate staff emphasising the importance of avoiding coal wastage. Coal, it is pointed out, is burnt in the fireboxes of the locomotives at the average rate of 50½ lbs. for every mile travelled with a train, this quantity of fuel costing 4¾d. On the North Eastern area of the L. & N.E.R. alone, the distance travelled by locomotives in one week is nearly 900,000 miles, and the cost of the coal burnt in one week nearly £18,000, or approximately £1,000,000 per annum. If one lb. of coal could be saved for every mile run, the saving to the company would be £18,387 in one year. There are, it is stated, many ways of saving coal better known to enginemen than to anyone else, and valuable economies can be effected if each engineman will do his best to help by reducing the amount of coal burnt.
Many interesting educational plans are operated by the Home railways for the benefit of their staffs. A new departure is a London training school for booking-clerks established by the Southern Railway. The training of probationers is in the hands of two experienced instructors. On entering the school, the juniors are first taught the different types of tickets, their availability, etc. Later, the boys staff a model booking-office, one boy under the instruction of a tutor acting as booking-clerk, and the others acting as passengers under the control of the second instructor. The student acting as booking-clerk remains on duty for about twenty minutes, while the others continually pass the ticket window purchasing transportation. After his spell in the booking-office, the boy has to make up his books, and strike an accurate balance. Special tuition is also given in account keeping and in handling public enquiries, while later there is instruction in general station accounts and the elementary principles of goods station accounts.
Striking railway changes in central Europe are now taking place as a result of the amalgamation of the German and Austrian undertakings. The Austrian railways, running to about 3,600 miles, are being added to the German system, the result being an immense railway network some 40,000 miles in extent. Actually, Austrian
Heavy tourist business is the order of the day on the Norwegian State Railways, which have a length of approximately 3,000 miles, and radiate in all directions from the capital, Oslo. Some of the most picturesque country in Europe is found in Norway, and because of the difficult nature of the territory passed through, railway construction has proved most hazardous and costly. Three of the most alluring scenic routes are those covered respectively by the Rauma, the Dovre, and the Bergen lines. The Rauma Railway serves north-west Norway, and follows the course of the Rauma River, a great salmon stream. The Dovre line runs north and south through central Norway, and the Bergen Railway connects Oslo with Bergen, on the west coast. Between England and Norway, the London & North Eastern Railway and its allied services are, this season, handling record traffics, and a new express—“The Scandinavian”—has been put into service, connecting Liverpool Street Station, London, with Harwich, point of embarkation for the Norwegian wonderland.
Photo., G. W. Ritchey, Yerkes Observatory.)
Nebulosities in the Pleiades as seen through the 24 inch Yerkes reflector, Oct. 19th, 1901. Exposure, 31/2hours.
On the evening of November 11th, 1572, Tycho Brahe was astounded to see a brilliant star-like point of light shining in the constellation Cassiopeia. He was certain that no star had been visible before, in that exact position. Although he had no conception of the terrific intensity of the explosion that we now know had taken place, he realized at once the supreme importance of what he saw. At first, indeed, he could not believe his own eyes, but as soon as he found that others also saw the star, he judged its appearance to be the greatest miracle that had occurred in the whole range of nature since the beginning of the world.
Similar outbursts must occasionally have aroused wonder ever since man took an interest in the starry skies, but, until comparatively recent times, the majority of these passed unrecorded. We have no account of any seen in Europe before the one which blazed out in Scorpio in 134 B.C., which is said to have induced Hipparchus to make a catalogue of the stars. The Chinese, however, tell of bright stars appearing in the sky in 2679, 2255 and 2238 B.C.
But, as far as we know, Tycho was the first to make a scientific study of such a phenomenon. He recorded all the variations in the brightness of the strange light, and proved that the object, whatever it might be, was far beyond the limits of the solar system and somewhere in the region of the stars.
Thus was introduced into astronomy a fascinating problem, to which three and a half centuries of astronomical research, with all the help that physics and chemistry can give, has failed to find a solution which has won universal acceptance.
There is, at last, fairly general agreement as to what happens during the outburst, but an extraordinarily wide divergence of opinion still exists with regard to the cause.
It was not easy to find even an appropriate name for these mysterious objects. They were at first called “New Stars” or “Novae Stellae.” But in their behaviour, during the brief period of their vivid and spectacular life, they differ completely from normal stars. The word “stellae,” therefore, has been discarded and we call them simply “Novae.”
It is doubtful to what extent even this epithet is applicable, but undoubtedly the message borne on the wings of light, though it may have been a thousand years on its way, is “news” when it reaches us. It must be read the very moment it arrives, or it will pass on and be lost for ever.
Our problem is to find out what a Nova really is, and probably the most convenient method of approach will be to consider how it resembles, and how it differs from, a normal star.
In the twentieth century we have innumerable advantages that were not enjoyed by Tycho Brahe. The everyday achievements of a modern astronomer would have appeared incredible to him. It is always rash to affirm an impossibility. The philosopher who said “One thing is certain, we never can know the chemistry of the stars,” thought he was quite safe. His imagination failed to picture the magic powers of the spectroscope. When we ask to-day, “What is a star?” we get an astonishingly full and detailed answer. Astronomers in the great observatories, using giant telescopes armed with spectroscopes, interferometers and cameras, have been able to give us a surprisingly clear mental picture of what is to be found in the visible universe. One of the simplest, but most important, of the facts they tell us, is that every star is a sun, and that the great ruler of the solar system takes quite a humble place amongst the vast multitude of giant orbs that form the starry hosts.
We can, therefore, picture other stars most easily by comparing or contrasting them with the particular star that we know most about, our own Sun. The habitability of the earth is due entirely to the small fraction (about one 2230 millionth) of the solar energy that reaches its surface.
The Sun has a diameter more than 109 times that of the earth, and therefore, a volume 1,300,000 times as great. Although its average density is little more than a quarter of the earth's, its mass is equal to that of 333,434 worlds like ours. From the highest levels to the deepest regions observable in its atmosphere, the absolute temperature ranges from 5,000 to 7,000 degrees Centigrade. The latter is about double the temperature of the electric arc. The greater part of the interior is believed to be above a million, whilst the central regions have the inconceivable temperature of 30 million degrees Centigrade. Although the pressure at its centre must be a million tons to the square centimetre, the sun is believed to be gaseous throughout. The terrific encounters at such a pressure and temperature must denude the atoms of most of their outer electrons. The sun is 5,000 times brighter than liquid steel, and each square yard of its surface is continually pouring out radiant energy equivalent to 70,000 horse power. Its great gravitational attraction keeps all the planets in their orbits.
The stars differ, one from another, in a most astonishing way in size, in density, in temperature and in luminosity, and to a much smaller degree in mass. A few examples will make this clear.
Size.—Antares, Alpha Herculis, and Mira Ceti are three celebrated giants,
Photo., G. W. Ritchey, Yerkes Observatory.)
Nebula about Nova Persei, Sept. 20th, 1901.
Density.—In spite of its small size van Maanen's star turns out to have a mass about 48,000 times that of the earth. It is nearly 300,000 times as dense as the sun, whilst the sun is four million times as dense as Antares. So the range in density is over a million millions.
Temperature.—The effective temperature of the photosphere varies greatly from star to star, and the resulting differences in the spectra have led to a useful classification of the stars. In O type, or Wolf-Rayet, stars, the elements which make their presence known are at temperatures between 30,000 and 50,000 degrees, whilst in some M type stars, such as Mira at minimum, they may be at 1,800 degrees only. These are the temperatures that rule near the surface. All stars are much more intensely heated within. In the strange companion of Sirius, Eddington calculates that the central temperature is a thousand million degrees.
Luminosity.—When the distance of a star is known, its intrinsic luminosity can be deducted from its apparent brightness. The results are often surprising. Sirius, apparently the brightest star in the sky, is in reality only 27 times as luminous as the Sun, whilst Rigel has 18,000 and Canopus 77,000 times the solar brightness. The apparent supremacy of Sirius is due to the fact that it is only 8.8, whilst Rigel is 543 and Canopus 652 light years from us.
It can readily be imagined how badly we should fare if any one of these stars was substituted for our Sun. It would be almost as disastrous in another way if our Sun were a dwarf.
Though so faint in comparison with Canopus or any one of innumerable other stars, our Sun shines 11,000 times as brilliantly as Proxima Centauri and 50,000 times as brightly as Wolf's star. This gives a 3,850 million fold range in luminosity.
Mass.—Our knowledge of stellar masses is less extensive than that of the other physical characteristics, since the mass can be determined only in the case of binary stars. The range is believed to be actually somewhat restricted, and it is often assumed that the majority of luminous stars have masses between one hundredth of, and one hundred times, the mass of our Sun. Except in the case of eclipsing binaries, it is only the minimum, not the actual mass, that can be found. In a list of spectroscopic Binaries given by R. G. Aitken, in his book “The Binary Stars,” the minimum values for one pair are 113.2 and 44.9, and for another pair 75.6 and 63.3 times the mass of our Sun. The lower limit is, of course, quite indeterminable, since, with the exception of a few that are specially close to us, all the smaller stars are invisible; but a number of pairs are known in which each star is much less massive than the Sun.
With these few facts in mind we can realize to some extent the astounding magnitude of the changes which take place suddenly during the brief life and decline of a Nova.
Nova Aqullae.—Many will remember the night of June 9th, 1918, when Mr. G. V. Hudson, of Karori, noticed an unfamiliar point of light in the constellation Aquila. His telephone message to the Dominion Astronomer enabled enthusiasts to leave their beds and rush to the local observatories. The light that was gathered in by our telescopes carried messages that were far more marvellous than we realized at the time. All that we could do was to record the rapid changes in brightness that were taking place, to fix the position of the Nova with regard to surrounding stars by taking a few photographs, and to endeavour to identify a few of the bright lines with dark companions which were revealed when a small spectroscope was applied to the telescope. We have since learnt that the explosion, which we watched that night, had taken place 1,200 years before. During the whole of those twelve centuries the light had been speeding towards us, and spreading out equally in all other directions at a speed of about 186,300 miles per second. Photographic records show that before the explosion there was an eleventh magnitude star apparently in the place of the Nova. The brightness increased with such startling suddenness that in three days it attained a magnitude, -1.4, thus outshining every star in the sky except Sirius. Now that its approximate distance has been found, we can
Photo., G. W. Ritchey, Yerkes Observatory.)
Nebula about Nova Persei, Nov. 13th, 1901. Compare with illustration above and note how the light spread out in the nebula in less than eight weeks.
A similar sequence of events had been observed in connection with Nova Persei 1901, but with one exceptional feature. There seems to have been a nebula already in existence around the scene of the explosion. Successive portions of this were lighted up by the dazzling glare as it spread outwards in all directions. The apparent rate of growth of the illuminated shell, combined with the known velocity of light, gave the distance of the Nova. Expanding shells of gas were detected later, and these increased in diameter at rates which agreed with spectroscopic measures of the velocity of the outrush.
Until recently, bright Novae were believed to be very rare, but five have already appeared since the beginning of the twentieth century. The last three were Nova Cygni 1920, Nova Pictoris 1925, and Nova Herculis 1934.
It has been estimated that, if the whole heavens could be photographed each night, at least twenty Novae would be discovered in our Galaxy every year, whilst many more might be found in the nearer Spiral Nebulae. It is very significant that in the great Nebula in Andromeda, which appears to be a younger and more condensed galaxy, Novae are about twice as numerous as in ours, but in that in the Triangle, in which the stars are widely scattered in long spiral arms, Novae are comparatively rare.
When watching such an outburst as that of Nova Persei or Nova Aquilae, or even when reading about it, one is impelled to ask “What can have caused such a stupendous explosion?”
We have to account for hundreds of thousands of times the energy of our Sun being liberated in a few hours, for temperatures of hundreds of millions of degrees being suddenly produced, and for velocities, often exceeding a thousand miles per second, being found in the outrushing gases.
No theory which fails to explain such things, need be considered for a moment. But this is by no means all. The sudden fading of the star-like point of light, implying the dissipation of astounding quantities of energy, provides a still more searching test. If any theory survives this, it still has to face the evidence afforded by the succession of changing spectra, and the later development of the planetary nebular stage.
Now if you examine a hundred of the latest works on Astronomy, you will be amazed at the suggestions that still remain current. You will find that, of all the innumerable theories that have been proposed, two alone suggest any reasonable source for the amazing quantities of energy released. Of these two theories, one depends on the annihilation of matter, either during the formation of helium and other elements from hydrogen, or when protons and electrons rushing together are supposed to be changed from mass into radiant energy. But these rather hypothetical processes are said to take place at a more and more rapid rate as the temperature rises. It is difficult, therefore, to envisage any stopping place. If such a change were once started in a star it should go on at an increasing rate until the star is annihilated. This does not agree with the normal history of a Nova. Whenever one appears where a star has been photographed before, the final state is found to be slightly brighter than the original.
Fortunately, an explanation, which depends only on the established principles of chemistry and physics, was thought out in New Zealand sixty years ago. Professor A. W. Bickerton, of Canterbury College, was induced to consider the problem by the appearance of a Nova in Cygnus in November, 1876. He realized at once that the usual explanations, such as the combustion of hydrogen, or the eruption of a volcano, on a dead sun, were absurdly insufficient. No event less than the encounter of two stars seemed capable of liberating suddenly such vast stores of energy. On the 4th of July, 1878, Bickerton read, before the Philosophical Institute of Canterbury, a remarkable paper in which his theory was ably elaborated. This paper was followed by many others as the theory was found to throw light on the life histories of all kinds of celestial objects.
Stated very briefly the theory is that a Nova is caused by the partial, or grazing, impact of two stars, drawn together by their mutual gravitation. Each having some original velocity, they do not meet directly, but whirl in hyperbolic orbits around their common centre of gravity. If they come so close as to graze one another, the parts that meet are struck off and coalesce to form a fiery whirling unstable mass with extraordinary characteristics. This “Third Body,” or “Cosmic Spark,” as Bickerton called it, is found to furnish the key to the enigma. The wounded stars pass on, and make little show in the spectacular display. The “Third Body” is a twisted spindle shaped mass, with the lightest elements at the centre and the heaviest at its ends. It is intensely heated, but in a most unusual way. Since all have had the same onward motion transformed into atomic agitation or heat, the different elements are at widely different temperatures. Initially the helium is four times and the lead 207 times as hot as the hydrogen. But the average temperature being hundreds or thousands of million degrees, the body, with its compartively small mass, is thermodynamically unstable. Its atoms have more than the critical velocity of escape. Its disappearance is not
Photo., G. W. Ritchey, Yerkes Observatory.)
The Great Nebula in Andromeda as seen through the 24 inch Yerkes reflector, Sept. 18th, 1901. Exposure, 4 hours.
The elements in the turbulent “Third Body” try to adjust the distribution of energy so that each atom has an equal share. To do this the heavy atoms must give heat to the lighter ones. Thus hydrogen soon leads the outward rush, with helium following at about half the speed. The brilliant nucleus becomes surrounded by expanding luminous shells of gas, whose light, when analysed by the spectroscope, tells what they are made of, and how fast they are flying. The atoms coming directly towards us absorb some of their appropriate radiation, so each bright line becomes fringed by a dark border on the violet side.
The peculiarities of each particular Nova depend on the characteristics of the colliding stars and on the depth of the impact.
This wonderfully prolific theory has never been examined critically by anyone who speaks with authority. The reason usually given for this neglect is that stars are so far apart that they do not collide. But with streams of thousands of millions of stars interpenetrating one another, and each pulling every other more strongly as the distance decreases, it would be strange if no encounter ever took place. And it seems mathematically certain that, if one star does graze another, the clash must give birth to a Nova. One of the outstanding advantages of this theory is that is is not founded on vague surmises but on arithmetical calculations. One of the losses from its neglect is that it has allowed an immense amount of work to be spent elaborating theories that are arithmetically absurd.
To give a single instance of this we may notice that even to-day the most popular theory of Novae is that each is caused by a star entering a nebula. The star is supposed to be stopped in a few days, or even in a few hours, by the resistance of the nebula. This theory leaves the sudden fading completely unexplained, but probably this is of no importance, for, with the accepted average density of a star and a nebula respectively, we are asked to believe that each atom of the latter is able to stop suddenly the headlong rush of 31/2 millions of millions of times its own mass.
When advocating this theory we may reasonably be asked to prove that the energy liberated when stars collide is actually sufficient to account for the observed behaviour of a Nova.
If a small mass is drawn from an immense distance to the surface of the Sun, it attains a speed of 386 miles per second. The same speed would be required to enable any body to escape from the Sun. This speed is, therefore, called the critical velocity of escape.
To leave the earth a projectile would have to start with a speed of at least seven miles per second. But this would not enable it to escape from the Solar System. It would either fall into the Sun or describe an orbit round it, according to the direction of the start.
Two stars like our Sun, drawn together by gravitation, would acquire before their surfaces met a relative speed of 386 miles per second. But the velocity destroyed in a slight graze would be little more than 193 miles per second. If, however, during the encounter the centres approach to within one radius of one another, the effective speed would be about 273 miles per second.
This implies an energy per unit mass 268 million times as intense as that of trains moving in opposite directions, each at 60 miles per hour. In a stellar collision this energy is transformed chiefly into heat, and is equivalent to 23 million calories per gram. The temperatures produced are most impressive.
Hydrogen molecules move about one mile per second when at a temperature of 200 degrees absolute, or 73 degrees below zero. If they move 273 miles per second, their temperature must be about
Photo., G. W. Ritchey.)
Spiral Nebula Messier 51 Canum Venaticorum as seen through the 60 inch reflector at Mt. Wilson, April 7th–8th, 1910. Exposure, 103/4 hours.
Photo., Mt. Wilson Observatory.)
The Great Nebula in Orion as seen through the 100 inch reflector at Mt. Wilson, Nov. 19th, 1920.
Now, since within the “Third Body” the elements are at such widely different temperatures, at every molecular or atomic encounter the heavier element must give energy to the lighter. Hydrogen thus is enabled to get up speeds exceeding a thousand miles per second, such as are disclosed in many of the spectrograms of Novae.
No two Novae are exactly alike, though all have certain essential family characteristics. The great differences observed in successive Novae are explained by the dissimilarities in the colliding stars and by the variations in the depth of the encounters.
We might expect that the collisions of gigantic stars would be more spectacular than those of stars like our sun, and that direct impacts would be grander than partial ones. Neither of these suppositions is correct. The most massive stars we know are all of enormous size and they have extremely low densities. Their encounters are slow, and the resulting temperatures comparatively moderate. Then, again, in a direct encounter the whole mass remains to restrain expansion. Professor Bickerton proved that, in a direct impact of equal stars, the energy is exactly sufficient to form, out of the two, a single star with double the diameter of either, and at the same temperature. Such an encounter, therefore, would merely double the luminosity whereas a grazing impact may multiply it hundreds or millions of times. This astounding increase in brightness is caused by the sudden expansion of the Cosmic Spark, due to its high temperature and small gravitational restraint. An impact may generally be considered a partial one if less than a third is struck from each star.
The magnitude and intensity of the explosion d