Contents
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2/12/37.
Wellington-Johnsonville Electrification.
Change-over from Steam to Electric Traction and Introduction of Multiple-unit Passenger Trains.
Saturday, 2nd
July, 1938.
Telescopic hand-rails, control flexible jumpers, heater flexible jumpers, hose-couplings for brake and automatic coupler between coaches.
“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.)
New Zealand
Railways
Magazine
Magazine
Registered at the G.P.O., Wellington, N.Z., for transmission by post as a Newspaper.
Published by the
New Zealand Government Railways Department.
“For Better Service.”
Service Copy.Vol. XIII. No. 5.
Wellington, New Zealand.
August1, 1938
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.
By).
O. N. Gillespie
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.
Mr. Terence Vaughan, winner of the Agnew Composition Prize. A London figure at 21.
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.
By)
James Cowan
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.
By)
Victor S. Lloyd
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.
“I found a porter at my elbow.”
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.*
A Great Railway Event
Inauguration of the Wellington-Johnsonville Electric Train Service
Official Ceremony at Wellington Station
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
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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
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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
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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
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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
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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…
… Pleasing Design
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
Auxiliary control compartment in motor coach.
Sub-Station and Overhead Equipment.
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.
Interior of 1,500 volt rectified cubicle showing 300 k.w. glass-bulb rectifier “on load.”
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
The Glasgow—London “Coronation Scot” passing Elvanfoot.
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
Stuguflaten Bridge, Rauma Branch, Norwegian State Railways.
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.
By)
.A. C. Gifford , M.A., F.R.A.S
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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,
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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.
Professor A. W. Bickerton's diagrams of a stellar partial impact. The illustrations depict (from top) pair of stars distorted and coming into impact; pair of stars in impact; stars passing out of impact, and formation of third body; showing entanglement of matter in each body; two variables and a temporary star.
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 depend chiefly on the size and the density of the bodies involved. If the density remains unchanged the speeds developed in similar encounters are proportional to the diameters of the stars, the temperatures vary as the squares of the diameters whilst the duration of the encounter is unchanged. The clash of a pair of giants takes no longer than that of a pair of dwarfs.
If the diameters remain unchanged the temperature varies as the density, the velocity as its square root, and the duration of the encounter inversely as its square root.
(
Photo., Mt. Wilson Observatory.)
Active solar prominence 140,000 miles high. The disc represents the earth.
To illustrate this let us compare or contrast an impact between a pair of giants like Antares, and another between two dwarfs like van Maanen's star, with one between two stars like our Sun. In the case of the giants, the velocity acquired is a quarter, and the temperature one-sixteenth, of those generated in a solar collision, and the encounter takes 109 days instead of 70 minutes. In a clash between the two dwarfs the temperatures would be twenty and the speeds nearly 4½ times those found in the case of Suns, and the encounter would be over in less than seven seconds. In such a collision if there was any lead in the “Third Body” it would be initially at 60,000 million degrees Centigrade.
We have considered only collisions between bodies exactly alike. A very improbable case. But the same principles apply in all encounters. Whilst variations in detail are infinite in number, all Novae have the same essential characteristics. We often hear of Novae and Super Novae. The latter are simply those in which temperatures and luminosities are thousands of times above the average, and the speed of the out-rushing gas about 4,000 instead of 1,000 miles per second.
When our telescopes are so much increased in power that we can detect the collisions of comparatively insignificant bodies, we may need a third class for those Novae that fall far below the average.
Meanwhile the theory we have advocated, and every other reasonable theory that is proposed, should be tested again and again by skilful observation and by rigorous mathematical calculation.
ByA. J. G. .)
Schmitt
“May I show you two photographs to see if you can recognise them?” asked Lynn.
(Continued.)
It was late when Lynn came in. He found Mr. Kay and Cushla still in the sitting-room.
“You are a nice one, Lynn, to stop out all the evening,” said Cushla.
“Couldn't help it. I know I should have asked permission to be excused, instead of vanishing away. Have Mr. Jasper and Wynder gone to bed?”
“I think so,” replied Cushla.
Lynn went over to Mr. Kay. “Do you mind my speaking before Miss Cushla, Mr. Kay?”
“Not at all, Lynn.”
“Well, I want to go with you the day after to-morrow, along the train line, and through the bush to meet Martin at the gate and go the trip with him. I don't want to be seen, and I don't want anyone to know, except your good selves and Mr. Jasper.”
“What's in the wind, Lynn?” asked Kay.
“I may be able to tell you later on, but at present I am contenting myself with precautions.”
“You don't mean to say you are suspicious of any of the men, Lynn?”
ChapterIII.
The names of people in this story are wholly imaginary, though the incidents referring to some of the employees as being refugees from the Law are true. In the early days the remoteness of some of the mills made it quite possible for “wanteds” to hide in seclusion for many months.
“Don't ask any more, Mr. Kay, but be content that I am doing what I think right in your interests, and remember I may be entirely wrong.”
“This is a bit of a bombshell, Lynn.”
“It hasn't exploded yet, and may be just a dud,” replied Lynn.
Cushla had been listening to all Lynn had said. She admired this stalwart, athletic young man with the open, fresh face and honest eyes—eyes which looked straight at one.
“Don't you go and get into any trouble on our account, Lynn,” said Cushla, “but Dad and I know what has brought you here, and my greatest wish is that you and your father are quite wrong and that every man in the outfit is loyal to the backbone.”
“So soon as I've proved this, Cushla, I'll settle down and be your father's right-hand man. That is, of course, if he will have me.”
“I'll have you all right, Lynn.”
When Lynn had departed, Kay turned to his daughter.
“What do you think of him, Cushla?”
“A little too early to say, Dad, but I like him so far.” And that is all Mr. Kay got out of his daughter.
Lynn was up a little earlier than usual. He wanted to see Mr. Kay by himself. He knew that gentleman went for a dip every morning, so he took his towel and went to the swimming pool. Mr. Kay was just drying himself when Lynn arrived.
“Sorry to bother you so early, but in Miss Cushla's presence last night I did not like to mention that I think it necessary to treble the night watch.”
“Good Lord, Lynn, it's not come to that, has it?”
“Well, the way I look at it is that by the time one man did the round, half the timber could be fired, and if my suspicions are correct a good fire would be a cover to divert attention.
“Not that I know of, though I expect you do, Lynn.”
“You will instruct Hawkins, then, Mr. Kay?”
“Yes, Lynn, I'll tell Jasper to inform him.”
“That's one load off my mind. Now for a swim and after that I'll eat you out of house and home, Mr. Kay.”
Jasper and Lynn went to the office together.
“Don't you forget to point out Higgins to me when the men come for their wages,” said Lynn. Then: “Are these like them at all,” as he placed two photos, on the sloping desk.
“Both have whiskers and these photos, show two clean-shaved, Mr. Kingswell.”
“Now suppose we drew the contour of the face on a piece of white paper and laid it over the lower part of the face—that doesn't alter the photo, much—now suppose I fill in whiskers with ink.”
“By jove! that's clever, Mr. Kingswell.” For without damaging the photo, at all Lynn had transposed it into a face with whiskers.
“Now tell me is that at all like Higgins or Holt?”
“By the way, have you or Holt got any barkers?”
“Not like Holt, Mr. Kingswell, but by Jove! it does, in great measure, resemble Higgins.”
After Jasper had described Holt's hirsute appendage, Lynn treated it in the same manner as the other, which produced a marked similarity to Holt.
“You couldn't swear to them, Mr. Jasper?”
“Not beyond a likeness, Mr. Kingswell.”
“Are there any other two men in the outfit that these photos., with my addition, would resemble?”
“No.”
“Are there any others you could recognise from the unaltered photos.?”
“No, I don't think so, but I've never made a study of them.”
“Well,” said Lynn, “We'll both make a study of Higgins and Holt when they come for their pay to-day.”
Jasper knew his job and there was no confusion.
So the hours passed by and at last Higgins and Holt appeared. They were treated exactly like the others, but Jasper kept Higgins talking as long as he dared, giving Lynn plenty of time unobserved to study their faces. After the business was over both had come to the conclusion they were the wanted men. However, Mr. Kay had said, if they were doing their job all right, and not playing any funny business, they were to be given a chance. Anyhow, Lynn thought that, as now he knew, or was almost certain, an eye could be kept on them.
In the evening Cushla, Mr. Kay and Lynn were left to their own devices.
“Cushla, I suppose you know most of the mill hands better than anyone but Desmond; may I show you two photographs to see if you can recognise them?” asked Lynn.
Cushla looked at them carefully and confessed she did not.
Lynn extracted two drawings from his pocket, laid the photos, on the table and fitted the whiskers in. “Can you tell who they are now?” he asked.
In a moment she recognised them. “Why, Higgins and Holt, Lynn.”
“Mr. Jasper and I are of the same opinion. These men need watching. They won't keep out of mischief long if they are the two beauties I think them to be. To-morrow, I am supposed to be at the bush with your father, but in reality I'm going with Martin. Mr. Kay will agree with me that it's a pretty lonely journey for one man, so I'm going as escort. I don't want anyone else to know.”
“Not Mr. Wynder, Lynn?” asked Cushla.
“No, please, don't even suggest it.”
“You are very mysterious.”
“I've got to be for a little while, Cushla.”
Mr. Kay had said nothing during Lynn's discussion with Cushla. He now turned to Lynn and said: “I sincerely trust you are wrong, but at the same time I believe there are possibilities, and I must say your father could not have sent a better man, but I don't want you to run any risks.”
“Not more than I can possibly help, you may depend, and many thanks for your opinion of me, which I hope Cushla shares.”
“If what we have tried to find out to-night is true there is danger, and I shall be anxious about you, Lynn, until those two gentlemen are removed far from here,” said Cushla.
“I don't think there is the slightest danger in the immediate present,' replied Lynn.
Lynn did not think he had lost anything by doing the trip with Martin, for he made a study of the bad places where the car had to crawl and noted what shelter there was for ambush. He was positive that if any attempt were made to rob, it would be during transport.
Next day at smoko, Lynn sought Desmond.
“So you've come for a smoke, take a seat—at least I could get you a box, Mr. Kingswell.”
“I didn't come only for a smoke. I want you to put me on to some work with or near Higgins or Holt.”
“What's in the wind?” asked Desmond.
“Nothing so far,” replied Lynn. “I want to find out what those two gentlemen are like and cultivate their acquaintance, so to speak, and that is between ourselves.”
“Certainly, Mr. Kingswell. They certainly are a rough looking pair. Most of the hands have nothing to do with them. Anyhow, I'll go with you. There's a stack of 18 ft. 9 in. by 3 in. You will want about five trucks. I'll tell Holt to run them up and Higgins can help load.”
“That's very decent of you, Desmond,” replied Lynn.
The stack in question was about 300 yards away, within five yards of the tram line.
A pencil sketch by J. B. Whittleston, apprentice blacksmith, Hillside, of one of the Railway Department's “G” class locomotives, six of which were built at Hillside Workshops last year.
Not very far away Desmond found the pair of worthies. “Come along. I want you two to help Mr. Kingswell load some timber on the trucks.”
Higgins and Holt came over to the stack.
“It's about the heaviest stack in the yard,” said Higgins.
“Holt, you go down and bring up five trucks. Mr. Kingswell may be a bit new at the game so give him all the help you can with the timber, Higgins. It's pretty heavy stuff.”
With this Desmond departed.
“I'll go up above and pass down, Higgins. I suppose we can make a start on this truck,” said Lynn.
With this he clambered up to the top of the stack.
The first plank came sliding down.
In no time a truck was loaded and another put in its place.
“Holt, if you will help Higgins, I'll stop on the stack,” said Lynn.
A grunt from Holt indicating agreement.
After a while the stack was so reduced that the planks could be pulled off the stack from the ground.
“I say, governor, it's time we had a spell, eh, Holt?”
“You bet, Higgins. This man would work us off our legs. We would soon work ourselves out of a job.”
Lynn laughed.
“You should be much better than I am,” he said. “Don't you think you are lucky to strike a job like this?” continued Lynn.
“Lucky, did you say? I haven't saved a fiver since I've been in the blarmed hole,” returned Higgins.
“Well, I suppose you gamble it away,” said Lynn.
“That's the worst of it. Me and Holt here thought we could take these blighters down, but a fellow never even gets a chance to stack an ace.”
“Cheating is no good, anyhow,” replied Lynn.
“You must be a good boy. You don't look like one—more like a blooming cop.”
“That shouldn't worry you, even if that were true. In any case, I can't imagine men working out here for any criminal purpose.”
“Where do you hail from?” asked Lynn.
“What has that to do with you?” queried Higgins.
“I'm sorry if it's a delicate question, because I've been in places I would not like anyone to know about, and I sympathise.” Then: “Let's get on with the job. Desmond will think we are a great set of loafers,” said Lynn.
“I don't care what he thinks,” ejaculated Higgins.
“Don't you put any value on good opinion?” asked Lynn.
“Very little, so long as we get the boodle.”
They finished loading the stack of timber and Lynn went back to the office. Higgins and Holt remained. They were not anxious to do any more work until after dinner.
“You'd better watch that man,” said Holt. “I'll report to the colonel tonight,” and sure enough he did.
“You are getting jumpy,” said Wynder. “We have just to lie low till Thursday night. You and Holt go on with your work, even reform slightly, if you can. By the way, have you or Holt got any barkers? We may want them. Martin is a bit of a rough customer. He must not get in first. Holt is to get in front of the car and try and halt Martin. You and I will close in from each side; if he puts his hands up, all right. If not, we must not be particular. Have you two got the barkers?”
“Yes, colonel,” replied Higgins.
“Good. To-morrow night, same place.”
(To be continued.)
ByF. A. (London)
Hornibrook
It is a great mistake for overseas visitors to England not to spend part of their holiday in France. It may be the difficulty presented by an unknown tongue that prevents some, but this is easily overcome by putting one's self in the hands of one of the many tourist agencies which cater elaborately for one's comfort. Representatives of these agencies will shepherd one from the time of leaving London to the time of returning—interpreting, paying guides and hotel bills and generally looking after one very well.
Here is a large country, only 1¼ hours by sea from England, offering a most varied range of mountain and valley scenery varying from the almost tropical on the Mediterranean coast to the snowy heights of the Alps; a country full of historic interest and one which excels all others in the line of food and drink.
Recently I spent a fortnight's holiday in the Valley of the Loire renowned for its beauty and famous for the lovely Chateaux built all along the banks of the river.
Tours, the capital of Touraine, is a fine city of over 80,000 people and only 150 miles south west of Paris.
As France is not only a country catering for tourists, but also one through which visitors to other European countries invariably pass, the question of railway travelling is an important one; and it is probably for this reason that there is a great difference between the carriages of trains intended for only first and second class passengers and those intended for first, second and third class passengers. In the former the second class are much superior to the second class in England, and so also are the dining saloons; added to that, these trains are nearly always expresses. It is a mistake to travel third class in France if it can possibly be avoided.
If one has even a slight knowledge of the language it is a decided asset to the enjoyment and interest of one's holiday, enabling one to visit small places where tourists are rarely to be found and where one can study the every day work and life of the people of France.
Probably the thing which impresses one most in France is the ease with which one can obtain meals and drinks. I have found myself arriving at all hours of the day and night in comparatively small French towns of, say, two or three thousand population, and always sure of a polite welcome and an excellent meal: in fact the Frenchman regards it not only as his duty, but also as a privilege to wait upon one. In England, in a like sized town, unless one arrives during the hours at which meals are served, one is fortunate to be able to get cold ham, tinned salmon or bread and cheese. One is also impressed by the much greater variety of food and drink obtainable in France at any time.
Arnold Bennett once wrote that if the French Minister of Education produced his watch at a certain time, he would know exactly what was happening, say that geography was being taught, in every school in France. In the same way, the average Englishman knows that between the hours of 12 p.m. and 2 p.m. in all the ordinary hotels in England the luncheon menu will consist of roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, followed by apple pie or milk pudding; or of roast lamb or mutton, followed by apple pie or milk pudding.
The Frenchman's efficiency in cater
(
Photo., courtesy French Railways—National Tourist Office.)
One of the latest streamlined trains in France, passing through Laroche, on its trial run.
Moreover, the French, in fact all the Latin races, seem to have solved the alcohol problem. Everybody drinks, but nobody gets drunk. One sees little children from the age of two to three years upwards, sipping wine in restaurants with their parents. In France, however, the alcohol is generally milder. In England we advertise such things as “strong ale,” and people who do not like alcohol refer to it as strong drink.
A brief reference now to the French trains. The electric train which forms the subject of our illustration, is very popular in France, and is used for comparatively short-distance passenger journeys. It is fast, smooth, and easy-running.
An admirable line of autobuses is run in conjunction with this and other electric train services, enabling passengers if they so desire to visit places off the beaten track. The French railways, like the New Zealand railways, are State-owned, there being no private lines.
New Zealanders visiting England should, if possible, include a visit to France in their itinerary. They would carry back with them recollections of new experiences upon which they would always look back with pleasure and profit.
ByK. A.
)
Railway stamps issued in Germany (two shown on left) and in Honduras (right).
It has been said that over one hundred and thirty different types of locomotives have been illustrated on the postage stamps of the world. Whether these issues were made as Railway commemoratives, for publicity purposes, or to mark International Railway Congresses, the collecting and ultimate annotation of them gives infinite joy to the ardent philatelist. That such a collection appeals not only to collectors is evidenced by the fact that the writer of this article knows of two Australian engine-drivers who express delight in collecting “Railway” stamps.
Ancient and modern locomotives; new railway lines opened; scenes of construction, tunnels, viaducts, bridges, etc.; railway electrification and introduction of diesel engines; railway penetration underground; aerial railways, etc., these are some of the events which are faithfully recorded in the stamp album.
The South African Railways are noted for their excellent service. Travelling amenities are of a particularly high standard. In 1936 South-West Africa saw fit to illustrate one of her typical railway trains. The design also included vignettes of other transport facilities, such as an aeroplane and steamer.
Southern Rhodesia's 1937 “Coronation” stamps—a pretty issue—reproduced a familiar view of the Victoria Falls, with a railway bridge. This design showed portraits of the King and Queen as well.
India's 1937 “Mail Transport” issue has a fine representation of a typical Dominion mail train—in reality an express train. Vastly different is this type of mail transport as compared with the ancient Dak runner, as pictured on another design.
Newfoundland has first-class railway services, and many lines are served with speeding expresses. On the five cents, 1928 “Publicity” issue was depicted an express on its “Across Newfoundland” dash.
A Canadian Pacific Railway train passing through the rich wheat lands of the West can be glimpsed on Canada's 20 cents, 1928 issue.
Although stamps for the province of New Brunswick have ceased to be issued, the 1851 one cent stamp admirably featured (for that period) a typical (now “old-time”) “puffer.”
An equally inartistic effort from U.S.A. in 1869 depicted an “Iron Horse” “smoking” its weary way across the prairie; while a 1898 stamp showed troops guarding an emigrant train bound for the “Wild West.”
The International Railway Congress, held in Egypt in 1933, resulted in the issue of four stamps. Locomotives of different eras were represented, one being the antiquated 1852 model; another of an engine of the 1859 period; another of the 1862, while finally came a powerful 1933 locomotive.
Spain, also, has produced “railway” stamps. The 1930 issues, marking the 11th International Railway Congress at Madrid, showed different views of locomotives. A beautifully artistic effect was created with the 1 cent value, which pictured a train about to enter a tunnel, the photo for the stamp being taken from the inside of the tunnel itself. The 20 cents denomination depicted an electric-train car.
In 1937 two interesting stamps were issued in France in honour of the 13th
Austrian issues of Railway Stamps.
Eritrea, the Italian Colony, managed, in 1930, to indulge in a “railway” issue in her pictorial stamp, this stamp depicting a train, complete with “observation” coach, crossing a railway bridge.
The picturesquely-located and artistically-designed Railway Terminus at Oran, was also featured on a 1930 Algerian stamp.
The Mindouli Viaduct, a fine architectural feature, was the subject of the 1 franc, 1933 Middle Congo stamp, showing a train crossing the viaduct.
Belgium's “Parcel Post” stamps of 1916, showed a railway wheel, with wings attached, enclosed within a laurel wreath. Another design pictured an express, while the same designs with a little variation were employed in the 1920 issue. The “Goliath,” modern engine, with square funnel, and equipped with boiler “guards” graced the 1934 issue. Two stamps representative of the Belgian Railway Centenary made their appearance in 1935. One design picturesquely illustrated the ancient, but effective, “Le Belge,” an engine of humorous appearance, with its tall chimney, and cattle-like carriages. The other stamp advantageously illustrated a speedy streamlined 20th Century diesel locomotive.
Three delightful photogravure studies comprised the Austrian Railway Centenary
Four stamps, in 1935, commemorated the development of a hundred years on the German Railways. The “Eagle,” built by R. Stephenson, in 1835, and which ran between Nuremberg and Furth, in Bavaria, was seen on the 6 pf. value. This tiny engine is now housed in the German Museum. The appearance of speed is positive with the subject of the 12 pf. value. Here was reproduced a train, equipped with smoke deflector, a German invention now used universally; this train was the “Rhinegold Express,” of handsome appearance—with its violet and cream coloration, and black engine with scarlet wheels. The “Flying Hamburger,” famous streamliner, which runs to the fastest schedule in the world, travelling at a speed exceeding 100 miles per hour, between Berlin and Hamburg, was seen on the 25 pf. denomination. The engine is propelled with the aid of four generators driven by two diesel oil-engines. The streamlined train encased in metal from roof to rails, which was pictured on the 40 pf. stamp, has reached a speed of 119 m.p.h.! On the 1937 German Winter Charity stamp, 15 pf. value, may be seen a train ferry, a speedy and convenient form of rail communication between places separated by spaces of water. This representation was of the s.s. Schwerin, an up-to-date vessel, which plies between Warmunde and Gjedser (Danzig), and which has accommodation for a seven coach passenger train.
The Zugspitze Aerial Railway appeared on Austria's 1935 “Air Mail” stamp. This unique railway is worked by cables and used extensively to carry goods to heights inaccessible by ordinary transport.
In 1872, construction upon a tunnel which would eventually pierce Mount St. Gotthard, Switzerland, was begun. Ten years later this mammoth railway undertaking was completed—9 1/4 miles long; it has been cut through eight miles of solid rock. A Swiss issue, of 1932, commemorated the 50th anniversary of this famous tunnel. Louis Favre, directing engineer, J. H. Esche, statesman, who advocated the tunnel, and E. Wetli, chief of the Railway Department, being honoured philatelically.
The tercentenary of the Swedish Post, in 1936, brought forth a fine railway stamp. A trim stream-lined steam locomotive, similar in type to the English “Royal Scot,” was represented “full out,” and stood representative of this branch of Swedish mail transport.
San Marino, Independent Republic, in commemoration of the opening of the new electric railway between San
Railway stamps issued in Southern Rhodesia, Egypt and France.
A 1929 Turkish stamp illustrated a railway girder bridge, which spans the Lizil-Irmak, in Asia Minor, while a squat-looking train can be seen just leaving the structure. Another later issue showed the line passing through the Gorge of Sakaria.
Portrayed on Guatemala's 1922 stamp was a train passing over a viaduct, while the 1930 stamps, marking the inauguration of the electric railway between Guatemala City and Quezaltenayo, showed various scenes along the line, a viaduct, tunnel and station being represented.
The 10 cents, 1898 Honduras stamp has shown a representation of a stamp has shown a representation of a steam engine equipped with effective cow catcher and extra-high funnel, amidst typical mountain setting.
The 1926 stamps from Ecuador, marking the opening of the new railway between Quiot and Esmeraldas, were ordinary stamps, bearing the overprint, and picture of a railway train. A 1928 issue—in fact two—displayed this same device, and were issued to mark the opening of Quito-Cayambe, and the railway opening at Otavalo, respectively.
Brazil could only offer an inartistic illustration of an old “timer,” cow catcher “an'all,” on her 10 r., 1920 stamp, stamp.
“La Callao,” the first railway locomotive to be used in South America, in 1851, was placed upon the 1936 pictorial stamp, from Peru.
Nicargua is noted for the issuance of commemorative stamps, and “railway” commemoratives are to the fore. A set of five stamps, and five “air” stamps, came about in 1932, and illustrated scenes along the new railway line, then completed from San Jorge to San Juan del Sur. The wharf at San Jorge, a station at Rivas, the “filling up” place at El Nacascolo, Rivas station arrival platform, the La Chocolate cutting, and La Cuesta cutting, comprised the designs. Following this was the 1932 Leon-Sauce Railway “opening” stamps. A bridge, a “Halt,” railway station, a cutting, men at work on the line, and a few stations, completed this issue.
A train leaving a tunnel was the subject of Russia's 1922 “Famine Relief” stamps, while a mighty-powerful-looking engine “letting off” steam was represented on the 1932 “Express Delivery” issue. In 1935, however, the first railway stamps to reproduce underground scenes were released by Russia. Four stamps marked the opening of the Moscow Underground Railway—first section. The 5 k., value showed a picture of the tunnel excavation work. The 10 k. showed a section of the roadway, escalator, and underground station. Known as the “Metro,” the 15 k. illustrated one of the thirteen underground stations on this completed section. On the first day of opening 370,000 passengers were carried; 1,500 to each train. The 20 k. denomination pictured a station and several eager “First Day Riders” hurrying to board a waiting train. Another section of this railway is scheduled to appear at the end of 1938, so philatelists, you'd better watch out!
(By
Nellie E. Donovan
As Tiny Toes said the words, “The Magic Island,” Michael in his excitement jumped up from his seat, and the boat rocked alarmingly.
“Sit down!” exclaimed Tiny Toes, “or you will upset the boat. With four of us in it we've got to be very careful.”
The boat glided over tree-tops and houses. Higher and higher they climbed. Stars twinkled overhead and wisps of cloud floated by. Dimples steered the boat carefully by a tiny wheel. Swiftly they glided out to sea. Barbara and Michael began to grow nervous as New Zealand was left far behind, and they sat very still on the seat and held hands.
Far down below the sea looked cold and uninviting. The boat still flew steadily onward. Then suddenly Tiny Toes broke the silence. “Barbara, Michael, come here,” he called.
The children came over to the side of the boat where he was standing. Tiny Toes pointed to the ocean below. “What do you see down there?” he asked.
“Why!” exclaimed Barbara, “It looks like a giant pear!”
“A pear!” laughed Tiny Toes, “Well, I never! That's the Magic Island!”
“Well,” replied Barbara, a little indignant, “even if it is the Magic Island, it looks just as if someone had thrown a pear into the ocean.
And Barbara did not know how near she was to being right.
For in the dim and distant past when the world was very young, the goblins were the bitter enemies of the fairies and elves as they are to-day. In the Palace of the Fairy Queen over the throne there hung a beautiful golden pear. It was a symbol of righteousness and it had hung there as long as the oldest elf or fairy could remember. The goblins had always had a great desire to obtain it for they thought by doing so, the elves and fairies would lose their power and they would be able to rule over them. But in this they were wrong.
One dark night, a daring goblin flew over Elfin Land in a goblin plane, crept into the Palace, stole the golden pear and flew away. But an elfin guard saw him leave the Palace and had hidden at the back of the goblin's plane. There was a great fight in the air between the elf and the goblin. In the fight the goblin fell overboard with the golden pear in his hand. He fell right into the ocean and slowly sank from sight, but the golden pear, floated.
That night a great storm arose and the ocean tossed and turned in its fury. The pear grew and grew into an island, though it still retained its shape. The goblins claimed it as their island, and the elves and fairies let them have it, for they thought that if they did the goblins would become their friends. But the goblins had always hated the elves and fairies, and they were determined to fight them for the supremacy of the Elfin world.
And because a golden pear grew mysteriously into an island, the goblins said it was magic and so it became known as the Magic Island.
“Down below lay the Magic Island.”
“Are we going down?” asked Michael.
“Yes,” answered Tiny Toes.
The boat gave a slight turn and they glided downward.
“Look!” exclaimed Barbara, “The sun is coming up over the sea!”
There, sure enough, coming over the horizon like a great fiery ball was the sun. Higher and higher it came, until it was in the centre of the sky. There it stopped and sent its warm beams onto the island lying in the now sparkling sea.
The boat glided lower. It scraped the top of a tree and landed with a bump on a small green patch of grass.
“Welcome,” said Tiny Toes, “to the Magic Island.”
They all jumped out of the boat. Dimples tied the boat to a tree, so that it would not drift away with the breeze.
“Now,” said Tiny Toes, “Let's sit on this log and think what we are going to do.”
“Is Peter really a prisoner on this island?” asked Michael.
“Yes,” answered Tiny Toes, “somewhere on this island, but where I don't know. That's what we must find out.”
“And is Mr. Wiggins here, too?” asked Barbara.
“That I can't say,” replied Tiny Toes, “what we must do is to find out in what part of the island the goblins live.”
“And then!” asked Michael eagerly.
“We will wait till we come to that,” said Tiny Toes. “What I think we all should do is to sleep for a little while.”
“Oh,” said Michael, “we can't find Peter if we're sleeping; I'm not tired.”
“You'll want a great deal of energy to find Peter, which you won't have if you don't sleep,” said Tiny Toes wisely.
He took out of his pocket some Fairy Sleeping Dust and sprinkled it over the children's heads. In an instant they were yawning. They curled up by the log and fell fast asleep in the warm sun. Dimples and Tiny Toes lay down beside them and were soon asleep, too.
They awoke some two hours after, feeling very refreshed and ready to carry on the search for Peter.
(Rly. Publicity photo.)
A pretty garden in Essex St., Masterton, North Island, New Zealand.
“Now,” said Tiny Toes, when they were fully awake, “we must go. Follow me.”
They set off in single file, Dimples following last. Dimples was much fatter than his brother and consequently could not walk so fast, and as for running, well, at the elfin sports held each year, Dimples always entered and he aways came last. It had happened so often that the elfin officials had him down for the booby prize even before the race was run. But even though he could not run, Dimples was a good-hearted fellow and would only be too ready to help anyone in trouble.
They pushed through the dense bush and crossed over streams. They stopped at one stream and drank long of the cool, clear water. They ate nuts which Tiny Toes picked off the trees as they went along, and after they had eaten one or two nuts, Barbara and Michael found that their hunger was satisfied.
They had not gone far along the track when Tiny Toes stopped. “I can hear music!” he exclaimed excitedly.
They all listened intently. Faintly they could hear the strains of weird goblin music. To the children's ears it did not sound a bit like music, just a collection of terrifying sounds.
“We're on the right track!” said Tiny Toes, “they're not far away!”
“Ooh!” exclaimed Barbara, “I'm so excited, I'm all wobbly inside!”
Tiny Toes pressed on, the children keeping close to him. The music became louder; suddenly Tiny Toes stopped by a clump of bushes.
“Hush!” he whispered, “They're here! Don't make a noise!”
Quietly he pulled the bushes apart and peered through. Barbara and Michael stood on tip-toes and could just see over his shoulder. They saw a green space enclosed by bushes and trees. Dozens of goblins were dancing madly round in a circle. At one end of the green space, three goblins were playing the weird music. Then suddenly the music ceased and the goblins stopped dancing.
“What have they stopped for?” whispered Barbara.
“I don't know,” answered Tiny Toes in puzzled tones.
Then, all unseen to them, little faces peeped out from the leaves of the trees, little bodies wriggled down the branches and keeping in line, crept close to the children.
“I hope they haven't seen us,” whispered Michael.
“Ooh! So do I!” shivered Barbara.
“Perhaps I can find out why they've stopped,” whispered Dimples, “I'll creep through the bushes over there on the left.”
He turned round, then screamed out. “Look! Look!” and pointed with a shaking hand at the advancing line of wriggling bodies.
Tiny Toes, Barbara and Michael turned round quickly.
“Oh! Oh!” exclaimed Barbara, and clung to Michael in fear.
And the goblins crept nearer.
(to be continued
(Photo., John Magurk.)
The crater lake on Mt. Ruapehu (9,175 ft.) North Island, New Zealand.
Perpetrated and Illustrated by
Ken Alexander .If all the words in the English language were shot at you simultaneously they would blow you out of your socks or your mind. If you had to use every one of them once every day you'd probably get radio rabies in short raves and go micro-phoney. If three-fifths of our word-mongery were put in a sack and dumped, you'd still have more than enough to function normally—i.e., to order a drink, explain to your creditors the reason why they are still your creditors, make the usual six o'clock excuse to your wife, and comment on world affairs. To comment on world affairs you need only one word, anyway. In America the one-way word is a national institution. There is practically nothing, from grand larceny to ground alimony that can't be answered both in the affirmative and the nigger-tive with “yeah.” The “huh!” is equally deadly when used in word warfare. Australia also can express a mouthful with “betcher”; but New Zealand's national expletive is a double-barrelled weapon firing “too right!” or “I dunno.”
There is, of course, the grunt which is almost exclusively the defensive weapon of the newspaper-reading husband and the business head pursued for a donation. The grunt is perhaps the most useful of all nature's gifts of self-preservation. It is non-committal yet discouraging; it enables the gruntee to play for time, to gather himself for a pounce if, and when, it becomes desirable. Watch the average husband at the average fireside reading the average paper with the average wife. After she has settled herself into a nest of newspaper with nerve-racking rippings, cracklings, rustlings, and paper-wavings, she clucks once or twice; her husband hunches himself up tortoise-wise, striving to drop his head into his chest in the pathetic hope that she'll forget he's there. Probably he's deep in the ancestral ramifications of a race-horse who has all the traditional qualifications of a winner except the speed; or perhaps he's immersed up to the ears in world affears. His wife gives her paper a stupendous shake, which makes it go off like a salvo of machine guns, and says, “Fancy that.” Then she says “Hm!” and “Tch, tch!” Her better half telescopes into himself until his boot tags tickle his Adam's apple. He says, “Grunt!” It's hardly a “let's get together” kind of remark. In fact it has a distinctly un-Rotary flavour. Not that she holds that against it. After twenty-five years she regards it as almost chatty. She says, “Did you see this dreadful thing in Prague?”
He says, “Wuf!” She proceeds to get all the pages of the paper out of order and to fold it in the usual wifely manner until it looks like a run-over pie. Then she really slips into conversational top gear. She reads aloud all the things he has already read in solemn silence. At intervals he remarks, “Huh,” “Grrr-wuf,” “Gah!” “Brrr,” and so on, while he struggles to keep the blood from turning his brain red. So long as he sticks to the connubial grunt he is reasonably safe. The instinct of self-preservation grows in husbands with the years, and the young benedict who learns early to grunt during the evening newspaper session has a reasonable hope of getting through without having his license endorsed.
But we are all word-starved; we fail to extract from our language the rich juices of meaning—the fruity flavours which hover round the kernels. Taking a few common words at random and putting them through the mangle of definition, what do we find? We find: —
Typiste: A young lady who is filling in time between college and marriage.
Germany: The land of the flee.
Butcher: The only human being who can chop up his legs and still keep his feet. His old school is Porterhouse. However much he chops and changes he never loses his block, for he feels it in his bones that his welfare is at steak.
“The lady who said ‘I will’ and has done so ever since.”
Baker: Not a member of the crust-acean family, although he often has nippers. His children are known as “a baker's dozen.” A baker remains young because he is always in the flour of his youth.
Wife: A lady who said “I will” and has done so ever since.
Dictator: A person who believes that he has a divine message, but has misread the postmark. Dictators make huey while the sun shines. When alive they believe that they bring relief to the masses. When dead they do.
Brain: That part of the body generally used to prevent thought.
Motor Car: A vehicle with five wheels, four of which are practically fool-proof.
Cricket: A radio drama broadcast by the B.B.C. Known as cricket because you get a crick in the neck trying to follow it. In England the most important necessity in cricket is the umbrella. Usually played between England and Australia, but actually played between showers.
For further examples, see the New Oxfraud Distionary compiled and distorted by ignorance.
But the radio is a great stimulant to conversational belligerence. Immediately the radio lifts up its voice someone is bound to say, “Listen to this; this is good.” and then explains why it is good, with variations. One thing leads to another, and sundry items just as good, if not better, are explained in dreadful detail. Competition between the broadcasting board and the domestic reconteur runs high, and the broadcasting boys usually lose by a nose.
Speaking of radio rambles, the question of individual preference is a factor in livening up domiciliary monotony. Father has a weakness for the political pops from 2 O.Gee. Mother is all for the Gardening Notes from 1-I.C. For three years she has been endeavouring to find what will
“Young Waldo is following up that stupendous, colossal, soul-slaughtering drama, ‘The Man with the Green Face’.”
Father sneaks furtively to the radio and tunes into the political arena while mother's attention is diverted by an altercation with Waldo concerning the disappearance of half a steak pudding. But suddenly she halts hostilities and with a cry of “Gardening Notes!” throws herself on the radio. “Bah,” snarls father as the gardening expert's voice comes through with, “my talk to-night is on barber's rash on harebells …”
“If you took more interest in the grounds the place wouldn't look like the hanging gardens of Babel,” she says, and adds a number of pungent postscripts. Myrtle takes advantage of the diversion to dally with Rudy and his Malady Maniacs. Father suddenly shouts, “Turn off that tripe!!!”
Myrtle unleashes the voice of protest. Mother joins forces to rout the ranter; passions run high. Meanwhile Waldo tunes into “The Man with the Verdigris Map” just in time to hear him laugh maniacally whilst he lowers Mervyn Musclebound into the pit of alligators which snap their jaws with a sound like doors slamming. But before the Musclebound's legs are shorn off at the hips, the whole household suddenly turns on Waldo in a united front and snatches his alligators from him. All agree that, however, much they disagree among themselves, men with green faces are not good for growing boys. Waldo kicks up all the mats and goes to bed vowing that he'll go to the dogs as soon as he is old enough. The radio suddenly bursts into “The Old Folks at Home” and the family sinks into a temporary coma.
Such is the power of the spoken word.
By “)
Shibli Bagarag
After eighteen years “The Story of a New Zealand River” (Jane Mander) has been reprinted. It is certainly one of the strongest, if not the strongest New Zealand novel yet penned. As an intensive study of emotions it completely overshadows many modern day novels. As a faithful picture of the New Zealand countryside and of the men, women and manners of the period, it is undoubtedly the finest work of fiction we have.
Briefly the story concerns a full-blooded pioneer who carves a home and fortune out of the wild bush up north. He takes with him there a beautiful wife, but the pair are woefully ill-suited in temperament. The foreman, an ex-doctor, makes the other corner of the eternal triangle. In the background runs the oftentimes sombre waters of the New Zealand river. At times it flows quietly and then at full flood—just like the passions of the two men and woman.
The plot develops boldly, but obviously the book is not one for young people. It is a wonderful story. Whitcombe & Tombs are the publishers.
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“Art in New Zealand's” seventh annual poem competition was won by Miss Helen Brookfield. The entries of J. R. Hervey, Douglas Stewart and Miss Paula Hanger were highly commended. In discussing the competition in the latest issue of the quarterly the editor states that although it unearthed no new talent of real significance there were one or two entries, from writers hitherto not known to him, which showed interesting originality. The winning poem which, as the editor states, is “delicately and poetically handled,” is printed in the issue under notice. On the artistic side in the same number prominence is given in colour and black and white plates to the work of R. N. Field, A.R.C.A., and there is also an appreciation of his work by W. H. Allen.
“Marsden of Maoriland,” by A. H. Reed (A. H. & A. W. Reed, Dunedin) is to my mind one of the most interesting, if not the most interesting of the several books written on the famous missioner. Most of the earlier Marsden books are too much of the dry historical documentary style. In Mr. Reed's book we have an easy running narrative—interesting as a novel. And what a hero to work on, a hero whom the author names “Greatheart.”
There are some fine descriptive passages in the book. The first two chapters, giving a picture of New Zealand before the arrival of Marsden, make an admirable essay complete in itself. Then we come to that historical Christmas of 1814 when Samuel Marsden first set foot in New Zealand to spend the night on the beach with savages who had but a few years earlier killed and eaten the crew and passengers of the “Boyd.” Marsden displayed the same courage when in the years that followed he faced many more dangers. Subsequently he crossed the Tasman seven times, and here are introduced into the story interesting pictures of
A bookplate designed by J. M. Thomasson of Christchurch.
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“Robert Maunsell, LL.D., a New Zealand Pioneer,” by Henry E. R. L. Wily and Herbert Maunsell (A. H. & A. W. Reed) is another important addition to the historical library of this country. Archdeacon Maunsell was evidently a man of character and because of his modesty and reticence little has been known of his work. This hardy pioneer missionary was the seventh son of a prominent Irish family and after a brilliant period at Dublin University became a minister, and was later sent to New Zealand, where he arrived in 1834. The compilers of the work are well qualified to present the life story of this outstanding missioner. Henry Wily lived in the Maunsell country, near the Waikato, all his life, and Herbert Maunsell is the Archdeacon's sole surviving son. From records and letters a most interesting story is told of the hardships and dangers encountered by the missionary and his wife and family. For five years they lived in native huts and when the family did move into a comfortable wooden home the place was burned to the ground and precious manuscripts destroyed. Of particular interest are the letters of the missionary's first wife. They are full of intimate details of the life of the period. The book is almost free from controversial matter, a gratifying feature where early missionary work is concerned. It is illustrated and contains an appreciative foreword from Bishop Sprott. The first edition is limited to 500 signed and numbered copies.
“Harpoons Ahoy,” by Will Lawson (Angus & Robertson, Sydney) reveals the New Zealand poet novelist right in his element, for if anybody ever loved the sea Will Lawson does. This book is written in the style of a novel and yet is largely built on fact.
Most of the stirring happenings related therein were told to the author by the late Captain McKillop, the last of the old-time whalers. Through the art of the author we tread once more the decks of those staunch old whaling vessels and get a full measure of the thrill of the chase. Often we meet danger, sometimes disaster—even to boats being smashed to matchwood by angry whales or men swallowed by the monsters. Strange tales are also told by the hard old sea dogs as they gather round after the chase is over to spin yarns over a tot of rum. No more interesting book has ever been written by the popular Will. “Harpoons Ahoy” should have a big sale in this country.
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Dale Carnegie, who has such a vogue in America these days has written two books of potted biographies, “Little Known Facts About Well-known People,” and “Five Minute Biographies.” Messrs. Angus & Robertson (Sydney) have secured the Australian and New Zealand rights for both volumes. “Little Known Facts” deals with people as far apart as Einstein and Cleopatra on the one hand and Garbo and Ghandi on the other. This cute Yankee writer is always interesting and always picturesque. I am afraid though that some of the more famous subjects from history would be turning over in their graves for all eternity if they saw themselves decked out in the verbal catherine wheels of this Mr. Carnegie. Dumas was “a fat, flashily-dressed giant who went in for girls in a big way,” Einstein “has become as famous as Jack Dempsey”; Cleopatra, when she danced in front of Caesar (“fifty-four and bald-headed”)
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“Death In The Morning,” by Harry Hodge (Angus & Robertson, Sydney) is an Australian thriller with an unusual plot. A strange disease causes the sheep of the Commonwealth to die in their tens of thousands. A professor who has developed a serum to fight the scourage is murdered. A parasitic growth menaces the New South Wales wheat belt and a plant disease expert who sets out to fight the disease, is also murdered. Briefly, these are the ingredients of the plot. Add a dash of romance and humour and there is enough in the novel to pass away a couple of winter evenings.
“Savages In Serge,” by J. G. Hides (Angus & Robertson, Sydney) is an intensely interesting story of Papua and the punitive expeditions and hunting raids of the Papuan Constabulary. The book has a good literary touch, giving us vivid pictures of the wilds of Papua, the character of the native police (“the savages in serge”) and exciting accounts of the hunting and capture of murderous cannibals. We are left with an appreciation of the loyalty, discipline and thoroughness of the coloured constabulary. Jack Hides knows his New Guinea and its natives better possibly than any man living. This, coupled with his love for his job and a fine descriptive pen, has made the book an outstanding one. He is in charge of the patrols in some of the wildest parts of Papua, their duty being to hunt down those natives responsible for bloodthirsty and cannibalistic raids which are described without any beg pardons. The book contains most interesting photographic reproductions.
Note: Since writing the above, word has come through of the death in Australia of Mr. Hides.—“S.B.”
Pinned to Bed by Lumbago: Scarcely Moved for Weeks: Thanks Kruschen for Return to Fitness
Acting on his principle of “when you know a good thing tell your friends about it,” a man who has had very bad lumbago writes as follows:—
“I had suffered from lumbago in my back, and for weeks could scarcely move in bed. I had treatment, but it did not ease the pain very much. A friend said, ‘Why, man, Why not take Kruschen Salts? Take them every morning, and you'll find you will get relief from that awful pain in your back.’ So I have taken them every morning. This is the second bottle I have had, and I am in fit condition for my work again—thanks to the Kruschen. I will surely tell my friends about Kruschen Salts. I will never be without them in my house.”—C.B.
Why is it that lumbago, backache, rheumatism and indigestion all yield so swiftly to Kruschen Salts? What is the secret of Kruschen's effectiveness against the whole army of common complaints?
The secret is an open one. It is revealed in the analysis on the bottle—for physicians and everyone else to see. Six vital mineral salts. That is the secret. The identical six salts that Nature ordains for your bodily well-being. Each of these six salts has an action of its own. Where one cannot penetrate another can—and does. Stomach, liver, kidneys and digestive tract are all benefited and toned up to a top-notch condition of efficiency.
When your whole system starts working like a perfect machine, you will shed your woes like a worn-out garment. You will know the joyous freedom of going from month to month without a single ache or pain.
Kruschen Salts is obtainable at all Chemists and Stores at 2/3 per bottle.
Shibli Listens In.
Beau Shiel's “Caesar of the Skies,” a thrilling story of the life of Sir Charles Kingsford Smith, has sold so well that New Zealand booksellers have been out of supplies for several weeks. A further edition has now arrived from England.
After ten years, “All About Books,” a monthly literary journal published by D. W. Thorpe, Melbourne, has ceased publication.
By
Helen
Timely Notes and Useful Hints.
Letter From Paris.
Rue Lécluse, Paris, June 20th, 1938.
Dear Helen, — It's after midnight but Paris hasn't yet gone home to bed. The tables outside the cafes are still full, and crowds are strolling past in the soft coolness of the summer night. Through the open French windows I can hear the murmur of the traffic on the boulevard at the end of our street. It is intoxicating; perhaps, if I write now, I can convey some of the atmosphere of Paris.
Think of us, in the morning, wakened by the clatter of lorries over the cobbles. We shall listen for a while to the miscellaneous noises below—the scrubbing of the sidewalk in front of each small hotel, the loud and friendly conversation, the squalling of a street singer. Presently will arrive our petit déjeuner, tea (a muslin bag of it suspended in water), rolls and butter. We struggle bravely with the batons, but eat the croissants (small, sweet, curved rolls) to the last crumb.
Sunshine, if we are again lucky, streams between the curtains and calls us out. We hasten, pausing on the front step to greet Madame, who is sure to pop out to farewell us. Perhaps we shall walk along the great boulevards, so wide with their lanes of traffic, their trees, their pavements wide as streets and half filled with the overflow of cafÁs; through side streets, narrower, where we examine small shops, or wander about the great houses, tenements now, whose courtyard walls front the street blankly; among the trees, the lawns, the fountains of the public parks; beside the Seine, perhaps on the south bank where the second-hand book sellers store their wares in boxes on the parapet, and where one is lured on to find the best view of Notre Dame, islanded in the river.
Everywhere we shall observe the perfect planning of this city and the glory of its public buildings, so classical in design. By that time we shall be hungry and footsore, and glad to take a bus to the Place de l'Opéra. A short way from there we know a restaurant where for 13 f. 50 we shall have a four course meal—omelette (always!), a meat dish, a vegetable dish, dessert. (Don't bother pouring wine for me; the “vin inclus” is too sour).
For the afternoon? We will do an excursion perhaps, with a crowd of other tourists and a guide whose English is more amusing than accurate. To-day, for instance, when our party drew up at Fontainebleau we read a notice: “Ouvert tours les jours sauf les lundi”—and to-day was Monday! Our guide was very apologetic, and explained, “We don't know much.” When we laughed, he improved upon it by saying, “We don't know anything.”
It is all fun, but we prefer to find our own way about Paris, using the ordinary conveyances of the people, and blundering along in our school French which the officials are patient enough to listen to and understand. So we went to Versailles on Sunday, by train, with seemingly, half the
But I preferred our trip to St. Germain where, at the edge of the woods for a mile or so, stretches a terrace overlooking Paris. I can imagine no finer vantage point. We walked and wondered, pointing out to each other the well-known places which are so new to us—the Eiffel Tower, Notre Dame, the domes of the Sacré Coeur. Immediately below us we saw the river with its viaduct, the curve of the railway line, the workers in the little gardens on the slopes of the terrace—and felt we were beginning to understand Paris.
To-morrow we may go out to Malmaison and laze by the river, and the day after that on a day trip to Chartres to see the cathedral. But I don't know—whatever appeals to us at the moment.
Of one thing I am sure, I want to come back to Paris again in the autumn, when the parks will be a glory of russet and gold.
I am enclosing postcards, one of the Champ Elysées, the most beautiful street I have seen, and one of the Opera. I would have preferred a view of the interior, which is what you should really see—the grand staircase, the foyers, the long gallery where one promenades between the acts.
There is so much I would like to tell you, about buildings, hotels, restaurants, customs different from ours, dress (particularly dress, as studied on the grand boulevards), that I am in danger of writing a guide-book. But to-morrow is approaching so I must cease my scribblings for to-night.
Yours,
Retta.
Health Notes. The Menace Of Measles.
The popular opinion of measles ranks it as a mild and harmless disease, and mothers are apt to consider that the sooner their children contract the infection the better as they are “bound to have measles.” This is a fallacy and is responsible for all the children of a family being allowed free access to the room in which the first member is discovered to be suffering from measles. The idea probably originated in the fact that in the Middle Ages the disease was so rampant that every child succumbed to it. But this is evidence not of inevitability of infection, but of the extreme infectiousness of measles, and the ease with which it passed from child to child.
It is quite a common occurrence to-day to meet adults who are suffering from the aftermath of measles. The weakness may be in the form of heart disease, kidney trouble, ear or eye trouble, etc. It is a hard price to pay just because the parents were desirous for the child “to take it and have done with it.”
The parts first affected are the delicate lining membranes of the eyes, nose, throat and bronchial tubes, all of which become red and swollen. The patient complains of headache and a pain in the eyes
During this stage it only appears that the child is “off colour,” but in about ten days from the commencement of the infection a blotchy rash appears, and the child has probably infected several other children.
Measles are distinguishable from an ordinary cold by the appearance of bluish white spots on the inside of the lower lip and cheek. These spots appear very early in the illness, and are a guide as to the proper steps to be taken.
At this stage the child should be isolated, and the discharges from eyes, nose and cough should meet with prompt disposal in the fire. Paper handkerchiefs or old linen should be used and promptly burnt, so as to endeavour to confine the outbreak to the one member of the family. A wise precaution is to sterilize cups, plates, etc., used by the patient. Special attention should be given to the eyes by bathing them frequently with a weak solution of boracic acid. The teeth and mouth should also receive their fair share of attention. Careful sponging with warm soapy water soothes the restless little patient, as this helps the skin to act as a cooling surface when the body heat is high.
As an additional precaution for the protection of the eyes, the patient should be kept in a darkened room.
The patient is completely “off his food,” so all he gets are little sips of water to which fruit juice may be added. Internal cleansing is important.
* * *
The Scrapbook.
Lettuce: Cut out the stem and let the stream from the tap disengage those obstinately tight and clinging leaves.
Rub tired or aching feet with warm olive oil, after first bathing them in hot water.
To lengthen the life of silk stockings, soak for half an hour in salted water before wearing.
Vegetables which grow underground—potatoes and so on—keep the lid on; those that grow above the ground, take the lid off. Easy way of remembering which vegetables are cooked with the lid on and which with the lid off.
Don't go hungry when the ‘flu is about. There is much less danger of catching cold when “well fed.”
Hair brushes should be washed in hot water to which a few drops of ammonia have been added. Dip the bristles in and out, but do not allow the water to cover the backs. Rinse in cold water, and wipe the backs, but not the bristles.
To stitch heavy fabrics, such as duck or canvas, rub the hems and seams with soap, and the needle will easily penetrate.
* * *
Furnishing Ideas.
Two-Purpose Furniture:
For the bachelor flat, and for the room of the grown-up son and daughter, many ingenious pieces have been devised. The divan bed, containing two deep drawers, is usually backed by useful adjuncts, e.g., large cupboard with sliding doors on the right, smaller cupboard on the left, bookshelves in the centre.
One may choose a wardrobe and
A sideboard has a top panel that opens down to form a table and reveals shelves.
Dual purpose furniture should be specially planned to suit the room and the interests of the owner.
* * *
Recipes.
One lb. meat (finely chopped), 2 tablespoons breadcrumbs, 1 level teaspoon salt, 1/2 teaspoon pepper, onion to taste (cooked), water or stock to moisten, flaky or puff pastry.
Make the pastry, roll out half inch thick; cut into rounds. Place half in slightly greased patty pans; moisten the edges with water; put some of the meat mixture in each; cover with remaining rounds; with a skewer make a hole in each; brush over with water and a little egg and bake in a quick oven for half an hour.
* * *
Boil until cooked six large potatoes, strain, mash and allow to cool, then add enough self-raising flour to bind them (takes about 1 cup). Mix into firm dough with a little milk and roll out on floured board half an inch thick. Cut into squares.
Take 1 lb. of sausages, cut each sausage in half, place each half in potato square and roll up like sausage roll. Put into baking dish with little fat, and bake in moderate oven for one hour. Serve hot.
* * *
Pork sausages, French toast sandwiches with apricot filling, buttered peas, cottage cheese salad, apple dumplings with hard sauce (butter and sugar whipped up together and flavouring added—brandy is recommended). Coffee.
* * *
Take 1 lb. steak and two kidneys, flour well, and put into pan with salt and pepper and teaspoon of parsley (chopped); cover with water, stew for an hour, then make a crust of suet or dripping, and cover over the pan and cook steadily for an hour. Cut the crust in pieces and put round the steak.
* * *
Make a paste of six ounces flour, two ounces butter or dripping, and half teaspoon baking powder; cut into rounds with a tumbler or cutter, after rolling out thin; fill with mince meat, fold in half-moon, and fry a golden brown.
* * *
Cut some slices of bacon very thin; cut the rinds off closely; egg and breadcrumb each slice. Fry them until crisp and dry; turn the slices several times. Serve with egg or fried bread or alone.
Between slices of French toast put a good layer of apple sauce, sprinkle with cinnamon and serve hot. Good for breakfast.
* * *
Flake a sardine or two (or other fish) and add to scrambled eggs. Doing this makes scrambled eggs with a difference.
Scrambled eggs done with cream are very appetising. Whisk them with a fork or whisk while cooking in the double boiler.
* * *
Two tablespoons butter slightly creamed, one tablespoon chopped parsley, few drops lemon juice.
Mix lemon, parsley and butter together and serve in balls on any fish or vegetable.
Substations on the Wellington Electrification.
The ground equipment of the Johnsonville electrification forms an integral part of the major electrification scheme which will extend to Paekakariki through the Tawa Flat tunnels.
To supply power to the overhead contact wire between Wellington and Johnsonville—8 3/4 miles of contact wire being made alive for the Johnsonville service—two substations are in operation, one at Khandallah just north of the railway station, and the other at Kaiwarra.
Both these substations are breaking down and rectifying stations and draw power at 11,000 v. from the Public Works Dept.'s substation at Khandallah, the feed to Kaiwarra being via the Tawa Flat line.
The electrical energy is received from the Public Works Dept. as alternating current and it is rectified to direct current in the two railway substations, and thence fed through circuit-breakers to the overhead system for propelling the trains. The two substations are designed to operate unattended and a feature known as automatic load control is installed at both places. In simple language automatic load control causes extra rectifier units to be brought into service when the power consumption increases beyond the capacity of the rectifiers actually working at the time. This happens in peak traffic periods, mainly in the mornings and evenings when extra trains are running to convey people to and from their places of employment. As the demand for power decreases with the passing of a peak period, the reserve rectifier units are automatically switched out of use.
In addition to the switching done by the automatic load control a system of supervisory control of all substations is provided, whereby the whole of the Wellington electrification system will be managed from a control room in the railway main substation on Waterloo Quay. In the meantime the operator requires to manage only the Khandallah and Kaiwarra substations, both of which are rectifier substations equipped with automatic load control. Later on, when the whole system is in use there will be rectifier substations at Porirua, Plimmerton, Pukerua and Paekakariki, and a transformer substation at Glenside, all under the supervision of the Wellington operator. All these substations will be unattended and the one at Pukerua will have the automatic load control feature, similar to Khandallah and Kaiwarra.
In the control room at Wellington—which is staffed whenever there are electric trains running, that will be continuously when the whole scheme is in use—is a mimic diagram of the main connections at all of the substations, and corresponding to every circuit breaker is a small key switch on this diagram. The illustration shows the control desk bearing the diagram on the top.
The supervisory system—or “Centrovisory,” as the manufacturers, Messrs. A. Reyrolle, call it—has two functions, (a) It indicates to the operator in the control room the state of all circuit breakers—closed or open. Associated with each circuit breaker on the control diagram is a red and a green lamp and when illuminated the red means “closed” and the green means “open.” If a circuit-breaker at any substation opens or closes through any cause then the diagram immediately shows this. In addition, if the control operator did not cause the change to take place—that is to say, if a circuit breaker opens due to a fault, or is operated by hand, then an audible alarm is sounded and the operator must acknowledge this by depressing a key-switch, which stops the alarm.
The control desk bearing the diagram.
When any additional rectifier units are brought into operation or shut down by the automatic load control the operator receives notice of these changes by the indications of the red and green lights on the mimic diagram and is therefore kept advised of what is going on.
Ample protection is provided whereby any faults, short-circuits or other dangerous conditions which may arise, automatically cause the circuit-breakers concerned to trip, or open, thus cutting off the power and the remote control system in no way qualifies or otherwise affects this feature.
Specially Written for “N.Z. Railways Magazine,” byW. F. .)
Ingram
Due to the initiative of the Railway Department in providing special “Snow Trains,” hundreds of New Zealanders who had never indulged in snow sport are beginning to find new life in the thrills of winter sport at Mt. Cook and the Tongariro National Park. The initiative, too, of the Government Tourist and Publicity Department in securing professional coaches to show New Zealanders how to ski is helping to improve the standard of those who could ski—after a fashion—and has taught hundreds of city dwellers the thrills of racing down a snowy bank at 60 miles per hour. Incidentally, it is not generally known that skis were first used in New Zealand in 1893—and then for the first time in the world! In an editorial in the “Australian and New Zealand Ski Year Book” there is this paragraph:
“We hope that readers will not miss the significance of Mr. Mannering's article in this issue on the use of ski on Mount Cook in the ‘nineties. This was a most extraordinary feat—in its conception no less than its execution, for it must be remembered that this was contemporaneous with the very first use of ski for Alpine purposes anywhere else in the world, a development of which Mr. Mannering and his companions were completely unaware. That they should have used ski on as formidable a virgin climb as Mount Cook then was, shows courage, enterprise and prevision unexcelled in the history of the sport, and New Zealand ski-mountaineers may well be proud to trace their origins back so far and to such a feat.”
The article mentioned was written by Mr. G. E. Mannering, who was accompanied by the late Mr. Marmaduke Dixon on alpine expeditions. Mr. Mannering wrote:
“… . My old mountaineering mate, the late Marmaduke Dixon, and I had experienced several narrow escapes from disaster in this connection, especially on one occasion near the head of Linda Glacier, when crossing a snow bridge. I had crawled over safely and was well situated above the ‘schrund’ with a good hold. Dixon, unfortunately, walked over, instead of crawling, and went through the bridge up to his armpits. I held on for dear life, while the snow broke away in front of Dixon till he arrived at the edge of the ice, where he ultimately got out with the aid of his ice-axe and the pull on the rope.
“This incident was a very close call for both of us, and set us thinking upon some plan to lessen the dangers. We had both been reading Nansen's ‘First Crossing of Greenland,’ and from his descriptions of ‘Skilöbning’ concluded that ‘ski’ would provide a great measure of safety in crossing covered crevasses and questionable snow bridges, as well as lessening the intolerable labour of plunging through soft snow—one of the great bugbears of climbing.
“Dixon, with his customary ingenuity, conceived the idea of utilising the ‘fans’ off a reaper and binder, which are shaped very much like ski and turn up at either end. The blades of these ‘fans’ were above six feet long, but rather narrower than the present-day average ski. I think their width was about three inches. I fancy they were made of hickory. We copied as closely as possible the fastenings given in Nansen's book, but there was a good deal of ‘adaptability’ about Dixon (I have known him to use a pair of white flannel trousers for a chimney in one of our camps in bad weather!)
“We first put them (and ourselves) to the test in November, 1893, after carrying them up to Glacier Dome at some 7,500 feet on the Mount Cook route. On that occasion T. C. Fyfe was with us, and to put him on more even terms with us, Dixon had spent half the night knocking up a third pair of ski from old packing cases at the Ball Hut. We found them an enormous advantage in crossing the Great Plateau and on the lower part of the Linda Glacier. They saved hours of ‘sounding’ for covered crevasses and almost banished the constant anxiety which accompanies such work… .”
The decision of the New Zealand Association Football authorities to send a New Zealand Secondary Schools' representative team on a short tour of Australia is to be commended. With the sport gradually gaining an entry into most of New Zealand's colleges, the authorities are paving the way to the firm establishment of the round ball code in the Dominion. For many years Soccer existed only because of the regular influx of people from the Old Land, but with the abolition of the Immigration policy this supply dwindled and Soccer felt the pinch. But, the sport has continued to progress despite this handicap and, to-day, there are several thousand players who were born and bred in the Dominion. Until the sport finds a place in the Secondary Schools, however, it cannot be said to be on a sound basis. From these schools come most of our good athletes for track and field, and with a gap from the Primary Schools to the search for employment after leaving Secondary Schools there is a tendency for the young fellow to forget all about Soccer. This gap is gradually being closed—and all for the good of the world's most universal field game.
On the evening prior to the date set for the opening of the Third Test between M.C.C. and Australia, I travelled by train from Wellington to Auckland and had the pleasure of listening to the Parliamentary debates. A fellow traveller had a portable wireless set and, above the roar of the train, came through the voices of the Parliamentarians. This traveller was
At the time of writing, New Zealand is privileged to have two former world wrestling champions—Dean Detton and Vincent Lopez—in the Dominion. Lopez is a big game hunter and an enthusiast with the movie camera. Already he has “shot” several hundred feet of New Zealand scenery. He was particularly pleased with the pictures he secured at the Wellington Racing Club's winter meeting, his “shot” of the steeplechasing being most effective. Lopez is also taking scenic films, which he intends to sell to American film companies. During his travels in various lands, Lopez has secured many interesting and unusual “shots,” and more than one of his travelogues have been shewn in New Zealand. A crack pistol shot, he is hoping to have some challenge matches while in New Zealand.
Dean Detton, the first American wrestler to visit New Zealand for the third time, is also a movie camera enthusiast, but his films are not for sale. He is building up a film library and, in that manner, is certain to retain happy memories of the countries he visits.
The New Zealand Rugby League's team concluded a most successful tour of Australia last month and did much to establish the code's standing as a winter sport in New Zealand. Until recently, League football has not been strong outside Auckland, but recent weeks have seen an improvement in Wellington, new teams in Canterbury and a rapid increase in the
The New Zealand team suffered in comparison with the Australian forwards—and the interpretations of several rules had them all at sea—but the back division proved itself equal to anything met in Australia. Jack Hemi, the Maori full-back, who played in seven of the nine games, scored 67 points out of the 182 scored by New Zealand. J. Smith was the only player to take the field in all of the nine matches; he scored 25 points. Of the nine games played, five were won, three lost and one drawn.
Wit and Humour
Englishman: “What a funny pair of socks you've got on, Pat. One's grey and the other's blue.”
Pat: “Yes; I've got another pair exactly the same at home.”
* * *
The dear old soul watched the gaily-clad cowboy dexterously swinging his lasso in the grounds of the circus.
“What a long rope,” she said at last. “What do you use it for?”
“Waal, lady,” the cowboy replied, “when I'm out West on the ranch I use it for catching cows.”
“Catching cows? How very interesting. Tell me, what bait do you use.”
* * *
The streamlined bath tub is now on the market, and here's hoping that someone will equip a cake of soap with four wheel brakes.
* * *
The one thing that always caused an argument between the husband and wife was her dog.
Arriving home one evening he found his wife busily engaged in combing and brushing it.
“Look here, Jane,” he cried, “are you using my comb on that dog?”
“Yes, dear,” his wife returned sweetly, “but you needn't worry, I washed the comb first.”
* * *
Customer (angrily): “Those apples you sold me yesterday had a fishy taste.”
Shopkeeper: “Quite right, madame. They were crab apples.”
* * *
Bailie McTavish: An' so ye leave Glesca on Saturday. What are ye daein' the morrow nicht. Mr. Jarvis: To-morrow—Thursday? I've no engagement. And the next nicht? I'm free then, too. And what will ye be daein' on Saturday? On Saturday, I dine with the Buchanans. Man, that's a peety. I wanted ye to tak' dinner wi' us on Saturday.
Mrs. Brown had been in a bad temper all day. She had soundly rated her husband for an imagined slight, and had scolded the maid. Mr. Brown said sympathetically to the girl: “You and I seem to be in the same unfortunate position this evening, Mary.”
“Not likely!” replied the maid. “I'm giving her notice to-morrow.”
* * *
Said the stout lady to the little boy: “Can I get into the park through this gate?”
“I guess so, lidy. A cart-load of hay just went through.”
* * *
Jack: “What did your wife say when you got home from the Club last night?”
Bill: “She never said a word, but I was going to have my two front teeth out in any case.”
* * *
The shopper was on her way out after leaving her list of groceries to be delivered. Suddenly she turned and said coldly: “Never mind the cranberries, Mr. Dugan. I see the cat is sleeping on them.”
“Bless you, ma'am! She won't mind me waking her up!”
Loader (to short-sighted sportsman): “Old on, Sir, I've a son in the Air Force.”
The newly rich woman was trying to make an impression: “I clean my diamonds with ammonia, my rubies with Bordeaux wine, my emeralds with Danzig brandy, and my sapphires with fresh milk.”
“I don't clean mine,” said the quiet woman sitting next to her; “when mine get dirty, I just throw them away.”
* * *
A man walked into a shop and asked for a pair of boots. The assistant, a youth of fourteen, showed him a suitable pair, the price being 16/6. The customer stated that he had only 13/6 with him, and inquired if he could pay that and bring the balance next day. He was told that he could.
After the customer had left, the proprietor reprimanded the assistant for allowing the man to take the boots, saying they would never see him again.
“Oh, but we shall,” replied the youth.
“I wrapped up two boots for the left foot, so he's bound to come back.”
* * *
Would-be Diner: “Waitress, please find out if your colleague from whom I ordered a steak some time ago is still employed here?”
Variety in Brief
Tributes to Railway Staff.
At the conclusion, on 29th June, of the inquiry into the Railway accident at Ratana, on 26th March, both counsel made complimentary references to the work of the staff. Mr. G. G. G. Watson (counsel for the E.F.C.A.) said that, speaking from a long experience, he could conscientiously say that he had never experienced secretarial work and recording work of a higher standard. Mr. H. F. O'Leary, K.C. (counsel for the Railways Department) remarked that the capable manner in which the evidence had been typed had saved the inquiry many days of sitting.
Sir Francis Frazer (Chairman of the Board of Enquiry) expressed the Commission's gratitude for the help from counsel, and said that it was fitting that the Commission should have the opportunity of expressing publicly its thanks for the work of the secretary (Mr. J. G. Whetton), and that of the reporters (Misses M. Mawhinney and G. Gunn).
* * *
A Mystery Party.
(Contributed.)
When Mr. W. D. Frazer, of the New Zealand Railways, consented to address a private audience on the scenic beauties of our own country, he left Otira in the belief that he was going to a “buck party” in Fendalton, Christ-church; that is why he did not bring his wife, though he was asked to do so. His modesty was equal to meeting the surprise when he faced an audience of University professors, bankers, financiers and accountants, all married, or nearly all. Mr. Frazer exhibited for two hours over two hundred pictures of superlative beauty. The artistry of the views placed Mr. Frazer in the very forefront as a real exponent of all that is beautiful in New Zealand. His views were in natural colour, and the audience frequently applauded some unbelievably fascinating view. The screening of the Waimakariri River, the frozen waterfalls, the sea of clouds beneath, with Mts. Cook, Elie de Beaumont, and other giants peeping out from the top, were outstanding items. Then came keas, glaciers, icefields, crevasses, and Canon Newton on the peaks, with Archbishop Kelly boating on the mirror called Lake Matheson. The Grahams with their home in the West, the Fox Glacier and its hostel, and Captain Mercer in his ‘plane landing on lone beaches at Bruce Bay or on unexplored strips in the Haast River were full of interest. Then came an unforgettable trip in the “M.V. Gael” to the Dusky, Doubtful, and Milford Sounds—ninety miles from the sea, past sheer precipice, thousand-feet waterfalls, fairy islets, and tranquil waters, with ever the majesty of a ten-thousand foot sentinel of snow for company. That party comprised leading Christchurch men, several of whom saw themselves in action for the first time, and one in particular was amusing as he scrubbed his dentures in a bucket of sea-water. One of the guests afterwards exhibited a moving-picture of incidents in that excursion, showing other beauty which Mr. Frazer had not time to deal with. Of especial interest was a shoal of black fish which sported alongside the “Gael” for some hours.
Mr. Frazer received an ovation at the end of his display. All the guests recognized the artist in the pictures. The explanation of each picture, whether cutting steps past a cornice at 10,000 feet, or sitting on the top of Mt. Tasman looking out over the world and its entrancing beauty, provided the real explanation. Mr. Frazer had been there. That was the significant and interesting side of an absorbing entertainment.
* * *
Some Railway “Howlers.”
The following “howlers,” collected over a period of years, were submitted by a member of the Department's technical staff concerned with the marking of the apprentice examination papers.
“A key is used for joining the cylinder to the motion so it does give more strenth than any other joint.”
“The buttress thread is used on the connecting rod for joining the engine and tender together.”
“All marking off time is illuminated as the jig automatically centres the holes.”
“A rivet is used in the shop for the purpose of acting as a permanent fasting.”
“If an apprentice does not pass in shop or school work he can have his indentials cancelled.”
“If he proves trustworthy and good at his work he signs an aggrement called a Debenture.”
“Loss of life may be caused by the default in the job he has done.”
“Filing flat is one of the secrets of Engineering.”
“The rotary blower or centroficul fan is a set of blades which are set radically on a shaft.”
“If this average is received for three successive years the Diploma comes to you mechanically for the other years. If you fail one year to gain 80% the Diploma is only allowed for the years you passed and then drops off.”
“A pipe is a ring which is very long and obtained in different lengths and sizes.”
“Thy hydraulic riveter is driven by air.”
“The award of the diploma allowance is granted to those who extinguish themselves in their work.”
“An articulated locomotive is one that uses superheated steam.”
“All the materials sent out of the shops goes through the foreman of the Reclaim Shop.”
“He is given the sack and his indentials is cancelled.”