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The New Zealand Railways Magazine, Volume 9, Issue 4 (July 2, 1934.)

The Big Noise of Yes-stir-day

The Big Noise of Yes-stir-day.

But where are the bands of our wildwood days, the bands we used to hear throbbing in the distance like the heart of a boiler-factory wrapped in wadding? The bands we pursued for miles and miles, until their muffled palpitations grew to the fascinating frenzy of plumbers at play or Saturday night in the tin mines? The rattle of the kettle drums, the high-hullabaloo of the horns, the blistering blasts of the cornets, the guttural “gumph” of the old Oompah, the “oof oof” of the ougah, the thud of the big drum—like an elephant being beaten with a motor tyre—and the whole harmonious hicockolorum of brass, breath and biff, blended by Bash and spiced with a moiety of military motley.

We long for the “dum dum dum”
of the drum,
For the rat-a-tat-tat
And the “r-r-rum turn tum”
Of the big brass band,
With its music grand,
And its “biff bang crash”
We could understand.
We long for its “r-r-rhan tah rhatitty tan,”
And the big drum-major
In the van.
But none of us old folks understand
What has become of the big brass band.

If Civilisation crumbles and Cash crashes, and Progress passes of a palsy, it will be because Man's soul has been snookered through lack of lilt and a paucity of passionate pandemonium. If the iron enters his soul it will be because the brass has failed to enter his ear.

But we of the old brigade must content ourselves with a repetition of that Latin warning, “nec mora,” which, translated transatlantically, means “give it the air.”

The Broken Melody.

The Broken Melody.

page 36