These three quotations are taken at random from a huge pile of letters which were being eyed with some perturbation by the circulation clerk in the “Railways Magazine” office.

It is an interesting story.

Do the general public realise the queer uncertain feeling that takes possession of anyone performing before the “mike?” Of course we can remember that famous opening in New Zealand “This is Bernard Shaw talking to the Universe,” but the modest New Zealander in the studio hardly feels that confidence. As the neat studio clock ticks on, and the utter stillness of the room bears in upon you, there rise little flocks of doubts. You cannot tell whether there are five really hearing you (and all disliking it) or five thousand, all adoring the show. Devising some test which will be conclusive has baffled the radio entrepreneurs from the beginning, but there are ways of getting some sort of certitude. Of course, the proven rules of entertainment values apply to radio programmes; the public want to be entertained. Anything that looks like forcing culture willy nilly into the evening's brightness is certain to result in wasting sweetness on the broadcast air. But it is obviously rather difficult to know whether the audience has turned the knob in bored fashion, or whether the show is being applauded. The Publicity Department of the New Zealand Railways, however, has lately learned some interesting news. The Department has been running for many weeks a programme of radio entertainment from IZB Auckland. It consists of a mixture of song and story, the singers are the best that New Zealand has, the songs are jolly but high class, and the characters are New Zealanders in the “dinkum” sense. There is a wise old Irish tablet porter, there are three camping New Zealanders close by, a pretty schoolmistress and her friend sundry well-known characters living in Kiwi Flat and the scene is mostly laid in the social hall attached to the Wai-kikamukau wayside station.

It rather differed in type from the

(Photo., J. T. White.)
The Buller Gorge from the Cascade Coal Bins, South Island, New Zealand.

general run of advertising programmes. The humour, even the ironic philosophy of the genial Irishman, was of local character, and the whole thing smacks of tussock and fern, the A.B. engine, and the manuka slope.

However, any doubts as to whether the programmes were being heard by our fellow countrymen, or whether they were being enjoyed, were dispelled this month.

In passing, the announcer mentioned in a talk as to the merits of the Magazine, and announcing a verse competition, that if anyone among the listeners, had not made the acquaintance of the best of New Zealand's national monthlies, a line to the Editor, Mentioning the Programme, would free copy.

Then the deluge started. By Friday morning (the broadcast was on Wednesday evening), the full spate of the stream of letters reached the office. They did not come in dozens but in scores and hundreds.

The addresses represented a glossary of the Auckland Province, and strays arrived from Petone and other southern localities, and even from places in the South Island.

Readers should enjoy the embarrassment in the Magazine department, for as a rule, all available copies have been placed within days from publication date.

The wide range of the sources of the letters gives a fascinating vista of the magic, the power and the meaning of the radio.

Here are some addresses taken at random from the huge pile: “R.M.D.” Patumohoe, c/o Post Office, Waimauku, R.N.Z.A.F. Base, Auckland, Bon Accord Harbour, Waiau Pa via Patumahoe, Oratia, Woodhill, Te Kohanga via Tukau, Kaukapakapa ….

It is splendid romance; it is a miracle of the fashioning of modern achievement; it is the highest poetry. It is beyond the conjuring of the highest form of imagination to visualise that panorama of listeners who hear the starting bell, the guard's whistle and the Choo Choo of the train as the programme starts. They are in small rooms and large rooms, in cosy suburban “dens,” and bare outback sitting rooms, in hillside huts, luxurious homestead billiard rooms, and city mansions.

It was just a little surprising to find that so many of our own people did not know the “Railways Magazine” but it would seem that a salutary method has been discovered of curing that disability and, incidentally, contributing to the enjoyment of a new page 18 host of readers. The programme “team” is, of course, on top of the world. They have worked hard and cheerily and it is heartwarming for them to find that Kiwi Flat is known, that the songs and choruses are enjoyed, and that the humour of the conversations is remembered. One writer encloses an ingenious set of verses on his search for “Waikikamukau,” showing a detailed knowledge of dozens of subtle bits. Others mention Tom and Harry, and, altogether it is all good reading.

The programmes will be continued. Their contents bill will, of course, change and any amount of delicious humour and new bright songs will enliven the entertainment.

Congratulations are extended to IZB for, unless the rest of the evening's entertainment attracted attention from hosts of listeners, the Railways programme would be rather lonely.

The Romance of Transport Programme will be on the air at 8.30 in the evening on Wednesdays from IZB and at 7.30 p.m. on Mondays from 2ZB.

It is announced by the well known “Bell, Whistle and Choo Choo,” and is described as the “Fellowship Programme of the New Zealand Railways, Your Railways.”

It tries to be an examplar of the surpassing feeling of brotherhood that pervades the largest industrial under taking in the Dominion. It will have jusjpgied its existence if it gives listeners a gleam of vision of the splendid enthusiasm for the service of the community which exists in all ranks of this great army of our fellow countrymen.