The New Zealand Railways Magazine, Volume 10, Issue 7 (October 1, 1935)
[section]
Our New Zealand literary world is enthusiastic over the fact that New Zealand Authors’ Week is to eventuate early next year. It has been so solidly organised that it looks like being an annual affair. The early efforts are already apparent in the daily Press, the reference to New Zealand literary matters occupying a fair share of space. The Wellington “Evening Post,” ever ready to assist a deserving object, has given prominence to a most interesting controversy. That keen literary enthusiast and brilliant writer, O. N. Gillespie, has been appointed organiser for the week.
* * *
In addition to his having established a world-wide reputation as a writer, Hector Bolitho naively confesses to two other accomplishments. In his fascinating book, “Older People,” which has just been published, he admits of the secret vice of blowing bubbles. I must confess to a mutual failing in this respect. I get a rare thrill out of creating and watching those delicate spherical shapes dropping from my clay pipe. The finest effects are secured by leaning from the window of an upper storey and watching the coruscating bubbles float to the ground. Under such circumstances, however, blowing bubbles is not a secret vice. Before many bubbles are blown, one inevitably discovers a small audience of devouring eyes furtively watching from adjacent vantage points, I say furtive, for the adult mind strangely regards such “childish” pastimes with counterfeit derision.
Hector, therefore, is charming for he has never “growed up.”
His other accomplishment is born of practice and skill, for, after all, anybody can blow bubbles. Hector can play faultlessly, and with feeling, “Home, Sweet Home,” with his nose on the piano. He describes in his book how he performed the feat in the presence of a distinguished company which included the late Sir Edward Elgar. I always thought Hector had an unusual, yet, not unattractive, nose.
Mr. F. W. Reed, the world-famous Dumas authority, who lives in Whangarei, was recently the inspiration of an interesting event in the northern township, in the staging of “The Prophecy of Cazotte,” a costume drama of the French Revolution. It was written and produced by Mr. Reed.
* * *
This “Bracken Annual” is most interesting. Among the distinguished contributors were Sir Robert Stout, Sir James Carroll, Edward Tregear, the Hon. Pember Reeves, Arthur Adams—all gone now, but the last mentioned. The Annual must have been a payable proposition because it was well lined with advertisements. Government Departments being well represented.
* * *
A thought after the sale: Why do some people commit the sacrilege of mutilating a book by cutting the page on which was inscribed the name of the previous owner. When I die I hope to have performed enough charitable acts to secure permission to return from the other world and be present at the sale of my library, proud in the knowledge that those who buy my books, will find no marauding hand tearing out the evidence of my previous proud ownership. This is where a bookplate is a delight—the symbol of ownership on the inside front cover that may be overlaid, if the new owner wishes, with his own plate.
* * *
From time to time I have inquiries from young artists as to the best method of developing their talent. Undoubtedly the correspondence art school is a great help, although there is a suspicion that in the past one or two may have shown a greater regard for fees than for their pupils. Always a good test is the period over which such institutions have managed to exist. If not run on sound helpful lines, such institutions will discover only too soon that new pupils are difficult to sign up. In the sphere of commercial art I have always understood that The Art Training Institute, Melbourne, is run on sound lines—certainly it has been going for a number of years. A good rule always is for the art student to send for the prospectus of the school concerned and judge from its contents, whether or not to go ahead and take up a postal course.
page 55The sole survivor among old-time digger magazines in New Zealand is, I think “Fernleaf,” a monthly magazine edited and published by Mr. Percy Salmon in Auckland. Despite the elapse of years since the War, despite the depression, “Fernleaf” continues to flourish. The August issue runs to fifty-four pages, and apart from the excellence of its literary contents, shows a satisfactory blood test—the advertising is solid and good. I think the secret behind it all is, once more, personality. Percy Salmon knows how to put it over—both as an editor and a space seller.