Salient. The Newspaper of Victoria University College. Vol. 19, No. 6. May 31, 1955
At Weir 'Twas the... — Night Before Hellebore
At Weir 'Twas the...
Night Before Hellebore
And all through the House, not a student was creeping, not even a wh ... As it happened you might have found . . . a student if you'd sought low enough, in the basement whore everyone who was anyone, or alternatively sober, was loaded to the scuppers with unidentified engines, also loaded.
Things started to move at nine o'clock or so when Gray's bulletriddled body was dragged out of the Regent Theatre foyer by three amateur gangsters, the murderer being left behind by our intrepid driver "Pretty Boy" Powles, though allowances must be made as it was his first murder. We had to leave the other body (Carver) in the foyer and the crowd were quite disappointed when it began to sell Cappicade.
Another group deployed around the House of Parliament, the vicious faces being hidden by dark raincoats and hats (it was raining), with orders to vaporise the centre of Government and escape over the rooftops. At this point we might deplore the bad taste of the Taranaki type who took the wind out of our sails by doing most of the spadework.
If you'd been interested, though, you might have seen Richard John in nappies and bonnet, brandishing a bottle of guaranteed hygenic milk (you heard us—milk). There was a notice to the effect that owing to shortage of space the Education Department had been forced to appropriate the building for a kindergarten—the most highflautin' kindy of th' whole world. Sucks to the wooden building.
There are other statues—the inspiring and indecent wahine who points perpetually east-nor-east to the long Hawaikii, the far Hawaikii the Hawaikii over the rainbow (you never noticed it you sod and in your own station) was given a little moral uplift (which was subsequently returned to us by a bashful porter) and a still, a small notice on the linger murmured "Gents". Queen Victoria who gets greener every year in Courtenay Place was too verdigreasy to climb and we regretfully left the old dear to her oxides.
Meanwhile. Mr. Perry and Mr. Elmes had a sweaty time getting a 12' x 6' notice and one Wendy June up six flights of scaffolding on the back end of the ... ah . ., Civic Hall. It read:
and was still there at 7 a.m. Unfortunately the ropes were loosened by the wind and rain and it didn't last beyond 7.30. Hard luck. Down at a low dive called the Majestic a hooligan, clad chiefly in cast off socks, called Jabie Bathgat collided with a tough, pneumatic Polak called Sinclairnowski. There was a quick Hurry of lists, a burst of blood-vessels, a Hash of steel and the thinner man lay writhing on the pavement. The other spat, picked up his knife, and went away. What would you have done?
The evening was just about over when a couple of girls were discovered making off with a sign which happens to be the only one advertising the House. They were introduced to our showering facilities; from what your correspondents gather they were dried in the House. What do you think?
The honours go to the valiant group who attracted the attention of their home-town paper—quoting from the "Wangnnui Chronicle" if they still print it—"Seizing on the topicality of the Police Force debate, students adorned Police Headquarters in Wellington with a sign reading 'Under new management. Business as usual.'" A good underhand Job carried out in good small hours.
At four o'clock the last activities were carried out with about 30 borrowed storm lamps which were festooned about certain girls hostels. To matrons who had to remove the Dental Hostel jobs from the balconies amid hoots of healthy girlish laughter we tender our apologies for what they are worth. We understand the Taj Mahal gloried in a brief association with the Salvation Army—we hope they salvaged what they wanted.
The Procession That Didn't
We had a private one of our own called "The Royal Commission into Wellington Sanitation" which wound its dignified and not unacknowledged way through the early morning crowds (?) Dons and bishops, [unclear: an] bassadors and judges, mayor and councillors and an unexpected object from under the sycamore tree were there, but pray God and the Met. Department we have procesh next year. The whole day from dawn, floats and all, was weighed down—waterlogged: