Heavyweight

In those days Hugh Mackenzie was the heavyweight of our professorial team. It looked easy to score off old Hugh, who was so easy going. But it was necessary to take care. For instance, Brother Ostler, in an effort "to brighten cricket", used sometimes to throw in a silly question. Once, when the question before the class was the history of language, the Professor came to the "Pooh, Pooh" and "Bow Wow" theories. Here was a clear case for intervention. "Please, sir," came the inquiring voice, "how do you spell 'Pooh, Poh'?" Deliberately came the letters, with an addendum: "Mr. Ostler will be able to tell you how to spell 'Bow Wow'". Thus old Hugh.

The question of coat of arms and motto gave rise to much heraldic erudition from the highbrows, but the lowbrows had their turn too. Professor Easterfield, sternly practical (as became a chemist and a miler) rendered our "Sapientia" legend into "Wisdom is to be desider for the sake of more gold", but his smile was a little lopsided. He knew that if a professor could run a mite under four minutes and thirty seconds, his latinity didn't matter—and he could get absolution anyhow. The major criticism, as it happened, came from an anonymous newspaper correspondent who stoutly maintained that "desiderare" incorporated the idea of unattain-ability, i.e., of desiring vainly. Now those in the know, knew that the anonymous gentleman was one P. J. O'Regan, who had several times crashed in matriculation Latin, and his opponent was Rankine Brown, who had many times examined in the same test. Now old Hugh was a friend of O'Regan, and he thought it great fun to bolster up the case against his friend and colleague Rankine Brown. To the onlooker it was a notable encounter. There was, indeed, one unexpected but practical result. It was thought that O'Regan case helped to bring about the change of regulation which enabled a candidate who had passed all his professional law subjects, to count his law passes if he gained his matriculation subsequently. It was thus that O'Regan acquired his qualification to practise, which he did for a number of years with credit to himself and his profession. All issues in this matter have no doubt long been settled amicably in the Elysian fields.

The stories told of Von Zedlitz would fill a book. One of them should never be forgotten, the story of his "dismissal" and the fight of Victoria to save "old Von" from his political enemies. The College Council, to its lasting honour, refused to dismiss him, and it took an act of Parliament to complete the deed of shame. So was enacted a Statute, the Alien Teachers Act, which drove from his post at Victoria perhaps the greatest scholar and teacher that ever entered her doors. Even then the play was not ended, although the scene was changed, and the "last grim joke" was entered in the courts of law and justice. The "N.Z. Times", now mercifully deceased, had published a libel, the last act of a campaign of calumny, and old Von was persuaded to take legal action to protect his name and vindicate his honour. C. P. Skerrett, afterwards Chief Justice, appeared for the plaintiff, and Sir John Findlay defended. In due course Von entered the witness-box and submitted to cross-examination. He had not been naturalized, and the imputation was made that he was a German at heart and a traitor in sympathy. Of course he had not applied for naturalization. He took the somewhat quixotic view that as he had not applied in times of prosperity, he could not in honour use naturalization as a means of saving his skin. He had for family reasons made a decision and now he was faced with the consequences in the witness-box. The crucial question came bluntly: "What do you call that, Mr. Von Zedlitz, if it were not treason, what was it?" Then came the measured answer— "Snobbery, Sir John, snobbery." So simple, so truthful, so perspicient, so unexpected, and the case was ended. Judgment for plaintiff with damages and costs.

It is impossible for any one article or any one memory to contain more than scraps of the wit and wisdom which cluster round the names of the very considerable personalities which flavour a university. Any attempt to impose a censorship is bound to meet a hostile reception at some point in any institution which boasts of freedom of thought or action. Any such attempt is an event of moment and Victoria had at least one. "The Spike," No. 61 (1933) had just been put on sale in the entrance hall, some few copies had been sold, when a member of the College Council, our old friend and first editor, H. H. Ostler, no less, came on the scene. He took action which resulted in the withdrawal and reprinting of No. 61, Two acts of censorship came into the discussion which followed: an earlier one by the Student Executive of "The Student" (a publication of the V.U.C. Free Discussion Club"), and that instigated by Ostler. This is no place to discuss the important questions involved. The Editor of the day, Ian D. Campbell, wrote an editorial in reply, of which all his successors in office may well take heed. I myself have a personal grievance. I wanted two copies and they cost me five shillings a piece. The price doubled in half an hour.