Gentlemen—A Toast

From March 31 to April 3, several hundred university sportsmen and sportswomen will descend on the wolf in the fold (I mean exactly that) and display a tempting array of athletic and social talent. Such sports as criquet, roeing, baasketball, athletiks, swiming and rifles of some description (I think) are likely to be indulged in. Tournaments are very enjoyable, and as Dunedin has a reputation to uphold in this department, a classic tournament can be expected.

Now, Dunedin—as you know—is reputedly the only university city in New Zealand and I'm inclined to think that perhaps it could well be.

Consider Victoria, a junketed mess of bricks, concrete and decaying sandstone, plunging madly up and down precipices, clinging desperately to the rotten rock hills of a senseless city, and what have we? No. Consider Christ-church. A meandering mass of quads and cloisters, a congerie of architectural musings, spattered along characterless urban streets and buried in a perpetual mist which enshrouds sodden parklands and melts disconcertingly into a nightmare of museums, colleges and universities.

Auckland! No. Just a polygastric, egotistic, nonentity.

Ah now, Dunedin. Here indeed are the Elysian fields, and, so to speak, the Mt. Olympus. Neglect for a moment the Students' Union, the physiotherapy school, the hospitals, the home-science school and a couple of others and let us concentrate on what remains. A university—aye, a real university. Learning simply plunges at you from the old stone buildings picturesquely bordering the weed-choked, muck-filled Leith. Such an atmosphere of old-world scholarship as one would associate with Oxford or Cambridge. Now, don't get me wrong I really do like Dunedin. And with that in mind, I present my (copyright) "Maxims for athletes and others."

Part the First—Travel

As this is directed only at Victorians, no responsibility can be accepted for alien students acting upon this article.

Initially, mountains and mountains of work are done by "Condor" McBride and "Dean" Brooker (secretary and chairman of Sports Council respectively) and their many minions. Bookings for ferries and other quaint contrivances have been pencilled in for some months, and considerable organising is done betwixt and between. So the first maxim is:

"Abuse ye not the hard-working tournament organisers when collecting tickets and other jazz."

The other jazz includes such articles as your tournament badges (if Bock and Co. have come through), etc.

Now, travelling by ferry and train can be an enjoyable experience. But go prepared.

Incidentally, the hostelries are not going to be open when we arrive in Christchurch—for we leave well before nine. So a few of the wiser ones will grub up at one of the Colombo Street hash-shops which are generally open at this hour.

About three or four p.m. you arrive at Dunedin. But meanwhile you've collected more literature from the organisers at the other end. At the station, there will be a hell of a shambles with buses to take some unfortunates to Green Island or some such place, or to mustering stations for others where billetors will be greeting them.

Anyway, five or six should see you bedded, or at least housed, somewhere. And you will probably be left wondering what on earth to do now. I hope you can think of something to do. I won't.

Part the Second—Councils

There just might be a meeting on Friday night so delegates will at least have something to do. These councils are important in the structure of N.Z.U. sport so please go, if only to annoy N.Z.U. S.U.

Part the Third—Sport

Just play or compete with a spirit that will impress your opponents and (if any) spectators—so that Victoria can at least carry off the wooden spoon gracefully.

Part the Fourth—Dinners

Sports clubs will arrange dinners. These are magnificent and legitimate sport. You eat in high-class surroundings and thoroughly enjoy yourself. Actual cost is about £1 per head (no charge for bodies) and entertainment value is priceless.

Part the Fifth—Social

Well, Dunedin has always had a reputation for parties and anyone who remembers Winter '59 can certainly vouch for that. Mind you, Tournament is what you want to make it, so meet them half-way and you'll return a happy man (or woman).

For the gentleman student, "The Bowling Green" is probably the pub. "The Captain Cook" is very close to the university. The usual pot-pourri of coffee-bars, etc., will be available.

Allan Hall at the university will doubtless be the scene of some spirited hops. These are excellent for finding ball partners. They're crowded but to a man with initiative or a woman with what it takes, nothing is impossible!

Part the Sixth—Religious

A pilgrimage to the railway embankment at Carisbrook is a must. You can then actually see the engines that make all that noise.

Part the Seventh—General

Southern students are generally found to be very friendly and lovable and speak English quite well. By the way, most of them aro northerners anyway.

Finally, while there, remember that you are present at a University Sports Festival and that you are primarily interested in a good time. So play well on and off the field. The second and greatest maxim is

"Eat, dring and be merry, for we're not all made of marble."

(The allusion is to old Omar, and to a passage in "Swann's Way." Any interested bodies are requested to read the originals before abusing me.)

And with that small but ostentatious flurry of pedantry I wish you a revoltinglv successful tournament.

Dotta, Dayadhvam, Damyata.

—B.P.D.