The Ball

So you couldn't come, my dear. How utterly utter. Yes, I went to the Ceremony. Really the most septic bore; but I met John afterwards, my dear, too Haeremai five feet six of male elegance, and the most devastating moustache. And we went to the Ritz for supper, and when we came back the Hall was cleared and Terpsichore, the goddess of dancing, my dear, had stepped on the gas. Some of the staff were there, too distinguished, and the frocks, most mellifluous garments, empyrean-blue and caramel-beige and cinnamon and what not, and worn, my darling, to positively shroud the girlish knee, and, darling, the music was rapturous, and the supper most replenishing, although John had to simply scrum to get through the door. Really too congested. Well, I think John was rather attracted, and we didn't get home till a quarter past four, my darling—too Bohemian.

Undergraduates Supper

MR. gamble forgot that we were not gentlemen, and kindly gave us the use of his tea-rooms. It is to the undying glory of Mr. Priestley, who was as usual among those who figured prominently, that, although he vigorously denied he had ever known a waitress (as he stated when replying to the toast, "The Waitresses"), he unmistakably demonstrated that he would like to have known such a lot of them.

The supper was a success. The Haeremai Club allowed us to hear one or two speeches; the eating was fairly satisfactory; the ladies were delicious and ravished the hearts of those who did not have their backs to them. The toasting ceremonies were performed with heroic gusto; "The King," "Professorial Boad," "Ladies," "Graduates," "Undergraduates," "Absent Friends" were all drunk.

The usual apathetic chorusing, the appreciated items given by Miss Jupp and Mr. Edwards (these alone being worth the 2/6), the steady demolition of food, apparently provided as an afterthought, all helped to fill in an evening that was surprisingly enjoyable.

About 10 p.m. we disbanded, and the enthusiasts repaired to the Gym., there to carry on the festivity with dance and mirth.

page 46

The Procession

On May 9th once again the Procession eclipsed its mediocrity. When, oh when, will our annual participants realise that what they are imitating is not the revelry of Glasgow, Oxford, London, or Heidelburgh, but merely the Tyl Eulenspiegel pranks of a boys' secondary school let loose on a public that mistakes low comedy for student wit? Cannot we "up here on the hill" produce a procession whose stunts are the outcome of keen-witted intellect instead of being the acted-out dominance of the "gut" responding to primitive urges? The time has come for previous and adequate preparation. Cannot the procession be so organised that each stunt is part of a central theme—a processional Extravaganza. "Spike" surely would welcome to its pages any discussion which would help to add a semblance of worthwhile-ness to an otherwise tiresome display that at the present time is accepted by the public with a half-tolerant and half-amused feeling of disappointment.

We (the Beneficiaries of the Procession) were presented with the spectacle of Kay Donne in his Silver Pullet—a most scandalous motorcar, whose age should have prevented it from proclaiming its unashamed indecency to Fay Taylour, who was forced blushingly to flee the Pullet's advances on a motor bike, the eccentricities of which were eclipsed only by those of its rider. Dear me (us), talking about riding, why did Mr. Goodson's horse aim straight for Doherty's, the Tailor? Did the horse-sense of Pegasus lead him to believe that the rider was not wearing Doherty's Seamless Knee-grip Riding Breeches, London Patented?

The Gold Diggers of Broadway was parodied in such a way as to realise the utmost potentialities and the steady ambition of those who rode behind Nightmarch. We marvel that intellect can fly so high and taste can sink so low. We admire only the gusto of the Gold-Diggers.

Lord Bledisloe was so cleverly made up to represent Lord Plurry-slow that, mistaking him for Mark Twain, we said it was Lloyd George.

Mr. Fear, from expert wisdom, so ably coached the Samoan Police Force to look militarealisistically unintelligent that we are now even more convinced that the anthropological knowledge necessary in native administration is to be gained by studying the introspections of these moron children of Mr. Fear's brain.

The popularly inefficient Eastbourne Fire Brigade, appropriately manned by our scientists, pursuing their sulphuretted fun, managed to distinguish itself by spraying a foul and unkind mixture upon the fires of justified wrath that sprang up all along the streets. The Brigade failed to do its duty and extinguish itself.

We understand that other stunts amused us.

After listening to a miserable attempt at speech-making in Post Office Square, during the course of which fiasco the horses and ourselves became highly disgusted, we and the horses bolted for fresh foods and pasture's chew."

page 47

Graduates, 1929-30

The Capping Ceremony

The Official Capping Ceremony was held in the Wellington Town Hall on May 9th. After the Graduates had been duly drafted into their respective flocks, by that supreme drover, Professor Boyd-Wilson, the procession, amid the craning necks and gasps of a thousand fond parents (why fond?), aunts, and similar free-ticketers, slowly wended (appropriate word, "wended") their way to the platform and settled themselves among the cushions thoughtfully provided by a beneficent Professorial Board. It was immediately apparent that the annual gown drive had been a brilliant success and that all the graduates were adequately, if not correctly, clad. The staff, resplendent for the nonce, scrambled to their appointed places, and the ceremony began. We are given to understand that the concatenations which followed were College songs. However, no time was lost in preliminaries, for the clamorous multiude were impatient for the intellectual treat which immediately followed. Mr. Justice Blair had some illuminating things to say about University education, spicing his remarks with some lively anecdotes of an original nature. To those of us who had been privileged to hear His Honour speak in a very similar vein on a previous occasion it was indeed a pleasure to be afforded another opportunity to acquire a surer grasp of the subtle intricacies of his argument. The speaker had our sympathy when it was apparent, from the fact that some of his sallies were anticipated, that he had made a slight miscalculation in assessing the precise level of the lower strata of undergraduate intelligence. After His Honour had concluded his inspiring address, Professor Rankine Brown proceeded to the minor business of conferring the degrees. The first batch of students, after devious wanderings, reached the front of the dais, and after presenting alternately back and front views to the audience, finally compromised by an intermediate stance. Professor Rankine Brown uttered the mystic imprecations over the heads of the awed graduates, and they filed back to their seats. The ceremony closed with the customary mutilation of College songs and a rendering of the National Anthem.