The Extravaganza

Is the sole function of the Extravaganza the production of a fat credit balance? It would almost seem so. Consider "Kyd" as a horrible example. Can anyone seriously argue that this mixture of vaudeville and musical comedy was in any way a genuine expression of Victoria College life? I think not. There was, it is true, a furtive reference to the College Calendar; otherwise it was apparently felt that any allusion to College affairs was highly indelicate, an obtrusion to be avoided out of sensitive regard for the feelings of the Great Wellington Public (hereinafter known as the G.W.P.). Now, "Spike," is one simple-mindedly optimistic in urging most strongly that the Extravaganza, as a most important part of the Annual Capping Celebrations, should positively reek of Victoria College and its own peculiar interests?

The retort obvious is that the Extravaganza must pay; it must, in fact, be made a financial triumph if that is at all possible. So the G.W.P., from whose reluctant pockets the cash must be extracted, must be given what it wants. But the usual Olympian indifference of the G.W.P. to our affairs is convincing evidence that it does not want to hear about them or be regaled with College jokes it is unable to understand. Hence "Kyd" and its prototypes, all nicely gauged to titillate the popular taste. And we all acquiesce in the flabbiest possible fashion; we simply throw up the sponge and accept the whole thing as normal and inevitable.

I believe there are more than a few students who regard this subordination of the essential purpose of the Extravaganza to Box Office considerations as vicious. Furthermore, I cannot see that this policy is inevitable. Let the mass of the G.W.P. who are uninterested stay at home or go to the Talkies; let the Extravaganza cater for the student body and the minority of the G.W.P. who do take a real interest, and let the whole show be absolutely saturated with the life that is the life of Victoria College. Doubtless, this will mean a production in a smaller hall, in the Concert Chamber, perhaps. The women's ballets will be mercifully impossible—mercifully, because they are never bad enough to be amusing, but always far too bad to be artistically enjoyable. As for the singing, we might with profit revert to a practice of the past. The chorus need not appear on the stage, but can do their job quite adequately from the front rows in the body of the hall.

Such a show would, I am convinced, pay its way. But probably it would not pay well. Yet I seem to recall an obscure classical saw about something or other "magis auro desideranda." And if anyone objects that College life is not rich in sources of amusement, he should take off his blinkers and look again.

Finally, I may say that this letter picks no direct quarrel with those in any way concerned with recent Extravaganzas, since they, clearly, had to accept the conditions they found; but it does attack a widely accepted policy which seems to involve the prostitution of the Extravaganza to the Box Office.

page 53

The Varsity's Reply To The Good Morning Club

There dwelt, once upon a time, in a village called Wellington, a man who bore the name of Adbul Abdul Rustle. He was a good, bright lad, and of no mean intellect.

One night, sitting by the fireside, he said to himself: "You know, Rustle, you are such a bright spot; would this not be a beautiful world if everybody were like you." And the more he thought, the more the idea appealed to him, and again to himself he said: "Now, I Wonder, could I do anything to make the world as much like me as possible?" And thus brooding fell asleep.

He dreamed that an old man came to his side and in his (Abdul's) hand put a small wiggling germ, which had a human face, not unlike his own, indeed. Abdul tightened his fist on it and sunbeams shot from its eyes and fell tinkling on the floor, while at the same time it said (with an upward inflection), "Good morning"—and Abdul awoke.

"It is the idea," he said, and unable to contain himself, he rushed around the valley which was his home, and up a tall hill—called Victoria after a woman—and shouted aloud his dream.

And the nobles and commoners of the town heaped much unlooked for praise upon Abdul's head, and he was happy. The people made him President of the Little Sunbeam Society, while they themselves careered hither and thither, shouting and neighing, "Good Morning" at each other, irrespective of either the climatic or chronological accuracy of their greeting—but they were innanely happy.

However, one day a stranger was observed within the city walls, of exceeding downcast features. When people said, "Good Morning, stranger," he scowled and said, "Bad sass to ye," with a falling inflection.

At last he was hauled before Abdul, Pres. L.S.S. "Stranger," said Abdul, "why are you not a Little Sunbeam?" "O, most sunny President, how easy it is to be happy when one's belly is full and rosy, when good raiment adorns round limbs, and you haven't got a wife and six kids that are hungry. Come to my country and I will show you something—sights which will amaze you."

Abdul went with him to the stranger's land and they walked along streets and saw strange sights on a lovely sunny morning. Along the main streets were seats placed at intervals, and on these seats were printed words which were unbeknown of Abdul—Unemployment, Incurable Sickness, Suppressed Ambition, and Complacency. Also upon the seats were persons one and all of dejected countenance, and coming to the first occupied, Abdul, of habit, gave him a cheery "Good morning," his voice rising all the time like a share in a Brewery venture.

"Ssh," said the stranger when, scowling, the man turned. "Why brag about it; can't you see how it's mocking him."

Like a flash the scales fell from Abdul's eyes. So, thanking the stranger, he went home and doffed the robes of office and the L.S.S. was no more. And, strange to say, nobody said anything.

—Lew.

page 54

The Cafeteria

Sir,—I have heard certain students of this College complaining about the service of the Cafeteria and the quality of the food ultimately received. Now, sir, let me say that the present-day students have not the strong constitutions that were the glory of us students when first I entered the College. You all remember the sad case of the student who, early this year was carried in rigor mortis from the Cafeteria. Now, sir, compare him with myself. That student was a fresher, and suffered little. I have been here 13 years. During those thirteen years I have partaken considerably of College meat and drink, and, looking over my daily diary, I find that to date I have drunk, at the rate of 3 per day, 7,800 cups of tea; at the rate of 5 per day, 13,000 scones; and at varying rates, 2,600 pies, 15,600 slices of bread, 1,300 chocolate biscuits, 700 plates of variously cooked cow, pig, and sheep, 8 plates of fish savoury and 1 plate of cheese savoury (!! quoth the Raven). Now, sir, the outstanding fact is that I am still alive. But that is not all.

From my diary again I find that I have spent during 13 years 2,600 hours in the Cafeteria. This works out to 3 months 2 weeks 0 days and 4 hours. Of this amount I have spent 1,950 hours, or 81 days 6 hours in waiting to be served, and 27 days (of 24 hours) 2 hours in actually eating. Now, sir, the second outstanding fact is that I have succeeded in becoming a Master of Arts. My thesis is proved. It is definitely proved that:—

1.	The time spent in waiting for, and in eating food within the College Cafeteria is not wasted.
2.	That the process of getting degrees is the process of eliminating the unfit.
3.	That the finest testing ground is the Cafeteria.
4.	That the survivors find M.A. a matter of ridiculous ease. Sir, I thank you, and remain,

—Triumphant.

P.S.—I am a member of the Tramping Club and owe my gustatory strength to the inoculatory efforts of Prof. B--- W-----'s stews.

Editorial Notice.

Owing to pressure of space in the week of publication, "The Spike" committee regrets that some contributions could not be inserted. They will, however, appear in the next issue of "Spike."

We shall be pleased to receive original contributions in prose or verse for the next number. The closing date for the receipt of Club Notes and contributions will be September 1st, but we urge contributors to send in material as soon as possible.

Exchanges.

The editor wishes to acknowledge, with thanks, the receipt of the following exchanges. It is regretted that, owing to changes in the editorial staff, the list is not complete:—" The Taranakian," "The Otago Boys' High School Magazine," "Canta," "Peka," "The King's Minstrel," "Craccum," "Wreccum."