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With the advent of the first year of peace, overseas post-graduate study has been resumed. In view of the publication, by one of our graduates, of an article expressing the idea that for him and his fellows, New Zealand held no future, and the subsequent debate, held at the College, which defeated a motion embracing this argument, it would be well that we seriously consider this matter.
There can be little doubt that New Zealand, as indeed the whole world, is at the crossroads in social development. In the changes which must follow, the University graduate and clear role to play. Certainly, there is much to be gained from study at overseas Universities, but the place for knowledge thus gained to be used is here, and not in the U.S.A or Europe. Apart from the recognized value of such post-graduate studies, we must realize that it is not necessary to live abroad in order to study the economics, technology and society of other countries—there is ample material here from which to gain knowledge which can be of service to the New Zealand community. It is often said that the first desire of the successful French student is to "rush off to France and talk the language—where it's the usual thing." The ability to speak French is, in itself, of no great importance: the important aspect is the greater ability of such a student to interpret the values of French society and culture so that they may be of use to us.
The error of those who prefer to "export their brains" lies, therefore, in emphasizing the wrong aspect of the question. This results largely from the continued isolation of the University from the life of the community. We are beginning to break down that isolation. The establishment of a University Press could be a strong move in this direction: we must see that it is. A re-orientation is at present taking place in the curricula of schools: we must ensure that University curricula also maintain a close relation with the development of society.
The returned serviceman of times regrets the free and easy leave periods spent in this or that cosmopolitan metropolis, and yearns to revisit them: the results would be of doubtful value, and we need students who are interested in more than fleshpots—and there is no doubt that ex-servicemen are among the many who realize this.
Emil Ludwig once questioned Joseph Stalin about the value of the time spent by many exiled revolutionaries in Europe. He was told that there were many who
"were twenty years in Europe, lived somewhere in Charlottenburg or in the Latin Quarter, spent years sitting in cafes and consuming beer, and yet did not study Europe and did not understand Europe."
We have an important contribution to make to the progress of New Zealand, and of the world. If we prefer seclusion, we will, sooner or later, be again forced out on to the streets to defend our existence.
The death of Emeritus Professor
William Horace Gould was born in London in
Perhaps it was this feeling that took him into teaching. For seven years, straight from the primary school (for the Hutt then boasted no secondary school) he served as a pupil-teacher, pursuing his post-primary studies at the same time as he was learning to teach, for this was the only way that Wellington teachers could be trained before the Wellington Teachers' Training College was opened, of which later he became Principal. He never forgot his pupil-teaching experience, often
As son of a highly skilled craftsman he inherited a mechanical ingenuity rare among University teachers. This ingenuity that later entered into his educational thought, was developed by the practical values of a community that placed a premium upon improvisation and handiness. Early in his career it served him in good stead when he went up country to the Pongaroa district to teach school. The story goes that there he was at first compelled to find shelter under a fallen tree, before he secured a tent as the school house, which remained his home until he built, with his own hands, a home for his wife and family. Those who knew him loved him for his enthusiastic capacity to improvise, a zeal that found its most characteristic expression in pottering at his Swiss Family (or was it Heath?) Robinson bach down the Sounds, in making ever more and more dinghys and motor-launches, in acquiring a succession of derelict engines, or in drawing with tireless gusto ingenious and innumerable plans for surprising ventures of first-class engineering magnitude. Here was the essential New Zealander—and here too was a source of his philosophy. He never could bear the narrow book-bound intellectual, nor could he conceive education purely in terms of the literary tradition, and the intellectual skills.
After some seventeen years in the primary service he accepted the position of Director of Education in Tonga and Principal of the Tongan Boys' College. His work in Tonga was important and indeed revolutionary, and his report on problems of Pacific Island education anticipated by many years more enlightened views that are now held about native education.
Shortly after his return to New Zealand he was appointed an Inspector of Schools, the first to be appointed, he often claimed, after the inspectors were placed under the control of the Education Department. Thus began his great colleagueship with F. H. Blakewell, who had singled him out earlier for preferment, and who valued his advice so much that he found it necessary at times to keep him in Wellington by the simple ruse of refusing to appoint him to positions he applied for in such wildernesses as Tawa Flat. Blakewell was an original, and so too was the young Gould. Each relied on the other for moral support and intellectual stimulation, and the influence of the one extended far into the work of the other. Perhaps the most significant event in Professor Gould's life was when "Old Blakey" asked for him as he lay dying.
The best years of his life, and those during which his influence and contribution were most outstanding, were the twenties and early thirties, first as Principal of the Wellington Teachers' Training College, and then as Professor of Education. He expounded a liberal educational philosophy that was consciously felt by his students of the time as a challenge to the growing spirit of authoritarianism that was then typical of the Education Department, and for that matter the profession as a whole. His unique contribution was to coalesce the humane and liberal spirit of the Hadow Reports, and the teachings of Percy Nunn, with his own indigenous philosophy, and to give to a whole generation of teachers a new view of childhood and new aims for their teaching. Only those who were his students or his colleagues during these years understand how important a part he played in preparing teachers, legislators and administrators to seek and to welcome the reforms of the later '30's and of to-day. This is his memorial.
Monsieur Peyrot's wife was querulous; Monsieur Peyrot's wife was unhappy.
"Sydney," she said. "I don't know how you can like this dreadful place. I hate it... I hate it."
Sydney smiled sympathetically and patted her hand, but she refused to be consoled.
"Five years in this place, and fourteen years on the island—I'll go mad... mad!" She clasped both hands on her knees and her face took on its almost permanent expression of soured disgust, which did not change as her husband saunted out onto the verandah, hands in his pockets, glaze over his eyes, and scraping moccasins on his feet. He held out a languid hand to Sydney.
"Bon soir, Sydney," he said, and—for he affected a little English—
"Ze weather is good to-night, eh?"
"Oui, Monsieur." Sydney stood up on the steps and shook hands. Monsieur Peyrot looked round and as his wife occupied the only chair, he called out brusquely:—
"Josette, bring me a chair."
"Oui, papa," Sydney heard from within, and then Josette, Monsieur Peyrot's daughter, appeared, carrying a brown, wicker-work chair. She smiled a greeting to Sydney and came forward to shake hands, languidly, like her father. Then she sat down beside him on the step. Her scanty form was dressed in a light blue frock which showed up the dark skin she inherited from her father. She had large and dark brown eyes, a pimply skin and oily, fuzzed hair, but she was not unattractive and she was the reverse of shy.
"Ah, this place," continued Madame Peyrot, and went no further, closing her lips over her pointed teeth in emphatic punctuation. This was the way she always greeted Sydney—this was her attitude to the world. "All I do is have children." True, she had had eleven children, eight surviving, but Sydney had seldom seen her working.
Monsieur stared at his wife with the appraising glance of a man whom a wife's complaints irritate but do not perturb.
"Josette," he said at length, "Go and bring an aperitif." His daughter made a little moue of annoyance, for it was obvious that he had already drunk heavily. Giving Sydney a quick touch on the hand in passing, she went into the house.
At that time of the evening the verandah was the pleasantest place in the village. Festoons of bignonia, in bright orange clusters fell over the railing and trailed in the bare, uncared-for garden. There was no wind (there never was, thought Sydney) and no stir from the tall, Caledonian pine growing out from one corner of the garden. Below was the road up and down which the people of the village promenaded, mothers and daughters, mostly, taking a leisurely stroll before the evening meal.
"Here it is, papa," Josette gave the tray containing a bottle of rum and three, small, greenish, crystal glasses to her father, and went back for a table, which she planted on the verandah.
"You'll take a drop, Sydney?" asked Monsieur Peyrot, he poured it out, with none too steady a hand, into two glasses. "And you, ma femme?" he asked ironically.
"Yes, give me some," she said carelessly, "It's all there is to do—drink, drink, drink."
"Better to leave that to me," said he, taunting her with the fact that he drank to excess. Sydney half expected an explosion, but she retained her calm, contenting herself with a dagger of silent scorn. Peyrot turned to Sydney with a wry laugh: "Drink," he said, holding up his glass—"The Saviour of mankind, the opiate of his troubles—which can release a man even from his—wife!" And he drank the rum at a gulp. Sydney smiled and sipped his glass slowly, his eyes on the road.
There girls were walking towards them, with a brazen nonchalance which was a caricature rather than a pose. Two had their feet bare, padding along. This couple wore plain, shapless dresses, which were badly soiled. Their hair lay upon their shoulders in scraggly wefts. The third, older than these, had more pretence: she wore old, white sandals with a red skirt and a rough blouse. Her blonde hair was brushed and parted impudently on one side. As the trio passed the gate they stared up at the people on the verandah. The youngest saw Sydney and turned quickly to her companions; they all cried: "Bon soir, M'sieur Sydney," and walked on giggling,
Sydney waved, and called "Good evening," back rather embarrassed at his acquaintances. Madame turned to him with a supercilious glance:
"You know the Tiran girls, then?" Sydney nodded:
"Un peu," he said.
He noticed that Josette wore a sneer, her face reflecting her mother's, who went on:
"That's what we have to put up with—girls like that. It's scandal! Josette, didn't one
of them—the big lump—have a child last year?"
"Oui, Maman—but she took it down to Noumea and it died." Her laugh sounded clear across the space in front of the verandah, where the air was heavy and dark with the swift onrush of the night. Her knee touched Sydney's hand and she held it there looking up at him coquettishly. Monsieur Peyrot became restless and shifted back his chair.
"Eh, bien," he said, "A table! Is everything ready?" he asked his wife; she seemed not to have heard, and then said to Josette, "Go and see if Marianne has laid the table properly."
Josette skipped inside and called: "Yes, Maman. It's all ready."
"Then we will eat," said Monsieur and lifted himself wearily out of his chair. Josette appeared on the verandah, listening. A jeep went by, a hand waving.
"Frankie. Frankie! Cried Josette, "He's coming!"
Sydney watched as the jeep turned into Monsieur Peyrot's gateway and came to a standstill in front of the garage. A tall, good-looking Negro officer in uniform climbed out. Josette rushed down the steps and led him up by the hand. Sydney knew him—he came to Monsieur Peyrot's often, bringing presents, a wireless, glasses, torches, articles which the French were unable to buy.
"'Evening, M'soo," he said, "'Evening, Madame." Sydney shook hands. Monsieur said:
"Just in time, Frankie—we were just sitting down to dinner."
Frankie smiled, showing his white teeth in two bright curves.
They all went into the dining room, Josette talking and laughing gaily. Madame took her place at the head of the table, an inward smile wreathing the fat bulges of her face. While Monsieur Peyrot took the foot. On his left was Frankie, then Josette, then the younger daughter. On his right sat Sydney and the two young boys. Monsieur called out to the Kitchen:
`Marianne, bring in the soup!" and a big Kanaka girl, in an old frock of Madame's carried in a steaming bowl which she placed beside Madame Peyrot. Madame made a little sound of annoyance.
"Marianne, I told you not to put so much bread in it. She's ruined it," she added peevishly and looked hopelessly round the table whilst serving herself. "It's always the same, Sydney. No matter what I tell the servants they do it wrong. I'll go mad—mad!—before I get out of this place."
The Kanaka girl waited dumbly and then passed the soup round the table.
Monsieur explained to Sydney and the negro: "She's just a new girl I got from a native tribe. We had to get rid of Untong, the Javanese girl... ."
"Untong!" exclaimed his wife, casting up the palms of her hands as if in despair. "The girl was incorrigible. Every night... . every night, Sydney, she was out in the streets... . for anyone at all... . my husband saw her one night down by the river with six negroes—six negroes!—" Her voice, never pleasant, had become a shrill scream, although she was articulating every word with an almost physical pleasure as if each syllable was a needle she plunged into the Javanese girl.
"I saw her too... ." Josette, gave a shy giggle, and played at feet with the negro lieutenant, under the table.
"And that's not all, Sydney," Madame went on, lapsing into a dramatic sotto voice. "That's not all... . She started to wear dresses... . most expensive dresses... . better than I've got myself. God alone knows where the money came from... . God alone knows... ." She shook her head in an assumption of weariness and self-negation, and for a moment the table was quiet.
"Marianne, bring les clovisses!"
The brutish kanaka girl, her eyes grey with fear, came in and took the soup plates, leaving a tureen of stewed shell-fish. Their taste was delicious. Sydney ate two platefuls and proceeded to the meat course. The meal ended with fresh pineapple.
"A cup of coffee?" asked Monsieur Peyrot.
"Please, Monsieur," answered the two visitors. Monsieur handed each of them a cigar and they went into the dark-papered sitting room, where Marianne brought the coffee in delightful cups, thin as egg shells. The rest of the family took no coffee but munched at the chocolates that Frankie had brought in a large box. Monsieur lounged back in his chair.
"Some music?" he exclaimed. "Josette, go and get the gramophone."
Josette, who had been sitting next to the negro, skipped away to return with a protable gramophone and a pile of small records. She wound it up and put on a disc. The harsh sounds of a French tango jarred the room, and Monsieur Peyrot jumped up and led Josette to a clear space by the door.
"I'll show you how the French dance," he said: "Not like you English." He hopped around like an animal shaken by electric shocks, holding his daughter close and puffing out cigar smoke. Sydney watched them for a while and then asked Madame Peyrot
The record screeched to its end and Josette changed it for another. This time the negro said: "May I have this dance?" She followed him and danced with her hair brushing his dark face, her hips against his. Peyrot danced with his wife and Sydney found himself winding up the gramophone and watching the other gyrating swiftly across the small space at the end of the room.
"see," commented Monsieur Peyrot, "we French dance differently from you—much quicker. Our blood is quicker than that of the English who are fish.
He smiled as if to himself and his thick lips were drawn back over his tobacco-stained teeth. His smile was much more human and pleasant than his wife's.
"Josette," he said abruptly, "go and get some glasses and something to drink," Josette obeyed. Halfway across the room she turned and said:
"Come on, Frankie, come and help me."
The negro rose obediently and sauntered out after her. Madame Peyrot turned to Sydney.
"He's a very nice chap, Frankie. Monsieur Peyrot has known him a long time."
"I like him, too" replied Sydney.
"He's a dentist." Interrupted Monsieur Peyrot. "Finished his studies and everything." His wife looked at him mistrustfully.
"I suppose he will be staying the night?"
"He can sleep up at Grounier's," answered Peyrot shortly. "Send Josette up to see if they have that spare room ready,"
"Josette," called her mother. Josette came in carrying the tray with glasses and a bottle of anisette. Her hair was a little disheveled and she walked with a spring. "Josette, go up and tell Grounier to get the spare room ready for Frankie."
"Oui, Maman." Sydney saw her glance at the negro lovingly.
"In that case I'll go and lock the jeep for the night," he said, and they went out together.
Sydney played another record and he and Madame danced to it, her portly body wheeling with ease, her face with its creased rolls of fat turned up to his in invitation and derision. Monsieur Peyrot lay in his chair, his eyes closed, puffing at the stump of his cigar. At length he put the stump in the ashtray and announced:
"I'm going to bed."
"It's time I went," said Sydney, although the liquor he had drunk had put life into his veins and he was beginning to feel exuberant. But he knew that once Monsieur Peyrot was abed the party would die. Madame had no gaiety in her makeup.
"'Soir, M'sieur, 'Soir, Madame," and when the negro and Josette retuned he shook hands and left. Josette came with him to the gate, her warm hand in his, and he could smell the oily perfume of her skin and from her lips the faint aroma of the garlic which had flavoured the dinner.
"Goodnight, Sydney. See you to-morrow."
"Goodnight, Josette." She gave his hand a quick pressure and went back to the verandah where the negro was standing.
The road was washed in pools of white light from a lambent moon. The tall pine was like a scar across the face of the sky, blotting out a spear of stars. Sydney walked along slowly gathering his thoughts and sensations. He was at that state of intoxication when everything is alluring. Even the surface of the road seemed soft and for an instant the memorial cross on the corner was like the window in church. He decided not to go to bed but to go and see Paula, the school-teacher. He climbed quickly up the short road to where Paula had a small concrete dwelling with three rooms, one of them a kitchen, next to Grounier's, which in turn was next to Peyrot's. A light shone through the shutters of her little sitting room. He trod softly on the concrete verandah and went under the shutters. He could see nothing through them but the circle of light her lamp cast on the ceiling.
"Paula," he called softly. "Paula... . it's me—Sydney."
He heard her give a little gasp of astonishment, a paper rustled, and her shadow fell through the shutter.
"What do you want, Sydney? At this hour?"
"Nothing much—just a talk for a while—if you'll let me in."
The shadow vanished and he heard the turning of a key. The door opened.
"Come in quick," she whispered. "The Peyrots have a negro sleeping next door tonight."
"I know," he replied. "That's where I've been all evening."
She was dressed in a pink, soft dressing-gown and her long black hair had fallen over her shoulders. She had been reading. On the table under the lamp was a paper and several books. She looked at him quizzically a moment, and said:
"Won't you sit down? Have you had a good evening?"
He sat down in the comfortless armchair with its wooden arm-rests and Paula returned
to her place at the table, turning up the lamp so that she could see his face.
"It's strange my letting you in here at night like this. I shouldn't do it. People will talk... ."
"And if they do?"
She changed the subject quickly as she did often.
"Well—What went on to-night? What's that I smelt on your breath?"
"The usual. Rum and some anisette."
"He's drinking more these days. He's going down-hill, don't you think?"
"Fast."
"And Madame? Just the same?"
"The usual tirade. You should have heard her! The Tiran girls went past before tea. The stupids called out to me. Paula, and there was Madame boiling over beside me. She hasn't much milk o' human kindness, that woman!"
Paula was silent as if listening. Then she said in a matter of fact tones, watching Sydney to observe his reaction:
"If she wants to criticize she doesn't need to go far."
"No" Sydney was mystified.
"I'm not blind—but they seem to be."
"What do you mean, Paula? Don't be so mysterious!"
"Come here and listen. Ssh! Quietly!"
She opened the door so that a thin sliver of moon-lit verandah was visible. From the annexe a few paces away came the sound of sliding feet on gravel and whispering. Then there was a laugh Sydney found unmistakable, and Josette's voice:
"Careful, Frankie, careful. Someone might hear."
"Night after night," Paula whispered.
"Anyone at all." She closed the door and the white pavement and the sounds were gone.
Large volumes with grey paper covers and unpretentious titles printed above official badges, should be recommended to all University students as a type of book worthy of special attention; doubly so when the imprint on the cover is the official badge of Victoria College. These books are often full of startling opinions and strange conclusions, and the latest example, Dr Hare's Report on 'Industrial Relations in New Zealand,' is no exception.
This report is the outcome of the "enlightened generosity' of Mr H. Valder of Hamilton who endowed Victoria College to enable it to establish a temporary Research Fellowship in Social Relations in Industry, the purpose being to secure an investigation into the problems of social and industrial relations more particularly in New Zealand with special reference to the relations of labour and capital to industry with a view to discovering means that will make for harmony in those relations.' Dr hare is the present Research Fellow under this generous endow
Dr Hare begins with a chapter on `The Causes of Industrial Unrest' prefaced with a definition of his subject. Carefully he States that 'Just because the ownership of property and industrial organisation settles how the income of society shall be distributed amongst its members, industrial unrest inevitably takes on wider forms of political doscontent... A distinction must, however, be made between industrial and other forms of social unrest ... A distinction which is largely artificial.' (P. 14.) And upon this artificial distinction Dr Hare builds a whole pyramid of argument that is so unreal and naive that one cannot help thinking, at first, that he is talking with his tongue in his cheek. In a factory, the reasons for spells of overtime, enforced idleness, factory rules, etc., 'may not often be explained; and this may easily give rise to suspicions that their purpose is simply the better exploitation of the worker.' (P.43.) And 'Under the existing social organisation, industrial work is usually carried on for a profit.' (P. 19.) What remarkable insight!
The reasons for discontent amongst the working-class are given at some length. The weakness of the presentation is unimportant; it in in Chapter Two, 'The Remedies.' that Dr Hare shows himself not only naive but quite illogical. Having said that all industry of any size is run for profit, that is, that capitalism is distinguished by the profit motive of its organisation, he proposes that, 'Without goodwill all else must fail. It is primarily, therefore, to methods of encouraging good-will that we must look in seeking a remedy for industrial ills.' (P. 49.) That gentile fascist, Frank Buchman of the Oxford Group, has grounds for an accusation of plagiarism against Dr Hare! However, the good doctor has his own practical applications of 'good-will' to suggest. In a state of full employment workers should 'learn voluntarily to restrict their demands for wage increases.' (P. 51.) And the employer should ensure that he will not be dismissed unless 'Economic conditions so change as to make it impossible to retain his services. Thus, though the right of dismissal must be retained as the ultimate sanction for discipline...' (P. 71.) In substance, the workers must reduce their demands while the capitalists retain full power! No worker, and no student who is interested in changing the present class society, will accept this sort of 'goodwill.' What is this talk of 'the right of dismissal'? In this twentieth century a society already exists where the sources of industrial unrest are forever ended. Dr Hare should study the constitution of the U.S.S.R., particularly Article 118: 'Citizens of the U.S.S.R. have the right to work, that is, are guaranteed the right to employment ... The right to work is ensured by the steady growth of the forces of Soviet Society, the elimination of the possibility of economic crisis, and the abolition of unemployment.' Can Dr Hare imagine the working-class ever accepting a capitalist's 'right of dismissal'?
But one realises as Dr Hare develops his argument that he is not concerned with improving conditions in the interests of the working-class. He accepts capitalism as the inevitable condition of society. In fact, all may be well with the workers of New Zealand: 'It is not possible to say whether or not there are working class families which lack the primary necessities of life.' (P.37.) There are not sufficient statistics. Dr hare should spend an afternoon in Frederick St. or Tui St. or Sages Lane; and he should have afternoon tea with Harry Squires.
But the good doctor has accepted the present system. He sees industrial unrest as an upsetting phenomenon that spoils the smooth running of industry. In particular militant unionism is bad for industry. 'The extent to which strikes are resorted to depends chiefly, though not wholly, upon the strength of unionism amongst the workers.' (P. 47.) 'The attention of unions should be directed far more than it has been to making constructive plans for increasing the efficiency of industry. By these means only can the unions earn the recognition of employers as a force not wholly inimical to their interests, acquire the right of consultation, and thus take part in the development of industry. Constructive activity of this kind would do much in the long run to improve industrial relations.' (P. 322.) Said the ignominious Dr. Ley!
One would fill a book in criticizing Dr Hare's Report as it should be dealt with. The substance of his philosophy is the 'corporate state.' Mussolini's apologists also talked of 'incorporating the unions as part of the productive process.' Read Brady's 'Spirit and Structure of German Fascism' to see how moribund capitalism preaches the 'common interests of workers and employers' and 'Works Councils' and the end of militant, revolutionary activity amongst the working-class.
Dr Hare has his programme for the defence of capitalism in New Zealand, based on
Unions are, in the present circumstances, 'Largely artificial creations of the law.' Dr Hare is worried about the workers who do not wish to belong to unions. He becomes indignant about the present use of union funds to finance labour political organisations. But this talk of industrial democracy and the benefits of his own type of 'unionism' will not deceive the class-conscious, or the student of social change. Dr Hare's Report is of service to none but the capitalist class of New Zealand, irrespective of the doctor's intentions.
No, it is unlikely that militant unionists will support him in advocating university courses for union officials. 'Unfortunately the University Colleges are regarded by the trade union movement with some hostility, and attitude for which there is some justification.' (P. 332.) It is indeed unfortunate. This makes it more than necessary to prove to the workers of New Zealand that, in spite of learned doctors, many students do not accept as inevitable industrial unrest and the decadent inevitable industrial unrest and the decadent capitalist society from which it is inseparable.
Sanderson and I have been discussing our project for some years now. What with the present craze for atoms and anarchy, we have been thinking of shifting from our digs and building for ourselves in a more comfortable quarter. The shortage of materials prevents anything spectacular, you understand, but I know a man who knows a clerk in the Housing Department, and a bottle of Scotch might achieve wonders. Sanderson had lunch with a contractor on Tuesday and he will guarantee the job if we can convince the Union that it is a water-tower for the new suburb. Actually, there are a number of suitable buildings vacant these days. The tenants, chiefly scientist, have moved down closer to the other workers. If the worst came to the worst, we can always rent one of these, though it mightn't have all the amenities.
From the very beginning we have been agreed on the general conception of the building. The first necessity, of course, is that it should be as high as possible. "The higher," as Sanderson says, "the fewer," and that's certainly so. We can't go to the skyscraper size, but a couple of hundred feet on the top of Mt. Victoria should do the trick. There wouldn't be many who could look down on us there, and we'd be well above the rest of the hoi polloi. Sanderson suggested that we would get a nasty bump if we fell off, which is true enough, but one must take certain risks. The overwhelming advantage, to my mind, is the broad view of the city, with no distractions from noisy trams and smelly people. I've always liked a scene with a broad sweep, where you're not diverted by unnecessary detail from the true nature of things. In fact, I'm thinking of installing a telescope, the wrong way round, so as to enclose the whole universe at glance, "macrocosm in the microcosm" as you might say. This, with a microscope for inspecting our navels, and lots of notebooks to write down our introspections, would be just the equipment we need to write our book on the Cosmic Process.
The height of our tower has one serious
Having settled that, the next thing to decide was the shape of the tower. We argued quite a lot shape of the tower. We argued quite a lot about this. I maintained that it must be round, because, as Plato himself said: "It is self-evident that the Archetypal Circle is more rotundly round than any other curve in the Eternal Mind," and our tower must obviously have the most perfectly pure conceivable form, Sanderson cavilled at that, saying it would cost twice as much and he wasn't made of money and anyway a square would be much of money and anyway a square would be much more comfortable. Finally, he gave in, murmuring something about a sphere being the most perfect form of the lot (but then it wouldn't be a tower, would it?)
The material was fixed for us, ab initio. It had to be ivory. Nothing else could give us so pure a colour, so perfect a lustre, such excellent protection from the outside world. I've always liked ivory. It is hard and smooth it doesn't give way to the cruel blows of Fortune. Its whiteness is the garb of purity. the quitessence of light, the synthesis of all colour in one colour, an "omnia in unum," so to speak. Of course, it becomes yellow with age, but that has probably got some deep philosophical significance, although I can't pick it for the moment.
Furniture was a real problem, and I must confess that here we were forced to change our original plans. We were all for ivory furniture, bare ivory floors, and so on, at first, but when we realised how uncomfortable they would be, we weren't so keen. "It's not," I said, "as if we were Yogis, mortifying the flesh by sleeping on beds of nails. What shall we achieve by it? Better the scheme of "mens sana in corpore sono," to look after our animal comforts that our minds may be free tosoar above the realms of mere flesh." We chewed it over for some time, and finally decided on feather mattresses, comfortable armchairs, warm carpets, etc. It is, I'll admit, a difficult moral problem, but on the whole I think we took the right decision. It's impossible for ordinary mortals (and that, after all, is what we are) to have inspired thoughts if they can't sleep properly, or have no comfortable seats or are in danger of catching pneumonia from a cold stone floor. Some mystics, like Buddha and St. Francis, decided the other way, and went the whole hog and tried to forget the body by neglecting it. Well, they certainly achieved something, but that was a long time ago, and we are in a more enlightened age, and there doesn't seem much point in civilisation if we don't take what we can get out of it.
The same argument applied when we came to discussing our new way of life. It would obviously be foolish to deny ourselves those good things to eat and drink which we enjoy so much and which are so good for one's health. Of course, with the war and so on it's rather difficult to get delicacies these days, but a little cash expended in the right direction goes a long way if you know the score, and we have already laid in stocks of tinned foods, choice wines, etc. We are going to employ a housekeeper and cook, who will send up our meals. Talking of housekeepers reminds me of the woman problem. Naturally, neither of us intends to marry. It's so demoralising, so material, to have a woman fussing around, and children chattering and screeching when one is settling the problem of the Universe. One could never get away from them. Yet woman is the complement of man, the antithesis, the contradiction, without which the complete synthesis, the unbiassed, detached, entirety is impossible. To do without them completely would be fatal. We decided to arrange for some young women of our acquaintance, women with whose cultured spirit we were fully en rapport, to come when we needed them to achieve our totality. On this point Sanderson and I were fully in agreement.
Well, as I say, we have now completed our plans and are ready to star. Of course, it's going to cost a lot of money, but then you see Sanderson has got a private income, and my uncle (he was a diamond buyer) has just died and left me a pretty tidy sum. We wouldn't consider it if we weren't fairly comfortably off. After all, it requires some courage to cut oneself off from the world, as we intend, in the honest search after Truth; without means, I should say, the ivory tower would look rather like a dungeon. However, the only thing that really worries us is that we shan't be able to make the building really strong—in the next war they may try dropping atomic bombs and if Wellington... .
To begin with it may be as well to recount a little past history. 'Salient' was published first in
So 'Salient' was born. A deliberate policy was pursued of encouraging students to express their views on national and international affairs. Spain, public health, the elections, Munich, and Von Luckner were but a few of the topics that made front page headlines. Controversy was fostered. Guest editors added variety to the content of the paper. I recollect one occasion when a particular group which held strong views on 'Salient's' policy was invited and actually did produce one issue as it wished.
By this policy it was hoped that students would become more conscious of community and world problems and more fitted to take a positive part in their solution. There was a great need in
Little of either was to be found. Of the six editorial, four dealt with college affairs, one was on world affairs and the other was lifted from another publication. This was rather disappointing, although one editorial 'University Crisis' put a lamentable situation very aptly.
The balance of front page articles was more even. The interviews could have been more like interviews not simply dull official reports. The art of reportage is not an easy one, and those responsible could well take a leaf or two out of the 'Listener's' book. In later issues, the use of blocks on the front page considerably improved the initial appearance of the paper. Nothing will discourage a reader more than a mass of type broken only by an occasional sub-head.
The literary page was a commendable effort. I know how difficult it is to fill this page consistently and full credit is due to the literary staff. Film, stage and book reviews were of a high standard and many of them displayed keen critical ability. Even music was not forgotten and comment appeared at regular intervals—an innovation for 'Salient,' Of the verse 'Odyssey of Being' and 'Cairo Mosque' appealed most, both for content and expression.
College activities were fully reported, and the production of two extras covered the Students Association elections and an Executive crisis, the only two important events of the year. That much maligned pasttime of tramping received more space than any other sport, but I attributed this to the probability that 'Salient' staff as is customary, belonged to the peculiar species who revel in the 'sack' and 'Five Mile.'
There was not a great deal in lighter mood but this is a common failing of past 'Salients' as well, although one year a very successful personal column by an inveterate gossip provided welcome relief. Our College, humorists confine themselves to 'Cappicade' (it would seem with rather dire but not unprecedented results in certain quarters).
Looking back over the issues for the year I am forced to the conclusion that 'Salient' is becoming parochial again, concerned too much with the minutiae of university life. Surely the urgent problems of rehabilitation, peace and reconstruction are important enough to be discussed in a university newspaper. Mere reports of debates are not enough. It would be tragic if this apathetic tendency were to continue, for debates are not enough. It would be tragic if this apathetic tendency were to continue, for students have a part to play in the present and future leadership of the community. Let there be more articles of the calibre of "The Role of the Scientist." Despite this adverse note, it is fortunate that the Students' Association has had a group of obvious enthusiasts to produce 'Salient
A sudden chilly breeze ruffled the black water, the deep black engulfing water, black with night. The lonely figure, huddled on the edge of the pier, stirred and was still again.
Hatchett had told him his work was unsatisfactory. "Not up to standard," he had murmured in apologetic tones. Blast him, why didn't he speak angrily, bitterly, sarcastically, any way but this confiding, almost pitying murmur?
"Not up to standard," he had said. "You know you're lucky to have secured this responsible position so young." Hatchett was right, of course... He was a failure. He had intelligence and ability in a position demanding the power to impress and control his fellow-workers... What did his juniors think of him? Despised him? Certainly. Hated him?
A little movement, less than the effort required to rise from a chair, and the black water would come rushing, swirling, bubbling above his head... . Half an hour and there would be no regrets.
Should he return to work to-morrow, Wednesday and determine that this time he would be more firm—if he had been less considerate, more obstinate from the first—but he had thought all this before many times. Always his Ienience would be interpreted as vacillating, his firmness was thought injustice... . Again there would be that undercurrent of petty annoyance, that defiant obedience. Hatchett coming in disapproving but saying nothing that continued sniping till he would claw his toes in his shoes and clench his fists helplessly. Wednesday to-morrow. Three more days before the week-end. Could he drag through them? And if he did then would come Monday, the first cleat in another turn of the treadmill.
Get another job? He'd thought of this before. He had been in several kinds of employment already and always he was discontented. He was a failure at everything he tried. And now if he left he would have no testimonials, he would be widely known as a failure.
The black water lapped against the pier and further off against the black sides of a ship. He had no living relatives and no friend. Jim Drake—but Jim would not miss him. There was no ethical objection. No more effort than that required to rise from a chair... .
"Fishin'?" The voice was startling. The huddled figure looked up, and saw a young seaman towering above him. "Or writin' poetry? You're late up, mate."
"What's the time?"
"Three o'clock, nearly."
The sailor seemed unhurried, however, for he drew out a pipe and tobacco and lit up, then sat down on the edge of the pier.
"I remember a young chap who used to look into the sea like that and he wrote poetry. Good stuff, too, you could tell what he meant."
"I haven't come to that yet." The natural sociability of the other lifted him above his mist of thought and he looked more closely at the young sailor, softly visible because of a distant wharf-light. There was a silence.
"Looks as though they're getting ready to go," remarked the sailor suddenly, rising and knocking out his pipe on his heel. "Gotta get on board—we're sailing for Brisbane at six. Short crew, this trip, too. Wouldn't like a job?"
A job on a boat. Brisbane. Why not? Why don't people accept suddenly-offered jobs as deckhands on boats going to Brisbane? Because they have parents or friends? He had neither. Because they have comfortable employment and ambition? He had to escape from the office. Because they feared danger, neglect, starvation? He was contemplating suicide.
* * *
As the shoreline, seen for the first time from the detached viewpoint of a departing sailor, receded beyond the churned foam and diverging wake of the boat, the new deckhand thought of Hatchett, the discontented staff, the impudent sour-faced office-boy, entering confining concrete walls. The sun glinted off the sea and gilded the distant narrowing hills. There was also a half-forgotten memory of a pier and black water. People dream when they're drowning, don't they?
But the seagulls and the feathered clouds and the sun-splintered unpainted rail under his hand were real. And even Brisbane was more real now than Hatchett and the office.
And beyond Brisbane? There was the whole world, places whose very names were poetry—Suva, Noumea, San Francisco, Liverpool... .
There is synthesis and there is disintegration. Nine out of the ten entries in this competition may fairly be taken as symptomatic of disintegration—of a point of view from which the human kind appear to be making a poor job of the business of living.
No. 1 is a tale of promiscuous fornication and alcoholic escapism.
No. 2 describes a debauch; its characters, virile fellows are throwing their weight about with a conscious irrationality.
No. 3 though tinged with sentiment nevertheless strives for a fatalism at once despondent and hard boiled.
No. 4 deals with the suicidal woebegoneness of what might be termed a "second rate sensitive mind."
No. 5 ends with the merciless blasting out of existence of its hero though he has gleams of hope at the beginning of the story. The moral here seems to be. 'Even if you have sand and sense you will succumb to a scheme of things in itself senseless.'
No. 6 makes ribald fun of the tendency of a typical modern school of poetry to express self flagrant emotions in disorderly ejaculations.
No. 7 with sardonic intent describes the building of an ivory tower which when completed will prove to be a padded cell.
No. 8 reaches the logical and tenable conclusion that an art and philosophy that do not concern themselves with life as it has to be lived are a forcing bed for fascist phantasies to sprout from.
No. 9 gives a sample of the petty backyard hostilities of a middle class neighbourhood and draws the conclusion that these rills of small minded bitterness combine into a flood tide of antagonism whose outlet is bound to be war.
In such lucid dispassionate pessimism typical of our bedevilled epoch or is it due to a mood that has always been characteristic of adolescent writers. Certainly our own age is as morally and mentally prostrate as any known to history; but certainly also youth in all times has had to endure and to protest against a grown up society which when one gets to know it is found to be no better than it should be.
Perhaps A. Calder Marshall provides a clue to so much negation when he says of the short stroy, "Its brevity is difficult to adapt to social purposes and, used injudiciously, it is liabable to become defeatist." The entries for this competition are most of them very short.
The three entries adjudged best are by writers who have given finish to their efforts.
First: An Evening at Peyrots, by Dorian Saker.
Second: Saturday Night, by Frank Ponton.
Third: Flowers of Love, by J. o. Hagan.
Any one of the first five writers might in the opinion of the judge hope to achieve competence in prose composition given the essential amount of drudging persistence, for prose, as H. L. Mencken grimly insisted is, alas, anything but a careless rapture.
Let me say first that while glad of the chance of looking at these samples of University poetry, I have never been addicted to expressing definitive opinions about literature, and certainly do not claim to be a critic. I feel as Thomas Gray did when he wrote to Mason: "You know I do not love, much less pique myself on criticism, and think even a bad verse as good a thing or better than the best observation that ever was made upon it." Even the germs of creative energy are precious in a world so ridden with mechanism as ours, and the number of poems submitted to "Spike" this year (37) is a heartening sign of life.
My main dissatisfaction with the entries as a whole is that suffer from a prevalent carelessness. They are apt to straggle and sprawl, and some are slipshod both in thought and expression. As a corrective, I should suggest a disciplinary course in the commonly despised Georgians, Flecker for example, or A. E. Housman. A fine English poet of my acquaintance once remarked that he was "a terrible surgeon" with his own poems, and the maxim "When in doubt, cut it out," is a useful one for poets of all ages. A poem must have form, whether traditional or modernist. But first there must be something to say. One gets the impression from several of these poems that the writer, aware of a dreamy, nostalgic, amorous, or world-reform
Now for the entries themselves. While granting that most have some merit and none perhaps is wholly bad, I must point out one or two really incredible lapses. This, for instance, in alove poem:
That is bathos. Or this, in another love poem (apparently serious):
This leaves one speechless, or sniffless, If written in jest it is not funny, and if in earnest it is—excruciatingly so.
M. G. Wilson submitted a batch of eleven poems about beauty, silence, sensations when flying, nostalgia (when overseas) and homecoming, but all are marred by technical weakness and sentimentality.
A. Campbell, in "Stele" and "William Blake," seems to promise something which he does not quite fulfil—the thoughts are vaguely interesting but somehow uncrystallized.
"Anno Hominis I" by Alum Falconer begins well but loses itself in rhetoric:
Maybe, but the poem doesn't arrive. It has a ring of propaganda more than of belief, and while strong belief often produces good poetry, mere propaganda never does.
J. T. Gunn has some effective lines in each of his five pieces, but their tendency to verbal extravagance makes them unconvincing as a whole.
Several translations of French verse by Catherine Crosse strike me as very competently done, but can hardly qualify for a prize.
Of the original work, I find most interesting those by G. H. Datson, Pat Wilson, and W. H. Oliver, all of whom, I think, possess genuine talent. The appeal of G. H. Datson is drily, almost aridly intellectual, but his lines have an astringent sharpness which I like:
Pat Wilson's longish poem "Perfect before Practice" has fluency and refinement of feeling, but falls short of excellence, in my opinion, through being too diffuse, as well as through the regrettable flatness of some of the lines. But there are lines like this too:
And some skilful use has been made of repetition. I should give this poem second place. and first to W. H. Oliver's "Poem in Winter." This is a gravely beautiful poem in which the fit matching of form with subject has achieved something like that inevitability for which the true poet strives. Mr Oliver has a sensitive ear for the values of words, and there is a quietly evocaive quality in his calm rhythms and cadences. Of the thought I shall say nothing, except that it is simple and restrained and refreshingly affirmative. My only criticism of the poem as a whole is that it seems to me somewhat impersonal and oblique, and that here and there Mr Oliver falls into a bad habit of modernism—what I will call the article-epithet-noun habit; as in the first stanza, "The ultimate collapse," "the dark clour," "the close frost." These however, are minor faults in an otherwise fine poem.
The judge for the photographic competition was Mr H. Farmer MacDonald. His general comment was that he would have liked to see fitting titles given the pictures, as they sometimes act as a liaison between the artist and the person who contemplates his picture. At the meeting he remarked that the standard of work had improved since he last judged one of our competitions. He said, however, that considering the entries as a whole he had expected a little more originality of subject and conception in
1st, C. J. Bramley "Spike." Subject well dramatised. Better viewpoint would have separated top of monument from branch of tree.
2nd, Duncanson "Old Devon." Pleasing geometrical arrangement of light and shade. The man against wall is badly placed; he would have been better rounding the corner at foot of ally, in the sun.
3rd, J. M. Ziman—"Upon that Mountain." I think not! Better title would have been "Upon that Shoulder"—where malignant growths inspire pity and frustrate restful contemplation of beauty of distance.
"Fill her up again," said Bill.
"Thanks a lot, boy," I said, marvelling at his hospitality. For as long as I could remember I had been hearing about these generous fishing people, and now I was experiencing their generosity for myself. Thirty years ago my mother and father had spent a holiday at this same place, and my mother had never stopped talking sense. I felt therefore that I had known this place all my life, and as I was feeling mellow my heart warmed towards it. The fullness of my stomach boosted my emotions until I was verging on the sentimental.
I looked philosophically into the communal glass. Reflected in the amber liquid with its hissing foam I saw the ailments of a sick world. The foam settled slowly into the beer, but it lay there dormant ready to hiss forth again at the slightest disturbing drop. I thought it a good symbol, but then I was getting pretty drunk. I looked at the beer in self-satisfaction.
"Here come on, knock it back," said Michael. "We're not here to make friends, we're here to make profits. No pikers in this school."
"Well its your beer. Here's to the girl who lives over the hill..." I drained the glass and handed it back to Sel.
"Another dozen," he reported, dangling and empty bottle upsidedown. Michael and I dragged a sugar bag of beer from the little room behind the freezer, and Sel went ahead efficiently with his self-appointed task of barman. There are some men who gravitate naturally to this job—they seem to be born with a bottle in their hands. Two bottles rather—one to take top off the other. Sal was one of those. He was half Maori, humorous and competent. He was clever, he didn't scintillate, he just talked and bubbled. He talked and bubbled now, joyously alive, in the middle of the carcases of several thousand very dead and disembowelled blue cod.
It was Saturday night and we sat drinking in the freezing shed of this fishing township. There was a dance later and we were just getting in the mood. The freezing shed wasn't the most comfortable place in the world, for it was cold and smelt fishy. But it was an exclusive club and the honour was such that we visitors sat on our fish boxes, froze and got drunk. We'd just had a lesson. There had been a knock on the door.
"Who's that?" Michael had shouted.
"Tom Jones," a muffled voice had shouted back.
"Bugger off," Michael had said, "or we'll throw you over the wharf with half a dozen bottles rammed down your throat—empty ones at that." The voice was silent. He knew the one local policeman was too intelligent to interfere with the crude but effective justice of the fishermen. After cursing filthily for some seconds the voice was heard no more.
"Just a bludger that one," Michael had confided to me. "I think he smells beer a hundred miles off." I realised how privileged I was. I stayed and froze and got drunk.
Michael was the leader of the fishermen. He was tall, dark-skinned and had a flashing smile. In profile he had good features and he was European in his ways and speech. His two-piece suit was well-cut, his open-necked shirt was clean and he was friendly. He was white inside and something of a philosopher. It was an honour to be accepted by him as a friend. He sat there now, laughing and
Michael was a good fisherman and a good sailor. I went out with him one afternoon and to my landsman's eye he handled his boat very sweetly. I looked up at the threatening clouds and I said to him: "How do you navigate if the weather closes in on you?"
"Oh there's a compass in here," he said from the wheelhouse.
I glanced at it. It was an ordinary compass, but very old and dilapidated. The points and degree markings were almost worn off, and it's cracked glass top had been used as an ashtray for some time. It was covered with stained roll-your-own cigarette butts.
"Does it work?" I asked incrudulously.
"Bloody oath," said Michael, adding another butt to the collection. "It's only about ten degrees out."
I looked at him in amazement and respect. I thought of the spotless instruments I had used in the Air Force during the war. I thought of minute adjustments and painfully compiled correction cards. But Michael did not need these things. He had been brought up on the sea, and possessed a homing instinct which had little need of instruments.
I thought of this as I watched him talking and playing his piano accordian. My respect for him was unbounded. Here was a man. He was talking about sharks.
"Do we ever get any sharks down this way?" he said in reply to a visitor's question. "I'll say we do. Sel here and me, we went out after one last year—boy was he a whopper! Straightened our shark hook right out. When we dragged it in, it was like a meat skewer—wasn't it Sel?
"My oath it was boy," said Sel.
"Then there was that one we did catch. He was too heavy to bring aboard, so we towed him home. We got alongside the wharf and set up a block and tackle to drag him up. But he was too heavy for that even, so in the end we had to cut him up down below and bring him up bit by bit. No bull."
No one doubted him. Michael was the sort of man you couldn't doubt.
"Yeah, he was some shark that baby. The biggest damn shark I ever saw. Here—give us another drink, Sel, I'm goddam thirsty."
"Hey," said Bill suddenly, "It's time to go to the bloody dance."
"Gee so it is. Let's have another drink all round and get weaving." I said.
The glass did the solemn rounds again and I left the freezer with Bill. Bill was the only white man in the crowd except the visitors, and he was in charge of the freezer and paid the fishermen for their catches. He was slight, thirtyish and going grey at the temples. He was a good chap but very drunk. We walked down to the local hall together, down past the deserted boarding houses facing the chuckling sea. Then I lost him.
It was a nice hall with a good floor and I enjoyed the dancing. I felt clearer after the cool night breeze, so I danced with Julie. I'd seen Julie at our boarding house—she was the sort of girl you'd notice. About a quarter Maori, she had a compact figure, olive skin and raven black hair. Above all she had brown, mysterious eyes, and she was attractively shy. It was refreshing, for shyness is a lost art. It made me feel a lot better just to dance with her, though we didn't talk much.
The dance was half sophistication, half quiet shyness. The local girls felt their lack of glamour in comparison with the town girls, but they never lacked partners. Their friendliness and quietness was good after the forced sex antagonism of the town girls. To dance with a town girl was a challenge, to dance with a local girl was a trust.
Meanwhile Michael was playing his piano accordian, while Sel was beating it out on the drums. They were both blissfully onconscious of the outraged orchestra, who were arguing loudly with the proprietor of the hall. However a crisis was averted, for Michael and Sel left off in the middle of a dance and went outside for a drink. They were true musicians—they played for themselves, not for a hall full of rhythm chasers.
We left at midnight, Michael and I carrying Bill, who was paralytic as the result of drinking beer and wine.
"Bloody fool," said Michael. "Never could hold his liquor. He's a damn nuisance, but he's a good joker."
We left Bill in the freezing shed with his blue cod for company and walked down to the wharf. It was a wonderful night, a night to mix with alcohol.
"Look at those stars," I said. "They have a magic all of their own."
"Yeah," Michael paused. "It makes you think, don't it? I mean it makes you think of something big. I mean it makes a man feel small... ." He was embarrassed; he had touched the infinite. "Oh hell, you know what I mean."
"I know." There wasn't any more to be said.
A crowd from a boarding house stood on the wharf. They crowded on to a gangplank pointing grotesquely up to the sky. Their bobbing heads were etched against the stars. It was morning and they were singing. Michael accompanied them. I stood there and sang—I didn't think, I just felt and I sang because I had to. Michael played because his fingers were no longer his. The beauty of the night held us spellbound, the music pulsed through the quiet hills.
It was over. We walked back to the freezer and we said nothing.
This year Sir Thomas Hunter, Professor of Philosophy and Principal of the College, Vice-Chancellor of the University of New Zealand, has attained the seventieth year of his age. He came to the College in the year
There are those whose first memories of the new Lecturer of
The University Reform Movement in this Country had its home at Victoria College. In those days there was no Academic Board and there were no internal examinations. Professors Laby, Picken, von Zedlitz and Hunter led the van with Hugh Mackenzie and Rankine Brown steadying the pack. It was a
He went to the New Zealand University Senate in
It is not proposed here to say anything about his term as Chairman of the Professorial Board and Principal of the College. This period is better known and, though it has lasted for more than a quarter of a century, more recent. Neither is it proposed to speak of his service as Chairman of the Board of Governors of Massey College. There are other activities less widely known, but not less distinguished, with which his name may well be linked. His service to the Adult Education Movement over many years has been conspicuous. From the very beginning his help was available to the citizens of Wellington for any educational enterprise. His work in opposition to the periodic onslaughts upon our free, compulsory and secular system of such institutions as the Bible-in-Schools League has been colossal and brilliant. Parliamentary Paper I—13B
In war, service overseas held a small, unreal quality. It was so divorced from the expected that you often felt, at the same time, a total surrender to the present and yet a complete detachment from it. It was this sense of unbelonging which now, so soon after the close of the period, causes you to look back upon those years with astonishment and a secret unease. Then, for many men, life was brutal, primitive and degrading, the days a succession of ugliness and boredom unterrupted only occasionally by activity so febrile that the sharp senses reeled.
Many things were gained by the soldier, but many were his losses too. He lost the gentler way. And absent also was the pain from death come to others. Perhaps it was there with the first shock of the news but an unvoiced gratitude that it was another and not himself, and then the repetition of the event, proved the necessary prophylatic. For a soldier in those early, dark days of the war needed to live, more than any man, in the unbelievable past and the equally impossible future.
At rare moments, a small incident caused a full comprehension of the possible depths of
suffering to flash into a man, and then he was silenced by the intensity of the vision until the bonds of the present again clamped their iron so he might not glimpse too clearly the whole irony-the unintentional results, the jocose cruelty or the barren, double blasphemy.
* * *
The soldier stood in the doorway of the chapel, looking beyond the cemetery to the oval lagoon where the water lay still and warm and blue. Two barges moved languidly, a squadron of the motor torpedo boats were motionless at their shore anchorages and a dozen or more Catalina flying boats lay lopsidedly in dispersal order. The far side of the lagoon ended in a belt of cream sand, edged sharply on the side by the gentle waters and raggedly on the other where the jungle undergrowth introduced the swayed, bare boles of sentinel palms. Beyond the relieving green was the sea again, extending unbroken for miles until the distance-softened sky met and fused with it. A far, slight breeze played mirrors-in the-sun on the sea's surface; the sky was as bright and hard and lonely as the infinity of white upon blue of its base.
He stood motionless in the shade of the chapel for many minutes, as if standing to ease by order with his hands clasped behind his back. He was young, only about twenty or twenty-two, with the body of an athlete-the wide shoulders, deep chest, small waist, flat stomach and flanks and long straight legs. His face was still boyishly smooth, though lined by days of strain and nights of fear, and his eyes were curiously old for his age, or perhaps they were too expressive.
Although his gaze was wandering over the scene he was not examining it consciously, even when he felt the utter dependence of himself compared with the self-sufficiency of his surroundings. And then the loneliness came, flooding through him. It was a social loneliness, a longing for the complementary company of women and for the ordinary pleasures which had once seemed to trite in that distant other world. He had been on too many of these islands and he had lived amongst men for too long. He was tired.
He looked over the rough, unfinished cemetery, glaring whitely under the murderous sun, and felt a loathing for the rows of standardized crosses. Each identical one was at the head of a slight swelling of the ground. Militarily neat, inhumanly neat. He knew some of the graves were make-believe in a sense, for it is not always possible to gather the useless remnants of an explosion, and a burning plane leaves little when it crashes.
In sheer physical distate for the common scene he turned and walked inside the chapel, where the thatched walls and roof shut out the sun making the interior pleasantly dim and giving the illusion of coolness. It was the first time he had been inside and he looked around curiously, admiring the patient industry and the natural artistry that had produced the intricate thatching and the Melenesian deified obscenities carved into the wooden beams, and he laughed as he thought how easily and yet how strangely the old gods had entered into the natives' conception of their new one. They had conquered Christianity as surely as it had converted them.
The altar was still unfinished, with an empty packing case leaning untidily against the side, and the top was littered with wood shavings. There was something else, small and bright, and he picked it up. It was a gaily coloured packet of seeds-the type of packet which has on the outside an extravagant reproduction of how the flowers should appear. These were some popular variety, pictured as a neat riot of colour in a neat suburban garden. He laughed aloud. The incongruity with the present and the youthful memories evoked by the packet! He as a child, digging with his small spade in his own garden plot and planting a wondrous mixture of seeds... .so carefully watering them and impaling the packets so he could name the plants as they appeared... .windows in florists' and nursery-men's shops-cool and restful in hot streets, fragrant with damp, dark moss and gay with fresh flowers to shame a grey city.
But what on earth are they doing here? He asked himself. Here in a native chapel on a tiny Pacific island two thousand miles from anywhere? He looked around slightly amused and then saw an envelope lying in the rubbish beside the altar. It was a plain white envelope bearing only a name and a line of writing. The writing taught many years ago in a more leisured age. It read: 'Please plant these seeds on my dear David's grave.' He stared at it for a while, thinking of the light, modulated voices which circled the world so easily with the news commentaries.
"Allied forces are stated to have to-day landed on another island in the Pacific. Our casualties are believed to have been light." He found himself saying the words over and over to himself, so he put the packet and the envelope on the new altar and went outside.
Men were carrying picks and shovels and a small box into the fifty yard square of hallowed ground. Passively he watched as the
Then with a horror too intense to last for the hallucination to be analysed later, the young soldier could see the gentle identity of the sender of the flower seeds. He felt the numbing shock the telegram brought and he sensed the frozen days and the grief-filled nights, and he experienced the whole grandeur of life and its trivial, awful depths... A sensitive and sorrow-proud mother loving her son and wishing in her quiet way a tangible connexion between their lives when he was her living son at home and his dead body. Thinking in her innocence that the planting of the flowers would be a motherly and a lovely act which in some not understood way would atone for and transmute his violent end, so there would be peace and no blood. No shed blood, but merely a natural rest anticipated through the heeding of scared principles.
One of the working party said in a bored competent tone, "Stand clear," and he started back.
It happens that even a scene of past monotony and danger and loneliness will call with a vivid fascination when the time comes that it must be left behind and will not be seen again in the sane, slow years which lie ahead.
So the young soldier went for a last drive around the island and saw again how the green jungle had been slashed into and rolled back to make room for dusty airstrips and roads and camps. He reached the cemetery and went inside, trying to remember the last time he had been there. Flags of two countries hung limply against twin poles; the sun reflected searing glare from the bare coral and the jungle strained against the inadequate fence. But there was a general air of neatend of the cemetery, just before the steepness about the little place and across the lower slant to the lagoon, was a raised bed of soil that had evidently been carried there. In it were broad-leafed tropical plants, and in the middle, pure red of flame, were dahlia flowers. Forced in growth in the hothouse atmosphere, the plants were rank and grotesquely tall and the blooms were as huge and round crimson bowls.
"Blood-red bowls," the young soldier murmured to himself, not noticing his own words because he was pre-occupied in thinking about the packing he had to do to prepare for the home draft.
(With apologies to Villon)
*"Away with all precautions." Derivation obscure.
The headmaster walked down the corridor slowly. He passed the new desks stacked by S.3 room and as usual muttered to himself. 'Must get Wilson to see to those desks.' By the time he was four steps past he realized that something had caught his eye. He went back to look again. There-some scratching on the shining new varnish. He peered closer, bending over his stomach. With his lips moving he read the words-'Carter is an old dope.' He was indignant, shocked, astonished. He read them again, aloud. Carter is an old dope. An old dope! Some fellow ... .always something... .must find out... .can't have this sort of thing, can't have this sort of thing at all.
He stormed into Wilson's room. The first assistant was taking a lesson on trade winds when the headmaster slammed open the door and spoke through his sentence. "Mr. Wilson, I say Wilson, some fellow-come and look. New desks out here-scratched all over-insulting nonsense. Must find out-come here... ." He ignored the lesson and the class while he pushed the first assistant out into the corridor. Some of the children sniggered, a few looked startled. By the time the headmaster returned to the room they were all bland and attentive, waiting for the enquiry to begin.
"Now-ah-who has seen those desks in the corridor?" The whole class put their hands up. "Who has noticed that they are nice new desks?" All the hands went up again. "Yes. Nice new desks. Just waiting to put in your classrooms. Very nice desks. Now some fellow has been writing on those desks! We are not going to have this sort of thing in the school. I want the children of this school to be well mannered, well behaved, honest, helpful, to show respect. Yes... . You must show respect." He took his hand out of his pocket and waved it at the class. "You people here-you're the big boys and the big girls of the school. You must set an example to the others. I trust you to help me... ." He rubbed the hand over his face and appeared to be wiping his nose with his fingerships. "Now who has seen anyone hanging around those desks? Terrible thing in a school... .find the boys and girls can't be trusted to leave things alone. Who has seen anyone-after school... .lunchtime?" He crossed his legs, folded h is arms and leaned against the teacher's table breathing noisily. Nothing happened. The class looked bland still, but expectant. The first assistant was by this time absent 'making further enquiries'-in fact having a smoke in the staff room. Presently a hand flickered up. The headmaster noticed it.
"Well.. ah..Corbett? What is it?"
"Please sir, I saw Mr. Marshall standing by the desks, sir, after school yesterday, sir.
"Marshall... .I'll see him! Who? Marshall, Mr. Marshall!-but what are you talking about Corbett-Mr. Marshall doesn't scratch on desks! Now come on-I can't waste time on this-someone wrote on those desks and you people must tell me who it was. I want to know who did it."
The class was getting bored. Soon a hand went up and then'a boy half stood saying, "Sir, please sir, I know who it was."
"There!-well now-tell me! Hurry up, come on!"
"Please sir, he had on a blue blazer, sir. He was hanging around the desks at lunchtime yesterday, sir."
"Come here boy, come here. Don't lounge there. Now-ah-who was this fellow?
"Please sir, I don't know his name sir."
"What does he look like? What class is he in?"
"Sir, I don't know sir. He had his back to me. But he had on a blue blazer and black shoes and grey socks, sir."
"Blue blazer and black shoes... .yes, now..ah..How tall was he? Hurry up!"
Please sir, he wasn't very big, sir."
"Not very big-now..ah..would you say about S.3. would he be in S.3."
"Please sir, he might have been, sir."
The headmaster was elated. He was on the chase at once. He burst into Miss Collie's room, ignored her, stared around, slammed out again. He went next to Miss Fletcher's room. His noisy entrance was followed by silence then he smacked his lips. "That boy there. Come out. Come out here... .hurry up!" He panted towards the boy who stood up, hesitating. "Into my office. Hurry up now, hurry up. This is the fellow, you're the one I want." He proded and pushed the boy out of the room, along the corridor and into his untidy office. He pulled his chair out and sat down with satisfaction. "Now... .you're the fellow. You wrote on those desks. Can't have that sort of thing... .writing on desks... . Not in my school. What do you want to do a thing like that for, eh? Do you what I do to boys that write on desks? Eh?" He shook the boy by the shoulder, reaching out with strong fat fingers panting.
"Please sir, I didn't write on any desks."
"So-you tell lies too, do you. Well, no lies to me, my boy. I know. I have ways of finding out things. I know you did it. I'm going to strap you for this. Up to now... "
"Sir, I didn't write on the desks," the boy said again. He was frightened and unprepared for this onslaught.
The headmaster shouted, "Don't stand there telling me lies. I know you did it. Scribbling on desks-writing things about people-I know you did it. Own up now!"
The boy wanted to cry but he said again, "Please sir, I didn't write on a desk." The headmaster went more purple. He took out his large watch and put it on the table. It seemed to the boy to be ticking very loudly."There... five minutes I'll give you. Five minutes to make up your mind to tell the truth. Then I'm sending for the police. The police, I say. Five minutes-and you had better own up. I have ways of finding out these things... the police... mind what I say!" He backed out of the office, threatening the boy with his popping eyes. For twenty minutes the boy waited, looking out of the window worried and disturbed. When the headmaster came back he had with him the one who had first volunteered the 'information.' "Now... what do you say now, eh? Going to own up?" He pulled the boy by the elbow to make him face around. "I didn't write on the desks. I don't know anything about it." "Alright young fellow. The police... this boy here saw you doing it-lunchtime yesterday. He saw you!"
"Please sir, I have had the mumps. I just came back to school today. I wasn't here yesterday."
"What!... what's that... not here... mumps? Wasting my time like this. Stand outside there, stand outside. I'll look into this... not here..." He stamped off down this corridor, banging in and out of rooms shouting, getting more furious and ineffectual Finally he came back. He was clutching the collar of a small child in a blue blazer. He pushed this unfortunate into the office and slammed the door.
That evening the boy had had mumps told his parents about the incident. "And has this other child done it?" his father asked. "I don't know," the boy said," he must have said he did, anyway. He got the strap. I heard it going just before I ran out to the lavatory. He was out of the primer room."
His father looked at his mother and quoted, "'You had the ivory of my life to carve!'"
V-J Day anniversary! A year ago to-day I was on my way to British Formation College at Perugia in Central Italy, hitch-hiking from Senegalia on the Adriatic coast. The great news about V-J had come over the radio at about three o'clock in the morning, and our hospital at Senegalia was en fete, while all the British units had declared a holiday. V-J
Perugia is the capital city of one of the loveliest of the Italian provinces, Umbria. In Umbria a radiance seems to rise from the raisin-coloured earth ploughed by the huge, gentle, milk-white oxen, with scarlet tassels hanging from their wide horns, and the silvery olive trees, dark cypresses and flowering fruit trees are always lovely notes of color in the clear Italian light. Approaching Perugia from the plains, and seeing its towers and spires crowing the green hill, one thinks of nothing so much as one of the story-book towns in the cartoons of Walt Disney, but on entering the town one discovers that it possesses a stronger beauty and endless character. It's beautiful medieval streets are tranquil now, the restless turbulence and pugnacity which made it the hardest of all cities to subdue from Etruscan times onwards only suggested in the frowning strength of the buildings and the city walls. The tide of war more or less passed Perugia by, the only damage it suffered being from one or two misaimed bombs and some purely gratuitous destruction with hand grenades on the part of some German troops who had been billeted in the Benedictine monastery of San Pietro. The nearest troops were the New Zealanders at Lake Traimeno, so it was an ideal place for Formation College.
Anyone who could persuade his Unit to release him for a month seemed to be eligible to attend, and the British were very kind in allowing New Zealanders to enter the College also.
At Wing 3, the Modern Arts Wing, there were people from as far south as Taranto and as far north as Upper Austria, and the emblems of many famous divisions could be seen on various sleeves. The College was staffed by Army officers seconded from their various Units, and they were a brilliant group of men, mostly teachers in civil life. We could choose our own course from a syllabus which embraced English, Latin, French, History, Psychology, Drama, and one or two other subjects. We were expected to take one main subject, such as English, and one or two subsidiary ones, and attend Community Periods which were held three times a week. At community periods anything at all might happen, from a "British Way and purpose" lecture, or a gloomy and highly statistical analysis of the declining British birthrate, enlivened by our gong-happy suggestions that a sliding scale of civil honours for twins, triplets, and so on, with a D.B.E. for a tried but failed, might be inaugurated, to uproarious sessions when the Dean and Captain Scotland, the drama lecturer, recited such gems as
"Candy's dandy
But Likker's quicker"
or Tennyson's Oriana with "arse uppards" substituted for the refrain "Oriana." There were only two women students attending this first course, so inhibitions were few.
The English course covered quite a lot of the N.Z.U. prescription for stage I, with the added advantage that Sharp read quite a lot of the texts aloud in class, and prose spoken in his beautifully modulated voice was much more easily appreciated. The drama lecturer, Scotland, was a lanky young man with a tremendous enthusiasm for his subject, of which he was a master; and he had recently taken a double 1st in English and History at Oxford. We enjoyed his lectures so much that everybody in the practical section tried also to attend the literary and historical drama section lectures. In our section we did play readings, Scotland pushing ideas in and dragging them out of us, making us feel that we were creating the reading ourselves. Our big piece was a little thing of A.A. Milne's, The Man in the Bowler Hat, which we staged for the entire Wing at the end of the month. The furore which this created amongst an enthusiastic audience was only eclipsed by one written by Scotland and acted by the staff, Romeo and Juliet without Music.
At 11 each morning there was a break for elevenses, coffee and cakes, or char and wads if you like, served by Naafi waiters in one of the courtyards, where we all gathered around a pillared circular wellhead. The weather was always hot and cloudless, so the courtyard served ideally as a common room for our hundred and fifty or so students. In between lectures we read in the library, which had the merit of being divided into small sparsely furnished rooms, where we could read and smoke and talk occasionally if we liked. The college was housed in a mellow 14th century orphanage connected with a convent, and I liked to think that it might have been this convent which Pope Paul III gave himself permission to visit, on which occasion the nuns "marveled that the Vicar of God on earth should so far humiliate himself as to visit such vile servants as they were." And the Pope seated himself in the choir "all of his own accord, without being helped by anybody, and like a meek and gentle lamb... and being seated, he said to the sisters, 'Come everyone of you and kiss my foot.'" After lectures we would stroll back to the
Perugia is very rich in interest. It was an Etruscan town, and there is a splendid Etruscan museum; also Perugino, Raphael's master, was born here, and when we were there the Art Gallery had a most amazing exhibition of five centuries of Umbrian, Sienese, and Florentine painting in honour of the anniversary of his birthday: that wonderful collection which is Umbria's heritage from her past glory as leader of the Umbrian School of painting led by Bonfigli in the mid-15th century.
Then there were ancient and lovely churches, convents and monasteries one could explore at leisure, with San Pietro's the exquisite 10th century Benedictine foundation, adorned with all the beauty the love and riches of the Order could lend it through the centuries, always beckoning one from its vantage point on the hill of Capraio at the south of the town, a lovely pale brick group crowned by a delicate campanile. The Albergo Rosetto furnished even more potent inspiration in the shape of Wolfschmitt's liqueurs, and the quiet twilight hour usually found us at peace in its little garden, absorbed in a game of draughts and a bottle of kummel, every move closely followed by the Italian waiter and the Rosetta's cat. The bottom dropped out of our world when the A.T.S. and the Domestic Science Wing requisitioned the Rosetta, and the Town Major ruined all our staff work by putting it and its bar out of bounds to us.
Dinner was usually between 8 and 9 at the mess, complete with orchestra and a bottle of chianti. The Kiwis would come down from Trasimeno to enjoy the fleshpots on most evenings, and the news that the long table had been usually the signal for a quietly disposed UNNRA child welfare worker living at the Brufani to light out of town to have her dinner in the woods. The first and the last nights at Perugia were the wildest though; the first was V-J night, of course, and I remember four ex-Pacific Kiwis from the Division making me welcome and how we accounted for a bottle of champagne each without really noticing. On the last night, we invited the staff of Wing 3 to have dinner at the mess with us, and the evening ended uproariously in the students' ante-room. With rousing French ditties led by the French master, and a wild game of football with someone's desert boot.
After dinner and some reading or dancing, the evenings were always warm and inviting enough for a stroll around some fresh part of Perugia, up and down the fascinating alleys, so twisty and steep, under flying buttresses and archways, around sudden corners where the Virgin and Child gaze serenely down from terra cotta plaques; and every now and then one would emerge in the open by some of the old city walls, where the hill drops away and the Tiber valley spreads out below, with the dark lines of the Appenines beyond, and the lights of Assisi twinkling. The end of every day was an odd half hour sitting on the broad steps of the cathedral, still warm from the day's sunshine, looking across the Piazza San Lorenzo to the loveliest foundation in the world and the Palazzo Pubblico, that most subtly beautiful building with the brazen griffin and lion of Perugia above the great door.
At weekends Assisi and Gubbio and other nearby towns were near enough for a day's visit, which meant that we had to hitch hike as no one at the College had to hitch hike as no one at the College had any transport. Unhappily, the arrival of transport was the signal for the end of the course, and for me it meant a roundabout trip by jeep by way of Florence and Venice back to the filth and noise and squalor of Bari, and my mess overlooking the petrol point, with Perugia and Wing 3 a vision of lost tranquility.
No age, not even the Rennaissance, has been one-quarter as clever as ours. We have mastered both the infinitely great and the infinitely little. But have we? May we not have released blind forces that are on their way to master us?
No age, having to its resources, has been more materialistic than our own. Read between their lines, all our poets from Byron to T.S. Eliot, testify to our indifference to the things of the spirit.
The true poets who are also prophets began thus testifying long enough ago. Tennyson was one of them. He lacked the boldness and the stamina of the old Hebrews, but never was a mind more sensitive than his-and therefore more aware of the shape of things to come.
A century ago he wrote:
"I had a vision when the night was late:A youth came riding toward a palace gate.He rode a horse with wings that would have flown,But that his heavy rider kept him down."
What kept the winged imagination of youth down, withheld it from soaring aloft, prevented it from assaulting 'the brightest heaven of invention?' It was the pre-occupation of the Age with the employment of material means to achieve material ends.
The chief instrument of this materialism was Education. Nothing was refused it when it was a question of gaining control of the forces of nature for purposes of the factory, the mine and the countinghouse. But education turned aside from the things of the spirit. It was this indifference to spiritual values against which the poets protested. In prose Dickens added his powers of angry satire to their protests.
Beyond doubt Education, which has been pedestrian, needs lifting to a higher level, a level from which it will be able to give its mind far less to the things that Man makes and far more to the things that make Man.
To this end a School of Education is proposed. The proposal is not at all novel but included in the term, as the writer understands it, are new departures.
As space is limited may he be permitted to itemize the things he thinks a School of Education should do:
(1) The School should, by full-time post-graduate teaching, educate leaders in education whose philosophy both scientific and idealistic will give first place to a conception of life as a thing to be lived to the full; a conception to which making and getting and spending, while revelant, will be subordinate.
The school will not train experts. This can be done elsewhere and there is a danger of narrowness in expertness which has not by any means always worked for the good of education in the past.
(2) The School should, by means of courses provided for working teachers and laymen in any way concerned with or interested in education, aim to infiltrate the community generally with a deeper insight into a broader outlook upon education. This is necessary if it is to secure that co-operation from public opinion, lacking which it will be working in vacuo.
Curiously and ironically enough instruction along the lines suggested is given in economics to hundreds of parents and parents to-be who never worry their heads about education.
(3) By various means the School should make its influence felt on a national scale. It could in this connection publish booklets for parents and issue leaflets and pamphlets dealing with issues that had acquired current interest, in short, issues that were news.
In conjunction with the Training Colleges it could undertake the organization of refresher courses and/or summer schools in the provincial towns. It could invite noted educationists from overseas to pay visits to New Zealand and when here it would arrange their itineraries.
(4) The School would also have academic functions but the less these were concentrated upon pass examination in 'units' for 'credits' the better.
The cost of the School would not be considerable; $50,000 would at the outset amply provide for two such and, as they would be day schools (the Department of Education inside them would continue with the 'after hours' instruction) accommodation could at slight inconvenience be found for them in the existing colleges. Such a school to fulfill its main and high purpose would need to be conscious of a national purpose. Its atmosphere would be cultural in a sense that high browism is not cultural in a sense that high browism is not cultural. The School would, that is, aim at an attitude that gave dignity and fineness of mind to the doings of daily life.
As already said modern Education has been far too much an instrument used to fashion material means in such a way as to achieve material ends. If a School of Education succeeds it will do so by causing the community it serves to radically modify its sense of values and therefore to quest after the Good in the form of what is best for body, mind and spirit.
Such poets as Wordsworth and Arnold, and such philosophers as Ruskin, Carlyle and Emerson would, if as they deserve to be, reinstated in public esteem have quite a little to say about ends means to a genuine School of Education.
Tennyson concludes the poem already quoted with these lines:
"And on the glimmering summit far withdrawn
God made himself an awful rose of dawn."
Was this rose the harbinger of the incandescent flash that announced to us the Atomic Age?
If so we shall be fortunate is to the question, "Is there any hope?"
"An answer pealed from that high land But in a tongue no man could understand."
On the other hand I quite seriously submit that our chance of understanding that tongue would be tremendously enhanced when, with high purpose, we dedicated to the understanding and guidance of life (most of all young life), a School of Education.
The following awards were made:—
Sir George Grey Scholarship: H.P. Rothbaum.Senior University Scholarships: J.B. Trapp-English and Greek. J.M. Ziman-Pure and Applied Mathematics. B. Sutton-Smith-Education. Barbara J. Patrick-French.Sir Robert Stout Scholarship: J.M.Ziman.Alexander Crawford Scholarship: E.O. Hall-Science. Alison J. Pearce-Arts.Emily Lilias Johnston Scholarship: Evelyn C. Spencer.Lissie Rathbone Scholarship: D.H. Morgan. Jacob Joseph Scholarship: No award.Lady Stout Bursary: Barbara J. Patrick.
Prizes were awarded as follows:—
James Macintosh Scholarship (Local): B.Sutton-Smith.Bruce Dall Prize: P. Whittle.John P. Good Prize: P. WhittleThe macmorran Prize for Mathematics: E.O. Hall.N.Z. Institute of Chemistry Prizes: D.A. Evans and L.I.Hart (equal).Dr. W.E. Collins Class Prizes in English Literature: jean R. Hawthorn, Catherine V. Eichelbaum, J.B.Trapp.Dr. W.E. Collins English Prize Essay: B.E.G. MasonButterworth Prize in Roman Law: G.P. Barton.McCallum Scholarship in Law: J.A.L. BennettWilliam Purdie Bursary: E.B. Robinson.
Senior Scholar in French; Senior Scholar in Education; Senior Scholar in English and Greek.
In absentia
Senior Scholar in Pure and Applied Mathematics.
in absentia
in absentia
Rapley, Gordon Trevor
in absentia
It has been said that people live at Weir for two reasons: for hot showers and for company; fellowship may be oppressive and the water cold; but the generalization contains the truth that Weir is a boarding house with something added that no boarding house can give. That something may be what is said by the time-worn motto-"Strength through living together," but to my mind is more connected with the growth of groups within Weir-a practice deplored by many but indulged in by everybody. At weir, the chances of falling in with a suitable group are higher than in a boarding house or in a College club. This, in my opinion, is the chief value of the institution; it fosters a restricted sociability.
Among ninety-odd students, most people are able to find suitable companionship. Those that can't either seem quite satisfied to be that way, or else are somewhat restrained, within themselves, from any kind of social intercourse. Of the rest, the majority, many types are discernible. There are people who like sport more than anything else, or as much as anything else; these are often to be found together, playing together, talking, arguing, and listening to the radio together. There are keen billiardists and table-tennis players who use the recreation room together. There are pure and mysterious scientists who often talk together at the meal table, to the bewilderment and annoyance of the rest of the table. There are the aesthetes and the literati, who play Ellington and Armstrong discs together, read Eliot and Thomas together, and borrow each others books. There are some philosophers-everybody is a philosopher at some time or other but some are more persistent than others- who hold interminable supper parties, and forever approach insoluble questions. There are mercenary types, often but not always, law and accountancy students, who gather to discuss the latest price of divorce or the latest quotation of stock. There are politicians, theoretical and practical. Fascist and Marxist, parochial and cosmopolitan, who are forever arguing. There are all sorts and conditions of men and most people in the House find some of them pleasant and some repulsive.
Of course, these classifications are extremely general and far from complete. A member of a few groups cannot appreciate the ramifications of the lot. Further, they overlap to a considerable extent. An aesthete may be a philosopher, a scientist a politician, an accountancy student may quite well be a reader of Shakespeare and an admirer of Van Gogh. Pure types are abstractions, but useful ones for the purposes of discussion.
You might say, but what is noticeable about this? What is there in these sentences which could not equally well apply to any bunch of ninety University students? That is just the point. Any group of ninety students would show all these interests, and possibly more or different ones, but this is not the whole picture. Hypothetical groups of ninety people have no existence beyond the mind that formulates or the mind that accepts the hypothesis. Weir is an actual group of ninety people, and the only such group at V.U.C. That is how weir House can claim to be a very important part of the College.
This brings up another point. There may be some truth in the motto after all. Living together does provide a necessary stimulus. People so more and do it better when they are doing it either with other people or against them. Fifteen people in a group play better football than fifteen people set out over the country at five mile intervals. And this is probably the explanation why so many of the notable people of the College have at some time or other graced the halls of Weir. Several prominent college sportsmen come from Weir, footballers, harriers and hockey-players. There are many debaters in our midst many College journalists and verse-writers-some notorious. Perhaps most important of all, there are many successful students, winners of Senior and Overseas Scholarships. Apart from this there are also many people adroit at the use of teargas, and home-made explosives. There's a wide variety and such people usually owe a good deal to the company they get.
The war was a difficult period for the House. It brought shortages of staff, and a depletion of the numbers of the older students. Weir became a little adolescent, a little more irresponsible than usual, perhaps a bit petty in some of its habits. But with peace has come the end of much of this. Staffing is back to normal, and even if the service doesn't please some who were here ten years ago, it seems pretty good to those who lived here through the war. And with a large number of returned service-men back there seems to be a fair chance of an active future.
This year,
In some other sports, men's and Women's Hockey, Association football, Table tennis, Swimming and Harries, V.U.C. teams have performed well and, while not taking the highest prizes, have very worthily represented the College, both locally and at Tournament. In certain other fields, Notably Miniature Rifle (a new club), Defence Rifle and Rowing (in recess during the war), committees are faced with the task of finding new members, getting equipment and gradually building up to N.Z. Tournament standard.
Lastly, there are some clubs, perhaps the Ath
letic and Women's Basketball are the worst, which seem to be in the doldrums. In Basketball the drift from the 'good old days' of
The Executive is facing up to the problem presented by the unevenness of results with a plan for a Students' Sports Council. This body, if established, will investigate, co-ordinate and advise on matters of club membership, coaching, administration, the discovery of new talent, and the provision of equipment. Comprehensive reports are being sought from clubs, and already the Executive has authorized funds for important capital expenditure. The resurfacing of the tennis courts, a new 'four' for the Rowing Club, large extra grants for Table Tennis and the Tramping Club are examples of what is being done. The Executive believes that V.U.C. can—V.U.C. must—show that it will win, in
A.McLeod (chairman), N.R. Taylor, P.G. Morris, B. Paetz, H.R.C. Wild, V.Rich, I.Ting, D. Filmer.
Athletics J.E. Drummond, A.H.E. Munden, G.S. Bogle.
Swimming: C.V. Eichelbaum.
Rowing: R.G. Stuckey, W.V. Osten, G. Marryatt.
Cricket: G.H. Stringer, I.A. Colquhoun, D.E. Brian, S. Wilde, P.D. Wilson, R. Vance, J.H. Oakley, T.C. Larkin, P. Mullins, E.R. Wilde, R. Woolley.
Boxing: M. Wisheart, B. Webb, E.T. Watts.
Tennis: D.S. Goodwin, B.M. O'Conner.
1946 was the first time in six years and three tournaments that V.U.C. had been away for Easter. It was also the year when we set a new low in Tournment points.
The reasons for our relative lack of success may be summarized briefly:
1. We sent a mediocre team who tried their best but met competition, particularly in athletics and swimming, which was fully up to national standard. The performances all around were probably better than they have ever been before. Several V.U.C. representatives who were past winners or record-holders failed to win in
2. Most of our clubs were just beginning to set themselves on their feet again, after having been in recess for three to six years. It takes two to three years to build up the average athlete, shooter, swimmer or tennis-player to meet open competition.
It should not be deduced from the points scored that we failed to provide adequate competition. Nevertheless we cannot allow the same thing to happen in
Canterbury College made an excellent effort to put Tournament back on the footing it held before the war. All the usual arrangements were made, and in an efficient manner. A good proportion of the events were broadcast. Billeting seemed to be especially well handled.
Our only event winners were M. Wishart (boxing) and Catherine Eichelbaum (swimming), but N.Z.U. Blues were also awarded to B.M. O'Connor and D. Goodwin (tennis).
Because of the pressure on bookings it was not possible for all representatives to travel together, but through the Union Company we arranged for all North Island competitors to travel on Easter Thursday. The Company's assistance is appreciated.
This year was the first time that women's athletics had been included in Tournament, and up to ten days or so before Easter there was considerable opposition from some Colleges. The standard in most events was a good answer to those who claimed that women were being included in the athletic team before time. The delegates hope that this season the athletic clubs will make an effort to see that women are adequately trained for Tournament.
The rotation of Easter and Winter Tournaments was discussed and a rota drawn up that will spread them as evenly as possible over both Islands, and provide for participation in various jubilees and centennials during the next three years. As a result Auckland will have Winter Tournament
The Easter Tournament Committee has been operating for 45 years, longer than the V.U.C. Students' Association, and consequently the delegates were somewhat surprised to hear that N.Z.U.S.A. had claimed an overriding jurisdiction, on the ground that, for the purpose of Blues only, the Committee was affiliated to N.Z.U.S.A. The Committee, along with other Sports Councils, entrusted awards of Blues to N.Z.U.S.A. when it was formed about
Were N.Z.U.S.A. vested with plenary powers, there might be some justification, but that is not the case. They may discuss matters of interest to students generally, but substantive decision must still be referred back to the Executives of the Colleges. Similarly Tournament delegates are responsible to their own Executives, so that under either system the final power lies with the Executives.
The Tournament Committee appreciate the work that N.Z.U.S.A. does already, but are convinced that the organization which has successfully run Tournaments for 45 years is more capable of continuing to do so than any impotent external body.
Club meetings for the
The club was always represented in the handicap meetings held at Wakefiels Park with other Wellington Clubs. A strong team was entered for the Wellington Provincial Championships, and several titles gained, the team being placed third in the club teams competition. Two members travelled with the Wellington team to the National Championships at Wanganui, and one minor placing was gained by them.
This year the Inter-Faculty Sports were held at Kelburn Park on March 23rd. The weather was excellent and the number of spectators gratifying, considering the counter attraction of the visiting Australian cricket team. The programme extended over the full day, with a team from Massey College also competing. Special events were held for the large number of visiting athletes. The women's events this year held added significance as women's athletics were included in Easter Tournament for the first time.
A small team was sent to Easter Tournament, the men returning with the wooden spoon, and the women filling second place after Canterbury.
The importance of equipment for training was again demonstrated by our athletes' predominance at the provincial championships in the hurdle events, where the strength of our club continues to lie.
There College Blues were awarded to club members.
This is the year when boxing is beginning to take definite shape in the sporting activities of the College. Twenty to thirty members at practices, equipment gradually accumulating and a capable permanent instructor being now provided, means that every facility is being given for any one of the thousand odd male students to learn the fistic art on Saturday mornings.
Despite the heavy blows the war dealt to amateur boxing, and particularly to our own club, there is a great revival of interest and enthusiasm. Several of our members, including A. Young and B. Webb have competed creditably in Town Hall preliminaries. Once the club is definitely fixed as a local club, the public will expect much more from the Victoria boys. P. Gallaher, a fresher member, was finalist in two wellington senior championships recently, and is considered the most promising amateur in the province. It is only by such open competition that a coach can measure the real effect of his own coaching.
With the first post-war Tournament approaching, efforts were made to select the best team from the many keen boxers available. In the welter division, particularly, we have some splendid fighters, and M. Wishart, who ultimately won a N.Z.U. title, proved that it pays to have competition. He fought a semi-final and final in try-outs held privately. Unfortunately, there was not competition in every other weight. Next year, the try-outs will be in the College Gymnasium, and we may confidently expect this to be a highlight in the sports year. The team was again trained by W. Hedberg in Kool man's Gymnasium. The remark of the Otago coach that we were the fittest team and the fact that we had four finalists demonstrate that we can do even better yet with such an energetic, experienced trainer. We may have been a little unlucky in that several of our team must have lost their bouts by very small margins.
The expenditure on capital equipment this year will be large, but the benefit of being able to utilize our own area and reform our own club must be valued rightly. We will not obtain the experienced sparring training of the city gymns, but, benefitting by the capable instruction of K. Coveney, we should be able to organize some novice inter-club tournaments next year. Because boxing gear is alarmingly expensive, it is essential that it be preserved from damage.
It is to be hoped that next year will see the name of Victoria once more on the Boxing Shield, and that, with this intention, every candidate for selection in the weights will develop his ability to the utmost over the vacation period.
When reviewing the
The team was under capable leadership of Gilbert Stringer-a discerning and keen captain as well as a capable coach. Stringer featured in some good opening partnerships with Stan Wilde that paved the way for big team scores. The unassuming Peter Wilson played a great all-around part in the team's performances, and a brilliantly compiled 113 against Institute, embellished by the consummate skill of this stroke play, caused him to be portrayed as the batsman of the week.
Don Beard's versatility reaped rich rewards for his team, and he bowled with splendid heart throughout the season, as well as ruining many a bowler's length by his use of the long handle. His excellent bowling double, under trying conditions, against Institute enabled him to be heralded as the "bowler of the week."
Tom Larkin, with precise and neat shots-his cricket an interesting replies of the person-played consistently good cricket which was a delight to the eye, and spoke of big things to come.
John Oakley came to light on the difficult days and his invaluable 110 against Karori, coming at an opportune stage, after several devastating run-outs, assured 'Varsity of ultimate success. This display entitled Oakley to the Honorary cricket degree of "Batsman of the week."
Ian Colquhoun behind the stumps spelt doom to many who ventured, however timidly, out of their territory. Vance, too, played some useful knocks for the side.
Don Brian, Roy Woolley and Paddy Mullins were trundlers of no mean ability and contributed to
'Varsity's strong attack, which was never mastered throughout the season.
In the field, Dick Wilde captured the wickets of many audacious batsmen by his conspicuous alacrity and his speedy returns.
Averages for the season are as follows:—
The victory was a popular one, and congratulatory messages poured in from friend and foe alike.
The other teams, though at times showing rare form, were rather inconsistent. Loveridge, the captain of the 2nd Grade A team, gave some good all round performances, and K. Gajadhar and Q. Bruce were consistent run-getters.
The second Grade B team comprised the older elements of the club, who, nevertheless, proved as indomitable as they were capable when the occasion arose. Mr Moore, with fatherly guile, led this band.
The third and fourth grade teams improved with the weeks.
The future, unpredictable though it be, should not be unkind to V.U.C. cricket.
From the point of view of numerical strength, this was the best season the club had enjoyed for some years. Seven teams were entered in the local competitions—one in each of the First, Second and Fifth Grades, and two in each of the Third and Fourth. Club Captain Ken Kiddle was somewhat embarrassed at the beginning of the season with the wealth of talent available, especially in the lower grades, and it was unfortunate that many of last year's players who deserved promotion had to remain in the same grade. However, since no team has shown itself outstandingly superior in its grade, it is safe to conclude that the teams were fairly well balanced. There was, however, a noticeable tendency, as the season wore on, for teams to play short, and it may have eased this undesirable difficulty if the Committee had entered six teams only instead of seven.
The Club was pleased to welcome back to the College, many of the pre-war members. Eddie Latham, Stan Braithwaite, George Shaw and Max Christie were those who saw the beginning of the season with us, while Harry Scott, and Ted Breach and Hec Lawry 'fresh' from their Indian tour, strengthened our ranks later.
The transfer of Ken Kiddle from Wellington was a sad blow to the Club. A stalwart of this Club for many years and a keen and solid Committee man as well as a valuable player, he has been greatly missed in all phases of Club activities.
Although there have been no outstanding team performances this season, the showings of V.U.C. teams, assessed as a whole, have been satisfactory. Indeed, the Club will run close to lifting the local Association's Club Championship honours.
The Club congratulates the following players who won senior representative honours during the season:
The large influx of new members at the beginning of the season indicates that hockey has even further increased in popularity at V.U.C. Five teams were entered in the local tournament, two Senior A, two Senior B and one Junior; enthusiasm waxed even though results at times waned.
The Senior A team showed great improvement by the end of the season and finished quite well up in the Grade.
Matches have also been played against 'Massey' and 'Canterbury.' The former match was played in Wellington and the V.U.C. 'A' Team won 4—2. The match against 'Canterbury' was played in Christchurch and the two senior 'B' teams who made the trip had a very enjoyable time and won several of their matches.
The Ralph Trophy for the most improved first-year player was awarded this year to Thora Marwick.
The club got away to a good start at the beginning of the season, its roll containing about 35 names, which proved to be an improvement on last year's members. Unfortunately, enthusiasm waned a little and regular attendance is limited to about half this number.
Although such a young club, having only been established last year, its teams have gained a considerable measure of success in the Wellington Competition, and three members were selected for a Wellington Representative team to compete in the Wairarapa.
The club is now rapidly finding its feet and as its members gain more experience it will surely make its presence felt both in Outside and University competition.
A team has been chosen to represent V.U.C. at Winter Tournament at Auckland, comprising Messrs G. Catley, T. Howarth, A. MacKenzie, G. Streeter and D. O'Sullivan.
We feel sure that all will prove themselves at Auckland and return scores which will do their previous records justice.
Victoria College rowing
The introduction of the fours race in
ing in regattas and club races; the latter are the training ground of the best oarsmen.
Of the stalwarts who represented the club this last season it is good to note that one uplifted the trophy for the most improved oarsman given by the Star Boating Club and that some were successful in club races. Some also co-operated in painting the interior of the boat-houses and repairing skiffs.
And good fellowship was had by all. Yes, but what about rowing the miles?
This year the club's membership rose to near on fifty players, with the consequence that we were able to enter four teams in the local competitions-a marked change from several years back, in
The Senior Team, though far stronger than the team which won last year's University Tournament, has found the going fairly tough in the Senior A Division. The promotion has been good experience for us, though our successes have not been as frequent as we could have wished. Nevertheless, it is generally reckoned that we have been on the whole an extremely unlucky team and have in no way discredited the College. With this year's experience and next year's polish, great things are expected. It is appropriate to mention here that the services of an experienced coach would be of immense benefit.
The two 2nd grade teams have, for the greater part, consisted of inexperienced players trying their hand at the game. Their victories have not been frequent, but their enjoyment has nevertheless been unbounded.
The Third Grade team, we are glad to say, brought great honour to the club with an almost unbroken series of wins to its credit. At the moment of writing, it appears likely that this team will win the local third grade cup.
The chances of the representative team at tournament this year, we feel are good. We have some excellent new players and have strengthened up considerably in parts where we were last year weak. Probably. However, the most important factor is the good spirit that exists in the club, perhaps best expressed in the following misquotation from Wordsworth:—
"Thou Child of Joy,
Shout round me, let me hear thy shouts, thou happy Soccer-boy!"
To provide every student at Victoria College with the opportunity of joining organized trips into the hills, and to foster in every way the growth of tramping, skiing and climbing sports in New Zealand-these are the aims of the V.U.C. Tramping Club, and perhaps no other students in the country are so favoured by the proximity of bush covered hills and the central position of their home town with respect to the Climbing and Ski-ing resorts of both Islands.
Of no less importance is the social aspect of tramping. "An Interim Debating Society," "A Pocket Conference of Scientists," or "A Mutual Affection Club"—all are names which might be equally well applied in the highest Platonic sense.
It has been the policy on the part of successive committees to provide one tramp every weekend, alternating two day tramps in the Tararua and Orongorongo ranges with Sunday jaunts to the Coast, Hutt Valley and environs.
On the "long" weekends the more ambitious invariably succeed in seducing the energetic members to the greater feats-two such trips have been organized during
Ski-ing and climbing-these are the sports of the Winter and Summer enthusiasts. Three large parties to Arthur's Pass in successful Alpine expedition to the Wilkin Valley-these trips of past years are now a bygone thing: future activities will include annually two summer and two winter trips.
This August, fifty members travelled to Ruapshu and Egmont on ski-ing and climbing trips, and in January the club is running trips to the Waimakariri and Hopkins Valleys. It is the Club's ambition, in the face of practical difficulties, to compete in the University Winter Tournament (at present only Otago and Canterbury are contesting the ski championships). The chief difficulty facing the club is the acquisition of sufficient equipment to carry out its varied activities on an adequate scale. This we hope to achieve in forthcoming seasons.
Activities for the year included two field trips and four lectures.
The first lecture given after the annual general meeting was by Dr Hamilton, and the subject was the "Dairy Industry of N.Z."
Later a lecture was given by Dr Smith, the District Health officer, on T.B. This was a well-attended meeting, at which films were shown.
On July 15th, Dr Mercer, Pathologist at Wellington Public Hospital, gave a talk on cancer, illustrated by lantern slides and exhibits.
Miss Ralph gave an interesting talk on "Animal Camouflage," illustrated by lantern slides, on July 30th.
The first field trip for botanists was to Butterfly Creek. This was particularly successful, in that a fungus not previously recorded in N.Z. was brought back-a Gasteromycete, Calostoma Rodwayi.
The Zoologists had a successful trip to Red Rocks, specimens being brought back for the Zoology Dept.
This year the Chemistry Society has striven to make its meetings of a general scientific interest and the large attendance does inimitably testify to its popularity.
Several films have been shown throughout the term, and, on one occasion, the lunch hour screening of a film proved convenient to many students.
A lecture by I.C. McDowall on "Ceramics and Clyas" was very popular, for, as the speaker explained, this was a comparatively new branch of science. The screening of lantern slides also added much interest to this lecture.
The Society hopes that guest speakers will continue to deliver addresses on the unlimited topics which present themselves for discussion.
Since the revival of the chess Club in
Three teams were entered in the Wellington Chess League competitions, one each in the A,B and C grades. The a grade team succeeded in carrying off the championship for the first time in the history of the College by a substantial margin, despite the fact that our champion, R.G. Wade, was able to play only two games, before leaving for England to compete in the British Championship. Unlike last year, when the A team lost its chance of the title through its weak "tail," this year the team was more balanced, and was clearly the best all-around team in the competition.
Results of the matches played were as follow:—
In the match against Working Men's Club, V.U.C. are certain of drawing and may possibly win on adjudication.
The B and C Grade competitions are not yet finished. The B Grade team has been rather unfortunate in losing two matches by a narrow margin, but has been well beaten in the other matches played. The C Grade team is doing better and at this stage appears to have good chances of winning the grade.
This year,
The Society held its Annual General Meeting and election of officers on March 22nd. It was only possible to hold three debates in the first term because of Tournament and Extravaganza, but during the second term the club kept well up to schedule with fortnightly functions, Some of the debates held so far this year have been:—
The debate, "The N.Z. Labour Party would Benefit from Association with the Communist Party" (lost), was held against Training College at Training College.
The Club also held an evening of Impromptu Debates, which was very well attended.
Next term it is hoped to stage a Visitors' Debate "That this House has no Confidence in the Government," and get members from the House to speak.
The Plunket Medal contest was held this year on Saturday, July 13 th. It was won by Kevin O'Brien, who spoke on Alfred Dreyfus, and the judges were Mrs G.H. Ross, M.P., the Very Rev. Father B.F. Blake and H.R.C. Wilde, Esq. John McCreary, who spoke on Harry Holland, was placed second, and Angela Cooch, speaking on Lawrence of Arabia, third.
Dick Collins and Kevin O'Brien are representing V.U.C. in the Joynt Scroll Debates at Winter Tournament this year, and four teams are being entered in the Impromptu Debates held by the Wellington Competitions Society.
This year the Debating Society has proved the most popular of all the cultural clubs. We have many new members, both returned from the Services, and new speakers. The standard and numbers have risen to even greater heights than during the pre-war period and next year it is hoped to include an even more comprehensive programme, as Wellington will be the centre for both the Joynt Scroll Debates and the Bledisloe Medal Contest.
There was a time when the Dramatic Club was described as moribund. Fortunately, it is now well on the road to recovery. The club made a promising start at the beginning of the first term with "Mr. Bolfrey," which was acclaimed by large audiences at Varsity. A presentation of the same play in the Concert Chamber followed and, although this was sparsely attended, mainly by reason of conflicting attractions elsewhere, it was well received by those who saw it. Following this, an evening of one-act plays produced in the Gymnasium was attended by an appreciative audience, notwithstanding the technical calamities and the substitution of a mine for one of the plays which had to be withdrawn at the last minute. The major production Ibsen's "Ghosts," is under rehearsal at the time of writing, and gives every indication of a successful run at Varsity. The Dramatic Club's entry in the British Drama League Competition was marked by the simplicity and originality of set and lighting and was accorded third place equal in the competition.
A Revue is planned for the third term and during the long vacation the Club will start rehearsing for a three-act play to be presented in the city early next year.
Renovations to the stage will be under way shortly. The Club can make no progress in accumulating properties, wardrobe and library until adequate storage space is available. It is expected that this will be forthcoming in the near future.
The main activities of the Club still revolve around a small nucleus of enthusiasts. Casting is made difficult, and the types of play which can be produced are limited, by the paucity of active members, more particularly of man. If you have dramatic talent in any direction and you are anxious to remove your light from under the bushel, please communicate with the Secretary, who will inform you of the current activities of the Club, and how you can participate.
Enrol with the Club, and count yourself among the active members who are assisting the Club to
shake off its shroud and to make its rapid progress to recovery.
As a prelude to the year's activities of the E.U. at V.U.C. twenty students gathered for a weekend Retreat at Wallis House, Lower Hutt, under the leadership of Mr Ivan Moses, B.Com, the newly appointed Travelling Secretary for the E.U.'s in the N.Z. Colleges.
Tennis, tramping and swimming were the order of the day at the Freshers' Welcome held this year at Dayls Bay.
The main weekly meetings were held on Friday evening in Room A. at 8 P.M. On these occasions prominent outside speakers and several of our own students gave instructive addresses. Our Graduates President, Mr T.C. Cocker, B.Com., commenced this series of meetings with a stimulating account of the growth of the evangelical movement in the Varsities of Great Britain and New Zealand. The Union was also privileged at the commencement of the second term by the visit of Mr H.A. Brown of the Australian Children's Special Service Mission and one of Australia's foremost Youth Workers.
Throughout the year weekly Bible Study Meetings have been held at which students have led all the studies and discussions. These have proved beneficial to those attending consistently.
Prayer meetings have been held as follows:—
Monday-9 a.m. At the College
Monday-12.45 p.m. St Michael's, Kelburn.
Tuesday-12.30 p.m. I.V.F. Office, Wakefield St.
Five Sunday teas have been held in various city churches followed by student services conducted by members of the Union. At these functions missionaries on furlough have given interesting accounts of their work on evangelization in lands afar such as China, India, South America, and the West Indies.
The outstanding feature of the year's activities was the 11th Inter-varsity Conference held this year at Auckland Victoria's delegation consisted of some 25 students.
At the end of the second term the E.U. held its Annual Houseparty at Wallis House where the Rev. W.A. Orange, B.A., and Mr G.E. Rowe, LL.B. were the main speakers.
This society- membership about 200- was formally organized in the first term. A number of notable decisions were reached at the first Annual General Meeting : to admit Home Servicemen on the same basis as Overseas Servicemen, and to oppose the "conscientious objector" bogey in College appointments, being the most important. Various representations have been made to College and Rehabilitation authorities, with reasonably good results.
Early in the second term a mighty 'bash' was organized and all agree that "O'Halloran's" merits every superlative.
Latterly there has been little activity, which the Committee regards as a good sign for the way in which "Rehabbers" are accommodating themselves to College life. The Society will function as and when necessary.
After a year's silence the Glee Club started again in the second term. At first we had an attendance of twenty-four, but this number has now been doubled, there being twice as many women as men. This is a far larger attendance than that of previous years. Under the kindly and very able supervision of Mr Page, we have sung choruses from Bach's Passion," songs from Vaughan's collection, and just now we are concentrating on Purcell's Opera "Dido and Aenaeas." We meet each Thursday in the lunch, and next term we hope to give a small concert.
During the past twelve months the Club has met with increasing support from students and has had its most successful year since
In
Four most successful moots were held during
The annual dinner was held on the 15th of November in the Grand Hotel and met with a great response from members and, as catering arrangements were limited, late applicants were unable to partake. The guest of honour was the Hon. Mr. Justice Hohnston, who later delivered a most interesting speech. Other guests included Professor Mc Gechan, Dean of the Law Faculty, and Mr. A. M. Cousins.
At this year's Annual General Meetings there was one of the largest attendances on record to welcome Professor Williams, who delivered a most interesting address on his ecperiences at Sydney University.
As the numbers in the Law Faculty at the College are now considerably greater, the outlook for the Club is now much brighter, nad it is hoped that we shall soon regain our position as one of the most active Clubs in the College.
There are two aspects to be considered when outlining a Society's activities in this manner. 'Spike' Committee requests that the outline should contain matters of policy as well as of activity of the Club Concerned.
Initially, then, this is not in the nature of an Annual Report, to be submitted to any specific meeting for confirmation. Rather it is the product of some Club individual who may or may not reecho Club sentiments fully and faithfully. This can best be defined as "Some Bird's Eye View."
Secondly, this policy matter. Surely, Club policy will largely be determined by the "talent and facilities" available to a Club in any one year. This will, in turn show up in a purely descriptive article on Club activity.
Nevertheless, Maths and Physics, it would seem, does have a mild policy governing its committee this year. Whereas, in the past, various statements were made that the Society should "endeavour to present papers of a more abstract pattern," we now find quite a radical change. Semi-popular topics of
more general interest are favoured and, in addition, an attempt has been made to confine our lecturers to present students of the College.
The activities of
An average attendance of thirty has been received at these functions. Excellent suppers provided alternatively by Professors Florance and Miles have undoubtedly contributed to the success of our evenings.
A reflection of the general revival of interest in music to-day is to be found in the enthusiastic way in which the student body has received the increased activities of the Music Makers' Club.
In the past we have been handicapped by the limited number of music enthusiasts in the College but the advent of a long overdue Chair of Music has done much to heighten and enliven this appreciation.
The regular meetings of the Club, which is essentially a performers' club, have brought to light much latent talent and have shown that V.U.C. possesses many performers of high standard.
The two major efforts of the Club, the arranging of the Clare-Page and Lili Kraus recitals, were highly successful. Mr Maurice Clare and Mr Frederick Page gave their concert to a highly appreciative audience of over 200, which was somehow packed into Room C.6. The programme mainly consisted of music of the early Italian School and it was admirably played and interpreted by Mr Clare. It is hard to think of Mr Page's playing as mere accompaniment, for these two artists have worked together to bridge the gulf which usually exists between violinist and accompanist.
It was obvious from the start that C.6 would be totally inadequate to accommodate the large number of students anxious to attend the recital given by Lili Kraus. So we were forced to hold it in the Town Hall Concert Chamber, where an audience of over 600 proved the wisdom of this move. The overwhelming reception accorded to Lili Kraus testifies not only to her greatness as an artist but also to her charming and gracious personality.
It was possible to hold this recital in the Concert Chamber through the generosity of Mr Page in lending his piano for the occasion. We would like to take this opportunity to express our appreciation for the support and interest Mr Page has shown during the year.
We were extremely fortunate in having the opportunity of hearing these artists of such high standing in the musical world. The Club plans for its future activities to include concerts of a similar nature.
This year the Photographic Club activities have been hampered by lack of a darkroom as the room in the Biology Block was closed to us at the beginning of the year. It had been used and left rather untidy by unauthorised persons.
However, permission has been obtained to instal darkroom facilities in the basement of Weir House; this will probably be completed during the August vacation.
Among meetings held in
Spike competition was well supplied with high standard entries this year. For the judges comments see elsewhere in this issue.
The V.U.C. Socialist Club was inaugurated on
1. To further the study and propagation of socialist opinion.
2. To further political activity of a socialist character among students.
3. To encourage students to organise for the fulfilment of their responsibilities and the maintenance of their rights.
4. To bring students into contact with the Labour Movement and the working class.
The formation of a Socialist Club in the College is a most important development. It is symptomatic of one of the most hopeful signs in this troubled era; that a large number of students of all countries are climbing out of their pre-war ivory towers of political apathy, and realising that their destiny is inseparately linked with that of the broad masses of the world.
At the first committee meeting of the club, it was resolved that "the Socialist Club should be an active body and concern itself with supporting local campaigns of a progressive nature." In many respects the Club has not fulfilled its proper functions. Dur-ing the year the Club has held five meetings in the College and three more intimate Sunday evening discussions. Although very well attended, the meetings have handled very little general business directly concerned with student affairs.
The second meeting of the year was held in the form of a symposium, led by three outside speakers on the subject "What Socialism means to me." Three different schools of socialist thought were represented. Mr Wilson (editor of the "Standard") a Social-democrat, presented the gradualist theory on very much the same lines as the traditional British Labour Parties. Mr Birchfield, one-time president of the Wellington Tramwaymen's Union, and a prominent Wellington Communist, showed how a Marxist considers such questions as the state, democracy, etc. Mr F. L. Combs, M.A., an old and staunch friend of the College assumed an intermediate position. His address was witty and amusing and his remarks on education were a valuable contribution to the evening.
Mr Gordon Mirams addressed the Club on "Socialism and the Film." The general opinion of the meeting was firstly that films, like the press and radio, are a commodity, and, secondly, that even in the sphere of "pure entertainment" they are fundamentally a tool of the capitalist class and used primarily for the purpose of maintaining the status quo.
At the Club's third meeting, socialists from the S. C. M. led a panel discussion on "The Christian Basis for Socialist Political Action. "The Christian's criteria for such action is" justice and respon-
sibility to God." Although many non-Christians disagreed with this a very friendly atmosphere prevailed and while many Christians recognised the Communist Party as the only real socialist party in N.Z. and supported its practical policy the Communists present warmly applauded all Christian Socialists who would support them on practical issues.
On August 13th, Mr Bruce Skilton a prominent trade unionist and National Committee member of the C.P. addressed the Club on "Socialism and the Trade Unions." He gave a brief historical sketch and summed up the present situation in N.Z. very adequately. Most students were impressed by the fact that a worker, with only the barest minimum of formal education, but with his extensive background of knowledge, could make such a penetrating analysis of conditions in N.Z.
At the last meeting this year a resolution was passed that "the Government be urged to break off all trade relations with Franco Spain." It was also resolved to set up a publications Committee to print leaflets and if possible a newspaper giving Socialists' opinions on questions of importance to students and to help carry out, in practice, the spirit of the constitution.
In the ensuing year the following definite proposals have been made:—
1. To have regular fortnightly meetings on subjects of general interest.
2. To hold regular fortnightly Sunday evening discussions on subjects of a more fundamental socialist nature.
3. To bring out a newspaper.
With regard to the more specifically intellectual side of the Movement's work there has been no single emphasis during the past year. At Post-Exam. Camp we discussed the contributions to modern thought and culture of such Christian writers as Karl Barth, Jaques Maritain, T. S. Eliot and Grahame Grune. The emphasis at May Camp, on the other hand, was on social topics: the problems of Church and State, the problems of industry and commerce, the task of the Evangel, the task and prospects of U.N.O., and the Christian idea of marriage. Our Saturday evening discussions have included a closely reasoned address by Mr Bates on the question as to whether Christianity is played out" as a social and spiritual force in society, an extremely entertaining talk by Mr Hercus on the art and wisdom of G. K. Chesterton, and a pro-foundly moving talk by Mr O. E. Burton on his experiences "In Prison."
Bible study has by no means been neglected during the past year. An extremely worth-while study on St. Paul's Epistle to the Colossians was conducted by Mr Burton at Post-Exam. Camp. At May Camp, we studied the Book of Job, and two groups have been meeting weekly to "rediscover the Bible," with Suzanne de Dietrich. A further extremely popular study circle, led by Mr Burton, has also been meeting weekly to discuss the main characteristics of the various Christian denominations.
During the year, the S.C.M. has continued in its traditional policy of doing something for the College by way of social services. That is to say, we once again arranged a social tea for prospective freshers, conducted an information bureau during the period of enrolment, organised a second-hand bookstall, published a freshers' Handbook, helped to organise an I.S.S. Campaign and made the necessary arrangements for an official College service at the beginning of the Session.
In conclusion, one can perhaps say that, throughout the year, the S.C.M. has certainly lived up to its reputation for open discussion and spontaneity. When to these qualities we have added that of spiritual fire we shall indeed become a Student Christian Movement.
The Women's Gym. Club has been meeting once a week since the beginning of the second term at the Blue Triangle Hall. We have been working under Mrs Taglicht, doing mostly rhythmical exercises of a not too strenuous sort. Those of the class who do not find time to take up a winter sport on Saturdays, have found this class especially useful for keeping fit, and others who do play other games have found it a help to them. The work is not very advanced, but we have been doing some exercises in different rhythms, and in syncopation, which we have found very interesting, and breathing exercises are given prominence. The fourteen or so members who come regularly are very enthusiastic about it, and next year should see an expansion of the class.
Athletic Club: Captain: J. E. Drummond; Secretary: T. H. Benjamin.
Basketball Club: Captain: S. Cole; Vice-Captain: Avis Reed; Sec.-Treas.: P. Cummins.
Biological Society: President: Pat Hoggard; Sec.-Treas.: Lionel Anderson; Committee: Cedric Bradstock, Mary Land, Margaret Ross.
Boxing Club: Sec.-Treas.: E. Watts; Committee: B. O'Connor, A. W. Young, A. S. MacLeod.
Catholic Students' Guild: Secretary: P. F. H. Giles.
Chemical Society: President: A. MacDiarmid; Sec.-Treas.: J. S. Saxton; Committee: R. M. Dickson, W. G. Johnston, A. R. Caverhill, B. Marsh.
Chess Club: Captain: J. D. Steele; Vice-Captain: N. S. Henderson; Sec.-Treas.: B. S. Wood; Committee: H. C. Macneill, R. J. Smith, R. G. C. Durham.
Cricket Club: Captain: J. Carrad; Vice-Captain: J. Oakley; Secretary: C. W. Loveridge; Treasurer: S. Wilde; Committee: D. Brian, R. Vance, Burrows, Moore, A. MacLeod, G. Stringer.
Debating Society: Chairman: N. R. Taylor; Vice- Chairman: D. Cohen; Secretary: L. Leicester; Treasurer: K. B. O'Brien; Committee: J. Patrick, J. Priest, H. Dowrick, J. M. Ziman.
Defence Rifle Club: President: R. H. Johnston; Vice-President: A. T. S. Howarth; Secretary: D. B. Henderson; Treasurer: R. G. Anson; Committee Member: H. M. Sansum.
Drama Club: President: Pix Hurrell; Sec.-Treas.: G. Datson; Committee: E. Arya, C. Crosse, M. Beaglehole, H. Williamson, F. Coleman.
Evangelical Union: President: D. A. Kirkby; Vice-President: A. W. Buckway; Secretary: T. Wilson; Treasurer: A. W. Burrough; Committee: Jean Brown, Doris Weir, J. Crawford.
Ex-Serviceman's Society: Chairman: G. W. Higgin; Secretary: H. Dowrick; Committee: N. Taylor,
A. Falconer, R. G. Collins, Simmonds, Murray, Miss Myers.
Fencing Club: Captain: B. L. Hurrell; Vice-Captain: S. G. Cathie; Sec.-Treas.: B. M. Adams; Committee: B. P. Hampton, M. A. Moon.
Football Club: Secretary: D. A. Clarke.
Glee Club: President: G. S. Bogle; Sec.-Treas.: J. Caselberg; Committee: C. Richardson, B. Aitken, C. Salmon, T. Harcourt, B. Chapman.
Gramophone Club: Pauline Michael.
Harrier Club: President: G. F. Dixon; Coach: G. C. Sherwood; Captain: R. M. Daniell; Vice-Capt.: M. J. Poole; Sec-Treas.: A. Cole.
Men's Hockey Club: Captain: (till July) K. W. Kiddle, (after July) E. Latham. Secretary: N. W. Towns; Treasurer: R. W. Stannard; Committee: A. C. Ives, B. D. Nash, D. J. Griffin, I. Ting.
Women's Hockey Club: Captain, V. Rich; Secretary, F. Fyfe; Treasurer, C. Spencer; Committee, D. Filmer, R. Russell, J. Priest, J. Robbins.
Maths and Physics Society: President, G. S. Bogle; Vice-Presidents, E. O. Hall, J. M. Ziman.
Law Faculty Club: Chairman, N. R. Taylor; Secretary, P. T. Young; Committee, F. D. O'Flynn, F. L. Parkin, R. G. Collins, L. Rose.
Musicmakers' Club: President, P. Michael; Secretary, J. McMullian; Treasurer, N. Casey; Committee, L. Pascoe, J. Florence, A. Myers, E. Milward, P. Vella, B. O'Brien, T. Kurring.
Photographic Club: Chairman, W. B. Martin; Sec.-Treas., D. R. McQueen; Committee, K. Chiu, C. R. Ellis, W. Te Whiti, K. Staples.
Rowing Club: Captain, G. H. Gillen; Vice-Capt.. W. V. Osten; Sec.-Treas., G. Ward; Committee, R. G. Honore, G. Stuckey.
Soccer Club: Captain. J. Y. Walls; Vice-Capt., R. M. Dickson; Sec.-Treas., B. Sutton-Smith.
Socialist Club: President, G. A. Eiby; Sec.-Treas., H. C. Evison; Committee, J. Patrick, F. Coleman, A. O. McLeod.
Student Christian Movement: President, D. Brown; Vice-Pres., F. Fyfe; Secretary, J. Miller; Treasurer, J. Battersby; Committee, S. Ilott, B. Corkhill.
Swimming Club: Secretary, G. S. Bogle.
Table Tennis Club: President, E. Flaws; Captain, A. Graham; Sec.-Treas., E. Jones; Rationing Controllers, N. Casey, D. Peebles.
Tennis Club: President, M. O'Connor; Chairman and Club Captain, G. Taylor; Secretary, A. Munden; Treasurer, B. M. Igglesden; Committee, A. Reed, L. Webley, S. Ilott, J. Florance, J. Flett, P. R. McKenzie, A. McLean, B. Weir.
Tramping Club: Chairman, A. O. McLeod; Vice- Chairman, F. F. Evison; Secretary, R. McLaughlin; Chief Guide, M. Murray; Committee, J. Priest, J. Hawthorn, B. Milburn, C. Bradstock.
Women's Gym. Club: President, C. Eichelbaum; Treasurer, M. Gully; Secretary, S. Ilott.
Weir House Committee: Secretary, J. B. Wood-ward.
Spike, the Victoria College Review, is published annually in August or September (the date depending on a variety of factors), by the Students' Association. The current issue is number 74 of Volume xlv.
The Editor this year was Mr K. J. Hollyman, assisted by the following Associates: Miss Jean Hawthorn (Records), Mr H. W. Gretton, Mr R. McQueen (Photography), Mr W. H. Oliver (Verse). The Business Manager was Mr Ron Smith. Distribution is in the hands of Mr K. T. Matthews, from whom copies may be obtained.
The Editors wish to thank all contributors, published or not published, for their interest, and also the judges who accepted the doubtful glory of dealing with Spike competitions. Special thanks go to our printers, who accepted Spike, at short notice and under heavy pressure of other wook, with a goodwill we particularly appreciate.