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Pleasant Hours
… in a Sleeper

By W. F. I.

It has always been my belief that the “Man in the Street” has a story to tell … if only he is approached at the right time. But, human nature, that most perverse factor, invariably prevents us from making the best of our opportunities.

But there is one way in which this may be overcome—in the sleeping carriages of the New Zealand Railways!

My employment takes me, at intervals, to Auckland, and when I enter the “sleeper” I do so with pleasant anticipation. With whom shall I be sharing the comfortable cabin tonight?

Never have I failed to find an entertaining travelling companion. On one occasion I was fortunate to travel with Vincent Lopez, world renowned wrestler. But it was not of wrestling that we talked. Lopez has established a reputation as a big game hunter, and he entertained me for hours with descriptions of his experiences in the jungles of South America and Mexico. Particularly interesting was the description given of the deadly insect that first injects an anaesthetic into its human prey before burrowing under the skin, where a blister is formed after the insect's departure. Once that blister is broken, blood-poisoning sets in and death invariably follows.

Months later, I read a book dealing with the mystery surrounding the disappearance of a troop of Cortes's soldiers in Mexico, which mystery had been solved by the discovery in a cave literally alive with these insects, of the bleached bones of these soldiers. The men had camped for the night and had “scratched themselves to death.” Their uniforms—heavy metal affairs of the time—were scattered far from their bones. They had stripped in order to scratch and with the scratching came death.

On another occasion I travelled with a stipendiary magistrate. He was travelling from Auckland to Wellington and then on to the West Coast of the South Island. I have yet to incur the magisterial wrath in court, but should it ever be my fate to stand in the box and hear a magistrate speak harshly I would do so with the knowledge that behind the austere “front” they have to assume is a warm personality and a large understanding.

We talked of the hospitality of people in isolated districts and he assured me that the people of the West Coast of the South Island, North Auckland and East Coast of the North Island took first place for hospitality, but that the coming of civilisation—in terms of transport—had done much to spoil it. “Ah, the good old days,” he declared, as he told me of the many little courtesies extended him in his travels.

And then there was the French engineer, who told me of the Eiffel Tower and its history; of the building of the Maginot Line, that defensive work between France and Germany. He told me of the bitterness that has been handed down since the days of the Franco-Prussian War and of how the general incursion of sport has done much to remove ill-feeling.

The insurance manager who thought wrestlers were a “bunch of toughies” was quickly set at ease when I went outside and returned with a wrestler who had taken his diploma in physical education. On that occasion I did not need to take any part in the discussion; I just sat back and listened to a man's opinion of wrestlers undergo a great change!

In common with most New Zealanders—or, perhaps I should say, in common with most people—I have my ideas of what constitutes radio entertainment and what does not. So it was that I had a heaven-sent opportunity of airing my views when I was “teamed” with a station director of a New Zealand radio station. I started to tell this gentleman what I thought was wrong with the programmes—but he did not take long to convince me that I was in error. Too many of us gauge the standard of a programme on our own inclinations, and completely overlook the other man's point of view.

But the most amazing companion of them all was the one travelling to Palmerston North to attend a conference. He had arrived in Auckland after a long rail trip from North Auckland, following on tedious travel to the railhead. He was tired and asked me when I contemplated retiring. I remarked that he might have the beds made-up whenever he wished.

We left Auckland at 7.15 p.m. and the attendant made-up the beds immediately. My fellow passenger left the train at Palmerston North—and I still slept! Apart from the few words of conversation while the beds were being arranged, we had not spoken a dozen words and had travelled more than 300 miles together! We had slept, instead.

And if that is not a good advertisement for the comfort of the “sleeper,” what is?