Malcolm Hopwood Tunnel Vision
If a crazed geriatric is firing pellets at the venetian blinds, I don’t want Maddie answering my emergency call. She’s trouble.
Monday April 14, 1913. ‘‘What’s the town coming to?’’ might as well have been a headline in the Manawatu¯
Standard, as a new week began in the borough of Palmerston North.
For one thing, the autumn weather was miserably cold, damp and windy.
For another, local youth were behaving badly, and complaints were flying like windblown leaves.
‘‘The motor car has ceased to be the most serious danger to life and limb, at least in this town,’’ ran the newspaper editorial.
‘‘It is the motorcycle that has now arrogated to itself the control of the road. It’s a common sight to see cyclists racing through the town at breakneck speed, and no part of the borough seems immune from this fury of dust, dash and petrol.
‘‘A month or so back, motorcycle sports were held in Palmerston, and for some unaccountable reason, harebrained cyclists of the youthful variety were allowed without molestation to career madly through the public streets in what they called ‘training practice’ for the sports. ‘‘Emboldened by the lack of protest . . . or punishment at the time, these immature youths think they can do as they like . . . with an insolent disregard for the feelings and fears of the public.
‘‘Fitzherbert St [as the avenue was then called] is a popular parade on Sunday, but it is no pleasure to pedestrians and residents to see motorcyclists racing along this fine street, as . . . about 20 on their way to The Square from the bridge did yesterday. Women and children were in the street.
‘‘Why does not the Motor Cycle Club do something before public patience is exhausted?’’
In another vehicle-related complaint, a letter-writer called ‘‘Enquirer’’ fumed: ‘‘Isn’t there a bylaw in the borough of Palmerston North to stop the practice of trailing drays – of which there are a great deal in this town? I consider they are a danger to the public. If a man has two horses and drays he should employ a driver for each horse and dray. . . ’’
But the most upsetting feature of the weekend had been the hooliganism at the Opera House.
Theatregoers and families had eagerly snapped up tickets at Coles’ for Saturday’s one and only performance of the classic Maurice Maeterlinck fantasy play, The Blue
Bird by the touring J C Williamson company. Advance publicity had praised the acting of the cast, featuring adult actors and 40 child performers; the music, written by Norman O’neill, played by a 20-person orchestra under the baton of Edward Rawlings; and the scenery, costumes, flying and electric effects ‘‘without parallel in the history of the world’s stage’’.
On the night, the show started well but was rapidly hijacked by a rowdy group in the ‘‘pit’’.
The Standard reviewer declared ‘‘the conduct . . . was so disgraceful that public attention must be drawn to it . . . the intervals may have seemed a little long (but there were 10 separate sets, and the orchestra played incidental music as they were changed).
‘‘There was a running fire of loud comments until the third act, when a really shameful interruption occurred – certain occupants of the pit, who evidently were not able to follow the philosophical subtleties of The Blue
Bird indulged in continuous catcalls, mocked the players, interposed loud and irrelevant references to the characters and even went to the length of countingout one or two of the actors. Such conduct cannot be tolerated in the future.
‘‘Disconcerting to those . . . who wish to take an intelligent interest in the play; insulting to the players, who, we understand felt keenly the slight put upon them – a sad reflection on Palmerston itself.
‘‘Saturday’s exhibition cannot be passed by . . . only one way to secure reasonable behaviour – to have a uniformed constable stationed in the part of the house where the noise comes from.’’ On Monday morning the Blue
Bird company left on the New Plymouth express for Whanganui.
(Five years later, The Blue Bird story was made into a silent movie, and in 1936 Jan Peerce’s recording of the song The Bluebird of
Happiness became a popular hit.) About an hour before that Palmerston North performance, Masterton had been rocked by a violent earthquake, which downed chimneys and caused widespread damage; falling masonry had killed a youth named Hoani Ngawiro Marakaia, instantly.
Over in London, cable news revealed that Emmeline Pankhurst, head of the British suffragist movement, who’d been sentenced to three years in jail for ‘‘incitement to crime’’ had been released after a hunger strike. The news stated Pankhurst ‘‘has been ‘licensed out’ for a limited period to a nursing home. Her friends describe her condition as very grave’’.
Another news cable stated: ‘‘Sir John Cockburn, lecturing before the members of the Royal Sanitary Institute, yesterday advocated a crusade against the wearing of veils by women.’’
He claimed that ‘‘the fearful grimaces women were in the habit of making to keep their veils in position were a deterioration to their features’’.
Avid Antipodean royalwatchers would have enjoyed reading about the engagement of a good-looking young couple: Princess Victoria Louise of Prussia, only daughter of Kaiser Wilhelm II of Germany, to Prince Ernst of Hanover, Duke of Brunswick. Victoria was a greatgranddaughter of Queen Victoria through her father, and Ernst was also Duke of Cumberland. (As a soldier of the German army, Ernst would have his titles suspended during World War I.)
At the wedding in May, royal cousins King George V of England, Tsar Nicholas of Russia and the German kaiser, with their families and 1200 guests, flocked to Berlin for the celebrations.
One headline above their photo read: ‘‘Guests who rule a third of the world.’’
The Great War was just 14 months away; that carefree world, along with many of the wedding guests, would not survive.