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Roger Rabbits with |
It was a crisis, a conflagration as reported in a newspaper of February 27, 1906. But the story still has legs, still resonates.
The flames had taken hold. The house was well ablaze. Oh dear! The fire brigade was turned out and galloped towards the fire – yes galloped, because this was 120 years ago.
Then the cavalry, with hoses, suddenly whinnies to a halt when it’s realised the fire is outside the borough boundary, outside its jurisdiction, outside its responsibility. Because the mayor had said so.
Then against a backdrop of flames, smoke and destruction, the fire brigade calmly trotted back to the station while the house and contents were “cremated”. Lovely!
Amusing now, but you can bet the owner of the ashes and embers was soon banging on the door of the Mayoral Chambers questioning the occupant’s parentage.
It’s fascinating what gems you encounter when you give over valuable company time to thumbing through old, crusty, dusty, stained and dog-eared volumes that always seem to find a home on my desk. Perhaps old just attracts old? Like a copy of the ‘New Zealand Herald‘s 100 Years of News – 1863 to 1963’. So old the front-page image of Auckland’s One Tree Hill still has a tree on it. “No Tree Hill” now, of course. It’s a 128-page chronicle offering a “reflective slice in the life of a nation and progress of the world” or stepping stones in a 100-year-old story. I keep coming back to it for juicy snippets of what has gone before …
There’s the macabre from 1865: “Rev. hanged at the door of his church”.
Snuffed out
There’s the reassuring from 1910: “Despite fears mankind would be snuffed out, Earth has passed through the tail of Halley’s Comet and we still breathe”.
There’s the inconceivable from 1872: “Children aged 6 and 8 sent to prison for theft and then whipped”.
And the despairing from the hell of 1917: “Bloodbath at Passchendaele, enemy machinegun fire swelled to a shriek, many fell, but the men pressed on”.
Events that shaped us. At the other extreme there were these solitaires, these gems.
It was 1894 and a young, unnamed A-list couple were at the altar. The air was bubbling with love and hope and happiness. But then love sputters and dies. “NO!” said the bride. She didn’t want to have and to hold. “I won’t have him.” Imagine the gasps and gulps from the dearly gathered. Then “owing to the disposition of the bride-elect”, the ref was forced to call the match off. Before he had even blown time-on. As I have discovered, love’s such an ephemeral thing. What did they do with all the asparagus rolls and butterfly cakes? And the presents? There was no salacious detail to wallow in, so use your imagination … It’s often more fun.
Flap over flappers
Then the “spotlight of 1928″ fixed on the flappers. Although the Rev Leonard H. Hunt of the Mt Eden Presbyterian Church might have transposed the “f” for an “s”.
Flappers were young women who embraced a rebellious and liberated lifestyle, challenging societal norms and expectations. “At your peril,” warned the Rev.
‘The New Zealand Herald’ story of the time said: “You couldn’t tell the mothers from the misses – modern, stylish, little felt hats pulled tight over bobbed hair, short skirts a whole inch or so above the knee, and the rest was silk stockinged legs in shades like “sun blush’”. Gosh, is anyone feeling faint? Flappers also enjoyed smoking, drinking and dancing.
From the pulpit, Rev Hunt was in a flap over flappers. It was bound to end badly. He suggested flappers were aping men in their weaknesses and vices – and expecting permanent happiness from pleasures that could never give it. “They argue if it’s good for men it’s good for women. But is it?” Regardless Rev, a hundred years later they’re still partying, puffing and chugging and dancing, still “getting jiggy”, the hems have soared even higher, and society as we know it hasn’t disintegrated.
After reluctant brides and flamboyant flappers comes the story of another woman who knew her mind – the no-nonsense, not-to-be-trifled-with Mrs Elizabeth Yates, new Mayor of Onehunga and first lady mayor in the British Empire.
The outgoing mayor patronisingly suggested she heed the motto on the back of the mayoral chair – “Be just and fear not” – because that was the only way she could do her job.
Pffft!
Good riddance
Mrs Yates “regretted” the man’s last words as mayor – read peed off. “I don’t need reminding. I have been just, and I have not feared, all my life.”
Mrs Yates’ new council members were described as “municipal experimentalists”, but it wasn’t an experiment universally accepted. Four male councillors, including the town clerk, immediately resigned.
Good riddance because Mrs Yates said men had had an “unsatisfactory” time on a council whose affairs would be better looked after by a woman.
Despite her doggedness, the newspaper reported Mrs Mayor “wore a plain yet neat and become costume” for her installation. “Blue and white print dress with a white front, puffed sleeves and a zouave jacket.” We weren’t told what the outgoing male mayor wore for the occasion. Funny that!