1937-02-24 — Page 10

10

WANDERERS

THE OTHER' HALS

By John Worby

W

Dent, Bs. 6t.j

LOOSE END

By Neal Harman (Darker, 78, (d.)

HEN they were very young both John Worby and Neal Harman determined that they would see the world-but John Worby wanted to see the underworld as well,

"One half of the world doesn't know how the other half lives," he reminda us on the title page, and then proceeds to make quito certain that the gaps in our knowledge are filled. An "orphanage boy," no one seems to have liked young John. He was knocked, if not from pillar to post, from foster-parents to foster-parents, until on a farm, in Canada, he finally robelied and took to the road.

Then onward his life was largely among gangsters and griddlers, hoboes and swag women, bills and splva- all of which terms the interested will Bnd defined in an admirably explana- tory glossary.

Froin Canada. John Worby (aged sixteen) crossed the border into tho United States as "nephew" to a de generate American chef. From him Jolin stole 50-dollar bill; - whitch another hobo, in turn, promptly stole from him.

D

But that was only a mild beginning. Before he was deported back to Britain, this surprising young man had, in his own curiose fashion, thoroughly ex-' plored the seamy side of the United States: alternating between Jall, jump. ing freight trains, lazing in". hobo' paradise" and jalt ngain.

It entlaralling. If sometimes sor dal, story. But John Worby hina scen so much of the "other half" in his twenty-five years that to plak up Loose End is as refreshing as a mi- mer shower,

Mr. Harman find a home life, but it was ns unfortunate as Mr. Worby's orphaunge existence. Frustrated as a child. he became perilously near what the Colonel Blimps would call a social MAKAL

"K

THE HONGKONG TELEGRAPH. WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY 24,

BOOKS

OF THE WEEK

Edited by Roger Pippett

W

PEASANTRY

FAMINE

By Liam O'Flaherty (Gollancz, 8, 5d.)

HEREVER he is Mr. O'Flaherty is always worth listening to, always a broth of a boy, But, on his own ground, he is much more than that; he becomes, in the best sense of the word, Bensational. One of the really significant authors of our, time.

Take this long and terrible story, perhaps the most ambitious he has written, A family of peasants in a little Irish valley is caught by the famine of the Hungry Forties of last century. But caught" is not Mr. O'Flaherty's real right' word.

THE SHAME OF IT ALL

THE PACE OF THE OX 13 Marjorie Juta (Constable, 10s. 6.)

ROOJER" we used to chil kim in days that one is "still ashamed to renien- ber: the ugly old man with, the fringe-beard and the ill-Otting top hat was the theme of countless jokes, the source of endless fun for British patriotism.

Except in the dark daya be tween Magersfontein and Paardebara, when amusement turned to

anger. and defent had to be excused by charging "Kroojer" and his Boers with every villainy conceivable.

was n

So loathsome were we ( schoolboy of those days) that even Kipling had to rebuke us for "killing Kruger with our mouths. But we went gally on. Exquisitely fany we were.

The shame of it all comes back as one reads Marjorie Juin's The Pace of

the Or, which is the story of Paul Kruger's life-the first full-length life of him in English.

Nine years, old was young Paul Kruger when his family, with all their possessions in the ox-wagons, set out from the farm near Colesberg, where they had lived for a century, on the Orent Trek, to and new and where they might setile free from the rule of the British,

Who was right and who was wrong in the quarrels and controversies of those days or what indeed was "right," what "wrong are to-day matters for the historias. And Miss' Juta' is no detached historian but an enthusiastic Siographer. But let that pass

For the boy Kruger, leading the long span of oxen, the issue was simple enough His people were seeking free- dom to lead their own lives." They were as the Chosen People flying from Egypt at the command of the Lord,

They found a new home across the

OUR BRITISH CROSSWORDS

4

16

Vaal, and there young Kruger grow to manhood. flo was alranger even then than his fellows.. He was swifter of foot than a nativo runner; a superb horseman; a mugnificent ahol a fer- less lion hunter whore, exploits are a

вида

But also he was a serious man, deeply religious, for whom his Bible was the direct voice of dad, to be consulted before every decision: a man of the Cromwellian stamp. Inevitably he became a lender among his people. At thirty-five he was Commandant- General of the iny Republic.

The long tragic struggle was only beginning. The exodus had freed the people. But the new Pharaoh would not let them go. Again the real story is complex: but to Kruger simple, Tha British were seeking to destroy, bis task was to defend, the freedom of his folk.

Each side passionately believed that it was right. Each side belloved in its destiny, Ceell Rhodes summed up his doctrine. His dream was the “further. ance of the British Empire, the bring. ing of the whole civilised world under British rule." Therefore, ad an instel- ment, all Bouth Africa.

No, the Kilmartins and their neigh- bours are ruined, starved, beaten and Anally overwhelmed. They

Bre stricken by Nature-and by their fellow-men. Even the sympathy and the charity that flow luggishly to wards them are curdled by greed urat prejudice and mischance and incom petence.

There is no hope for the old, al- though they will struggle pitifully to the end. And only a gliminering for the young. If they are miraculously fortunate, there may be a ship waiting In the bay: they may escape that way -to Americn.

Mr. O'Flaherty makes that "may" assume almost unbearable proportions. Tragedy, like the blight itself, full the sky and blots out the sun,

Perfectly timed and spaced, mag- nicently sustained and powerfully written that is Famine. The sharp est stone Mr. O'Flaherty has shot from his sling for many a day.

R. P.

HERO?

1987.

Balantak lurarnasional Presentes

Marlene

DIETRICH

& Charles

BOYER

THE GARDEN OF ALLAH

ENICOLOR

SYNerms or PRECKING OLAFTERS Domini Ensiden, beautiful and wealthy tourist, visiting the Al- perian desert, la alternately at- fracted and frightened by the mysterious Borla Androvaky, whom she moots there. Hor frienda, Count Anteoni and Father Roubler, dislike the man and warn her against him, dut she has fallen in love. Dómini and Boris are married by the reluctant Father Roubler, and un for their honeymoon into the dicaart.

Chapter Five

Produced

DAVID O. SEEZNICK polymed_shes busted ARTIJEN

where before, but he acomod antis. fied with Boris explanation that it was imposible. After dinner, Do- mini, left the two men together and fulfiling bor function as hos- tobe, was on her. way to see how da Trevignac's men were faring na Detouch entered into the tent with a bottle of liquor for Boris and da Azovigona. It was a rare.cordini, he explained, called Lagaraino.

Domini saw to the soldiers' wants,. evon to the extent of singing with them. They were a morry lot after their escape from death, and sho was enjoying herself in their com pany, when, looking up, she saw do Travignac walking toward them. There was a strange look on his face.

"Good night, Madame," he said For weska the caravan wound. Its with cold politeness, and then, to way slowly among the sand dunce the sergeant, in a voice like the of the boundless Sahara, No pur cracking of a whip. "Bergeant, get vose, no destination controlled their your men together. We march at Journey. Some days they would rido dawn!" And bofora Domial could along in the palanquin, close to recover from her surprise, he, dis- each other. On others they would appeared into the night. She took ride off on their homes, away fromed after him a moment, then ran the caravan. When a place appealed toward the tent in which Barla.ro to them, they would spend a day mained alone, or_twa there,

Bho took no hand of the broken Ong duy they eams to the Towar liquour bottle and glasson on the of Mogar, n ruin left over from table. Boris was pacing up and some past Saracen civilization. down in the sleeping quarters of the There were supposed to be gazelles tent, and who ran to alm, in the vicinity, and Boris decided "Boris, what is it? Why did Mon- to spend a day trylag his lusk at sleur de Trevignao go away so sud- the hunt, whlic Domial rusted at denly". the camp.

"Domini, do you care whether he When he did not return by night-1 is here or gone? Do you want any.

*

Hr. too, gravitated to the United States (though armed with a letter of credit for £200), and he, too, soon found himself in the company of gatTR- stern, though they were not the braki that Mr. Worby knew.

Perhaps it is Mr. Harmatt's expuetiy for good willing that smoothes over the ugly corner. Certainly he de- keribes a long series of alarms and ex- curakona awith an easy-going oljee tivity not common to the timey."

And, whether he is hiding from gun- men on New York tenement roots or making flims in Burma or trapping Hous in Africa, he retains a sense of humour that makes this more than hist aunther entertaining book,

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Chamberlain, Milner, the rest of. them, thought much the same, If they dild not voice their thoughts 50 frankly. All South Africa must be brought under British rule. Kruger, ns determined, as convinced as they, meant that it should not.

In October, 1000, he left the Trans- van, as thirty-six years inter Halle Selassie was to leave Abyssinia-lo appeal the elvilised world to inter- vene to save the independerice thy Glate overwhelmed by powerful neighbour. He met the same fate.

For nearly two years his Boers fought on: then came the surrender. God does not forsake His people, even though it may appear so," said Oom Paul,"

He might have returned: but he would not. His wife was dead. The Union Jack flew in Pretoria. He pre- ferred to awalt death in Switzerland, Born under the British flag. I shall not die thereunder." But in his last message to his people there was no bitterness.

The future was one which neither Kruger nor Rhodes, nor Milner nor Chamberlain, foresaw, a future which made mockery of their long struggle for mastery.

Looking back, "how sad and bad and mad it seems," There was in al} those protagonista nu real wisdom, Bui In Paul Kruger there was, if not grent wisdom, at least a great herolo quailty. Few governing men of our days have been more worthy of respect than “old

Kroofer."

W. N. E.

A

MING IS THE KINGDOM By Jane Oliver (Collins, 85. éd.)

NASTY, snuming, disagree- able, menn, undersized crea- ture, to judge from his por- traits-it is difficult to make a sympathetic plcture of James I, King of England and Scotland, Impossible to make a romantle hero of him, though you can admit he bud his points.

But Miss Oliver has made him her: hero, and, although she has not managed to make him likeable, she does make you realise it was not ha fault that he was already old and miserable and unhealthy when, at forty, he succeeded Queen Elizabeth and united the two thrones.

He was, na hic complained, persecuted even before his birth, when Rizzio was murdered before the eyes of his mother, Mary, Queen of Scots. Sept. rated from her, neglected in child- hood, he spent his boyhood in captiv- ity while the complicated pollties of thie' Line swirled about him.

An impotent king, with the Kirk as unruly as the Lartis, an anhappy hus band and a sickly man-ho gave tils mind to tortuous statecraft, more tor- Luous demonology, and still more tor- Luous private revenge.

Miss Oliver has laboured carefully and well to present the man in the making against a background which is in places uncomfortably vivid.

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"We are a French patrol-lost in the desert for three days," he gasped, "Have you water for us — a bite to eatƒ”

fall, Domial had Batouch light a one to break in upon our lives? torch which she herself took up on Aren't we happier, alone?" the tower in order to direct him to the camp. She waved it back and that you wanted him to go? After "Boris, you didn't let him see forth, but heard no answering call. his escape from death? It would Then in the darkness below her she have been inhuman.” seemed to see not one, but severni

"Perhaps my love for you might shadowy forms. Volces spoke, and they sounded like the voices of and even make me that, Domini, And I men "It's not possible it did, if you know why it did anust be a light "Fodi, shut up. would you hate me for it? Could you could you hate me for any. there's nothing. there" "It's a mir

thing," Dominí?” ogo."

Domini called down, "Who is it? Who are you ?***

"No. I could never hate you - now. But why don't you share your

The sound, of Domini's voles | sorrow with mat Those dark places. seemed to act like meglo on the you once spoke of -- they can't 20- group of men. As who descended main dark forever."

"Our love is happy," Boris pload-

the stops of the tower to meet them with the torch still in her hand, iad. "Can't we leave it as it 15?" they hurried toward her. First of Dominini was persistent. "You them was a young French officer must tell me — you must *** in the uniform of a Captain of the "No, no, I'll keep your love. T Spahls. He was evidently young and koop it!" probably handsome, but his face was covered with a four or five days beard and ho was very grimy, He looked at Domini as if he did not believe in her roality. At last le scomed to realize it was not a dream.

"Nothing can destroy our love, Boris. But my happiness, our happl ness — that is what can never be complete until you give me --- your truth."

Boris looked at her a moment, sensed the depth of feeling in her eyes. Then be turned away and walked out into the night,

"Madame," he gasped, “It seemed Impossible that anyone ---– pardon — you must think us crazy. We are a Do Trevignao and his men left at French patrol, Madame, lost in the dawn. Domini was standing outside desert for three days. Madame, for the tent as they passed, but the give me my man are bungry and | agonized question in hor eyo found exhausted. Have you water for us no response in the young officer,

a bite to eat?

who looked at her with horror, and "Of course," said Domini. “Over he made the sign of the Cross pa there in the camp."

he loft Domini.

The men acted as if they could A pall of gloom seemed to have hardly believe their good fortune, descended over the camp during The officer Instructed his sergeant the days that followed. Boris was to take the men to the camp at | evidently engaged in a terrible once. Then he turned back to Do- struggle within himself, and Domini mini,

watched him in silence, wondering, "Madame, will you permit mo -- fearing,

Then, one day, Domin! beard the Bemo la Trevignac. myFam in dome drovaky. Oh, sound of hamer boorn outside and pardon me, I ace my husband com- men dismounting. She ran out of ing. It you'll excuse mo I'll go and the tent to see Count Anteoni, ac- meet him. We shall be very happy companied by his trusi retinue, if you'll dine with us, Monsieur de talking to Batouch. He looked dif- Trovignac."

ferent, she thought. There was some thing sterner and harder about his mouth, and the wual lightnom wo Domini told Boris of the visitor'e gone from ble manner. Neverthe- - arrival and then summoned Ba-lea, he greeted her an affusively

touch in order to prepare as sump- na she did him, tuous a ropant au was posibls in "I hope your finding us isn't so- the middle of the desert.

oldontal," he said,

“with pleasure, Madame"

Batonah was more than equal, to

"No. I intended to find you, I

the occasion, producing many arti- was on the way to Amaru. Í mot a clea 'which even Domint had notyoung French officer? known they had with them. He onsfour de Trevignac Anteo- chatted merrily to her as he fixed | nl nodded. Domini know then that the table.

there was some deep purpose in

"You noc, Madamo that's the dif- this vialt, but Antoɑni did not seem ference between Had) and myself. to want to speak of it now. Borta He would never have thought of came up, and the two men book bringing all theso lovely thinga=|hande, not too cordially. the chaira, the glassware, the silvar, After dinner that night, as An the tables-But I knew we would toont was helping himself to a glass bavo guests--and so here you dro! of Benedictine, ho montioned cas In Ben-Mora, people say, Batouch ually, "You know, there's o30 In the perfect housewife!! *****

liquoue I'm very fond of-I haven't

Do Travignno, shaved and neatly seen it in years. It's called Lagar dressed, looked a different man. nlse." Boris started at the name. Everything went smoothly except for the moment of de Trevignao's Introduction to Boris. The officer though the had con le hont come

(To be continued)

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