Regulation-Itis

More than 30 years ago, residents of the New Hebrides were objecting furiously to “too many regulations”; and one angry ‘copra-producer wrote some doggerel, which was published in “The British Association Gazette” of June, 1912.

Another old resident to express his resentment concerning a lot of new regulations has sent us a copy of the doggerel, with a couple of verses of his own added to bring it all up-to-date. rE Resident Commissioners Passed Regulations seven; And by their aid they planned to make Our town a little heaven.

The first forbids the native lad To purchase or procure That fiery thing called alcohol Or spirituous liqueur.

The second one, you must confess, Indubitably, is A public boon; it demarcates Municipalities.

And by the rest it is forbid To shoot a bird at night, Or let your cattle roam at large, Or fish with dynamite.

And so on; and the reason why Their plan does not succeed, No one looks for heaven here, Or pays the slightest heed.

Meanwhile, our two Commissioners Conceal their disappointment.

Life’s not all jam: there’s usually A fly in any ointment.

And since last year, their energy So keen, exhausted, quite is; Thank heaven, they’ve had no fresh attack Of Regulationitis. (Additional verses to bring us up-to-date in 1944.) Oh that the Bard who wrote that verse, Lived nowadays among us— He’d find things gone from bad to worse— One wonders they’ve not hung us.

Officials swarm around like bees— The only ones that live at ease.

Plain folk must mind their Q’s and P's.

Dot all their I’s and cross their T’s, Shake at the knees, and cry ‘‘Please!

Please!”

We’re never granted pause or spell, Till now we wish them all—Well! Well!