Obituary

from Ross Gillespie.

Friends, Romantics, Waihekeans — Lend me your ears. I come to bury the Local Board, not to praise it. So relax, Pocket your car keys and take it easy. Don’t let the sound of your own wheels drive you crazy.

To drive, or not to be driven around the bend; that is the Espanade question. Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slips and narrows of outrageous fortune, or to take inordinate rates and measures against a seawall of troubles, and by opposing, perchance, end them? Aye, there’s the rub. The insolence of office, and the spruns that patient merit of the unworthy takes, when we ourselves might a quiet espanade make.
This was the unkindest cut of all. For when the Local Board saw the opportunity, ingratitude stronger than traitors’ bite, quite vanquished the majority and daggered this gentle cause.

A referendum would have sufficed. Reason and democracy were in accord and the quality of mercy was not strained. We do pray for mercy and that same prayer teaches us all to render the deeds of mercy.

O stumbling Board, lie down and stray no further. Scatter the sod over them; dust to dust, ashes to ashes. Out, out, brief candle.
The pen is mightier than the Board, See that you are enrolled that you may make your mark for something better.

Come Chairman, lets to billiards.