POSTSCRIPTS

Evening Post, Volume CXXIV, Issue 13, 15 July 1937, Page 8

POSTSCRIPTS

Chronicle and Comment

BY PERCY FLACE

Have you ever felt like a crossword puzzle unsolved? * » • ' Another Dunedin club (the second1) has decided in favour of Sunday bowls. Shades of John Knox and Martin Luther! * « ♦ It isn't only democracy that's on trial. Have you looked on that horde of perspiring potential All Blacks at the Park this week? «• c « Reported that Eoosevelt's view ia "that Europe is looking for a magician with a rabbit in his hat." The Whita House seems the wrong place to find him. * # * The Director of Broadcasting says that "without people knowing it, their standard of listening has been raised out of all knowledge." We're afraid many are destined to go to their grave in ignorance of the fact. i ■ * * *. STATISTICS. Taking the mean of many accounts, a man of 50 years has slept 6000 days, worked 6500 days, walked 800 days, amused himself 4000 days, was eating 1500 days, was sick 500 days, etc. Ha ate 17,0001b of bread, 16,0001b of meat, 46001b of vegetables, eggs, and fish; and drank 7000 gallons of liquid—water, tea, coffee, beer, wine, etc., with emphasis on the beer. * ■ * • INSULT TO IRELAND. This yarn comes from a noted newspaperman who has recently* returned from the hell that is Spain. There was the wounded Irish soldier, with the traditional Irish fighting spirit, who said: "There are only two divisions in this army who will really fight, and they're the Irish and tha Germans." Then there was the German officer, who said: "The only fighting troopa in this army are the Germans. Tha Irish? Oh, they're all right for fighting among themselves." BUNNY BABY COMPETITION. That Fontana still holds sway over other districts was proved again this week, when Mr. and Mrs. Karl Ferraro, of Laurel Street, told of their doe which had a litter of 18 rabbits, after hearing of the announcement made by, a Riverside man that one of his rabbits hid. 17, the largest litter on record. This young mother rabbit recently had 18 babies, one of which died the next day. The remaining 17 lived a week, and then seven more died, as the mother could not take care of so many. At present she is raising tha ten with ease. She has" had three litters before this, the first being 12, the second 11, and the third 12, and has raised all but three of these. This note comes via an old friend, T.D.T., from an old friend of his, formerly of Berwick (Victoria), now living in Fontana, California. » » » RODE WITH CORRIGAN. Sir,—Part of your story re James Scobie and Tpmmy Corrigan is not correct. I rode with Tommy Corrigan. He was killed off a horse called Waiter —his own Caiilfield" horse—and it" was in the National Steeplechase, the big steeples. He fell and was jumped on by another horse, Gippslander. Waiter was no champion. Speaking to Coi> rigan before the race, he reckoned ha had a chance. "You never know what happens in a steeplechase," was hi 3 remark. I am an old-timer, served my time with George Watson and his son Godfrey, hunted the Melbourne hounds from 1839 to 1900. lam speaking from Tour^^ ; Queen Street, Masterton. We're glad to meet a mail who rode with Corrigan. For us, Corrigan was, over the fences, what Tom Hales proved to be on the flat—a master horseman and a good fellow, to boot. Perhaps our correspondent remembers Ruby (she was long before our time), a gallant lepper, though under 15 hands? » «• •..-■• MORNING TEA MONOLOGUE. . 'Ail 'Itler! Yes, I'm better now; Thank you for nothink, dear, an' 'ow! Them-folks all set for Kingdom Coma Shout always: "Down with Demon Rum!" Well, lai-st week, did I down it, em An' 'ere's the test: I'm 'ere today, All uv me tonsils right as rain, Me nose flesh-coloured once again, Not brick-red with a purple splash . . . "Down with the Demon Rum"—what trash. I 'old rum's all right in its place; It smacks the 'flu bug in the face Better than all the "quacks" can do. That, dear's, between jest me-'n'-you, I wouldn't like that kinder "knock" To get around, 'cos my old doc. Might 'ear it, and I'm in hees debt— I owe 'im quite a few bob yet. I guess you sorter like to 'ear The Springboks' time is drorin' near. They're comin' soon, an' all jNT.Z. 'As "got the jitters in their 'cad, Fearin' them blokes when they imbark All set on Atherletic Park. I'll back our Hall Blacks tooth-'n'-nail; I've gotta wheeze that they won't fail Even though Joey Sadler's out. Pity there ain't a 'alf about Like Freddy Roberts, or a back Like Nepia, while as for the pack, There ain't no Gallaghers, "Bumper" Wrights, Or Bellyses to fight our fight, Or Cookies, Brownlees, an' such, boys To shove the Springboks orf their poise, ,' An' send the grandstand roaring mad ... What a fat mornin' tea I've 'ad! * * * "HOWITZER" AT THE -MIKE. This new system of trials seems incomplete. Why only four matches from Saturday to Saturday? A better, suggestion—we need these boys toughis to play every day, except Saturdays, for three weeks, and then take the fifteen out of those left standing. The further the trials go, the more trying it must be for the Big Six to leave Taylor out of the full-back position. That goes for Mitchell (threequarter) also. That is, of course, if he can still run around. The B.S. must be finding it difficult to get the right oil on the Springboks. One day the world rings with: "No pack can hold them." "Play speed merchants to run 'em (the South African packers) off their legs." But what if the enemy refuse to run, and concentrate on hiding the ball among their big feet? Others tell us to go all out for heavyweights, and the first heave, and hope for the best . . . "those Springbok backs are not champions." Then somebody over the Tasman roars: "Their backs are champions. Their full-back is the world's best." Then someone else goes on the air with the assurance that Nepia, and even Pollock, "would lose Brand." What's to be done about it all? Just pick fifteen out of the pack and trust to luck? Maybe after McKenzie and Co. hay* had a peek at the mountainous men they'll find a way to trounce them.