THE PASSING SHOW.

Auckland Star, Volume LVIII, Issue 223, 21 September 1927, Page 6

THE PASSING SHOW.

(By THE MAN ABOUT TOWN.)

The vagaries of lightning, a flash of which razed a Birkenhead chimney during the summer weather of Tuesday, are illimitable and revive the Biblical dictum, "Two LIGHTNING. men shall be working in the field, the one shall be taken and the other left." During a former thunderstorm a very large Norfolk Island pine at Papatoetoe vafc struck, shattered and twisted from head to ground and appearing thereafter like a huge dilapidated corkscrew. Cakes are common in which a horse has been killed and the rider uninjured or vice versa. One case in South Africa resulted in the death of a horse and the burning of the saddle, but the rider escaped unscathed. In the storm of yesterday electric lights were in some cases extinguished, while next door they were unaffected. An electrician mentioned that during an electrical storm, although the instinct may be to turn off the power at the main switch, this is not advisable. There is, he saysy less likelihood of fusing if the consumer, leaves matters as they were.

Meteorological conditions showed improvement and it is believed that Lieutenant Frewen's flight will be commenced to-morrow morn ing.—" Star," 2.30 HOPE DEFERRED. Tuesday. Thunderstorm at 3 o'clock.

Old Pluvius reads the paper, And as soon as be saw this He turned to Jove, the thunder man, The air was all a-fizr; Forked lightning lit the inky sky, The rain in torrents came— _ ■ "Conditions show Improvement." Bnt They seem about the same.

For weeks I've read the Garden Page, The first line always says, "Get busy now the weather's good. Work with the hoe-r—it pays." I hasten to the cabbage patch, Alas ! 'tis all ill vain, It rains from noon on Saturday, All Sunday, too, again. -

At nine a.m. the weatherwise Will cock bis eye aloft. "Fine day!" says he, "the weather's broke, Although it's rather soft. The rain s all over for a while, By Jove, it cMers a fellow!" (Before his words have died away He's hoisting bis umbrella.)

The nipping air of June, unseasonably appearing in September, causes the subtropical Aucklander to snuggle in his blankets and to

thank God - for sheep. BINJEE'S Luxuriating -thus, one BLANKETS, dreams-of other days and other blankets,- particularly the blankets of Binjie in the Never Never. A sudden frost finds Mrs. Binjie and the family unprepared. Absolute absence of garments suggests other devices, and so Mrs. Binjie lights a fire, scrapes the ashes away,, scratches a hole for her offspring and covers it np with hot sand. Having hung the family snake on a bough ready to be cooked for breakfast and put the grass seed flour in a hollow log, Mr. and Mrs. Binjie also inter themselves in temporary graves* pulling the hot sand over themselves, and, with their unbeautiful features turned towards the eternal stars, snore inharmoniously. Binjie, once having, tasted the.blue "ration" blanket of the white man, discards his sandy bed. He is so fond of the woollen substitute that he uses it as a toga by day. It is true that after a blackfelloW has inhabited the same blanket for a year or two night and day. that sand is more hygienic, but no fellow can roam the earth clad in hot sand. If Auckland should ever get another summer the blackfeOow blanket idea will be seen on every beach in the full glare of the sun.

Dear M.A.T., —Noticed, a reference in your column to 'saw mills in the north' working on the daylight saving principle by having their clocks ahead of the usual MILLS GRIND time. Yes, that was in SLOW. the good old days when anyone in search of work could always strike a job on the Wairoa, and there were eight saw mills (some double) and regular steamers to Aussie carrying a million or more super feet as cargo. Worked at a mill then, and the clock was kept one and a-quarter hours ahead; when working night shift we finished our week at six on Saturday morning, and generally set off to walk to the township, about five miles away. Leaving camp about nine in the morning, we would arrive at P.O. and do what business we had to do, and then would feel like some lunch, and only the_ pub to get it jat.. On inquiry would learn the"lunch hour was fixed for one, it being then by their time about 11.30. Would decide it was too long to wait, so would start for home, where on arrival would breast into the cookhouse. "How about a feed, Jim*" (to the cook). Then the fireworks began. "Blimef Blank, blank! You fellows have some nerve; why not get a feed where you were? The blanky dinner has been over about two hours." True enough, as it would then be after two by mill time. Yes, some hard things were said those days about daylight saving.—Omega.

The introduction of the Orchard Tax Bill brings back to memory the frantic effort of a departed Government to harry the community. In the throes THE ORCHARD, of the world war New

Zealand citizen* were peremptorily ordered to register their orchards. The man who had unwittingly thrown down a peach stone the year before was for. the purposes of the registration an orchardist within the meaning of the Act. A stray apple pip was a seed of potential action by the Crown. Citizens of Auckland and the vicinity, mourning for dead sons, were made to go in droves to the Public Trust office in Albert Street to fill in voluminous forms if they possessed two cherry trees or a Japanese plum. A time limit was set and the office was besieged. A large staff, augmented by gifted amateurs, dealt with the reams of waste paper, for of a surety the whole affair was one of waste at a time when paper' was so scarce that people used to write on opened envelopes, and the Government beseeched people to be careful and to use over again already superscribed covers. Nothing ever happened about this universal census of fruit trees. Presumably these tons of papers are still pigeonholed in a Government lumber room. The pip registered by M.A.T. at the time is now a lusty Delicious sheltering the family of another citizen who has ever since failed to register it.

Ten years ago • a man limped up Queen Street with a stick. He looked wan and pale, grumpy and out of sorts. Two friends stood

THF rwnm en x he of the P ave - THE GHOULS, ment, and one said, "My , , _ , , word, old Herby looks crook! Hes breaking up fast!" People go around in that way condemning men to death and thinking in terms of wreaths and subscription lists to the widow. As a matter of fiVct, Herby was seen to-day leaping up Short/ Street at the double. Ten years ago he had a corn. Hence the death sentence of his friend. Smite with the nearest blunt instrument the man who greets a wry smile and says "You do look ill! Whatever have you been doing to yourself 1" He is own brother tothe medical expert who gives yon six months to live ".and who himaelf probably shuffles off this mortal coil before he has time to send his bill in. There is a beautiful picture showing a grave mescal man and * young fellow in the surgery. The young man is obviously ill and the name of thTnietnrl* \l "Sente.ee of featt.- Wbe. ta the Royal Academy it roused immense disf"f® 10 " and . was ,then mentioned by hundreds that the gloomy friend or the dismal medico do more harm by apparently gloating <rre7a •jSS-lE* p early