THE PASSING SHOW.

Auckland Star, Volume LX, Issue 223, 20 September 1929, Page 6

THE PASSING SHOW.

(By THE MAN ABOUT TOWN.)

The old Homie (who has qualified by twenty years' residence to bo regarded as one of us), gazing fondly at a one-pound note which he was about to

BUCKSHEE. pay out for seven and sixpence (pre-war), said: "When I was a lad at Home a fellow could liavo a good evening out for eighteenpence, see the best vaudeville show in London, buy two packets of woodbines, have a few pennyworth of underground railway, a bottle of lemonade, some pennywinkles, and so forth." "Still," lie proceeded, "things aren't so bad, even in -Auckland. The missus and I and little Herbert stroll down Queen Street and have a free entertainment. She looks at all the drapers' shops, Herbert looks at all the lolly shops and I look at all the radio shops. Then we catch a bucksheo bus to Karangaliape Road and have another entertainment, all for nix. When we have exhausted the sights we catch anotliei buckshee bus and come back to town and land at tlio place the bus belongs to, wander in, and are received by a nice gentleman who hands us all a bowl of tolieroa soup, after which we see the bargains. When we have exhausted the sights we leave, having had a jolly nice little entertainment for nothing." We are about to standardise the language and have already done our best in a democratic country to mark the social line. There is, one believes, even a colonial BLOOD TELLS. Debrett which shows that everybody mentioned in it was born in the purple and had no working ancestors. One prefers to believe without documentary evidence that about ninety per cent of one's fellow men and women are ladies and gentlemen, so it seems almost unnecessary to insist on being what it is so one is. Here is an arresting advertisement in a far paper emphasising a point that is apparent: "Position wanted for young lady, refined. . . Positively a lady and neat.—Apply, etc." Dear M.A.T., —Have you ever meditated on the amazing number and variety of things which are calculated to tempt the hard-earned sugar from a man's pocMISERE ME ! ket ? The worst, of course, is the "Missus," who leaves us with very little cash and stacks of room for meditation. Every shop and hoarding in every town seems to hold us in its awful grasp whilst it clutches at our worn purse and sometimes whispers tales of wonderful timepayment inducements and no-deposit easements with a view to obtaining a mortgage on our vjjry perspiration which has not yet been perspired. Even a distorted sense of humour has wheedled a penny stamp and an envelope from my unwilling pocket. —Dolefully yours, F.E.H.

Dear M.A.T., —I lately saw a very fine talkie picture made in America about a famous British regiment going on service. Very gripping, ' especially the bit TOO RIGHT! showing the officers' mess and the dear old colonel making a speech. He says the honour of the Empiah, the honour of the regiment, the honour of their beloved country, is safe in their hands. He dips a bit into the history of the Old Swashbucklers, has a paragraph or two about the poor fellows who will nevah sit in the mess again, and (with a sob in his voice) implores them to fight as their daddies did in past ages. And it made me think that if it had been true to life there couldn't have been a talkie. It reminded me of a real mess. Said the major to the colonel, "The regiment's goin' to France on Tuesday, isn't it, sir?" "Quite," said the colonel.—Two Pip.

Lord Stonehaven, Governor-General of Australia, and himself an old soldier, exhorting the young to be peaceful and keep their powder dry, remarks in MEEKNESS. the very best possible way: "We [the British] have never been a military nation; our Empire has not been built Tip by the efforts of military forces—but it has grown." It is comforting to be assured that the greatest navy the world has ever known has never been a military arm and that the rumours that Waterloo and Mons were military operations have been greatly exaggerated. The late Mr. Clemens (Mark Twain) appeared to have taken a similar view of our pacific attitude to Lord Stonehaven when he said "The English are mentioned in the Bible; for the meek shall inherit the earth."

According to a man who has used both av thim in his time, truth is stranger tha,n fiction. He lias returned from the Ould Sod

after a couple of years' LUGGAGE LABEL, roving and brings news

of relatives. He and his Wife, ostensibly together, but slightly separated by a crowd on Primrose Hill, in London, were watching a pageant. The New Zealand man, naturally desirous or being alongside his wife, pushed forward to reach her when a large and formidable man blocked his way. The New Zealander politely explained that he desired to reach his wife. Would the gentleman make way? The gentleman would not make way. In fact, he was dashed and several other things if he'd make way. In short, there was a slight unseemliness and the large stranger became exceedingly unpleasant. "If I had yez in the north-west of Canada," he said, "Oi'd know what to do wid yez!" Forgetting his anger, the New Zealander said, "What part of north-west Canada?" The formidable person named a town. "What's your name?" asked the Maorilander. The man mentioned the New Zealander's own name. "You're my uncle," said the one. "Sure thing!" said tlio other. "Take my place, sure ye're welcome!" All together, man, wife and uncle, later hit' out on the long trail to Canada. "Do yez belave ut, M.A.T.?" asked the traveller. "I do not," said M.A.T. "I'll prove it to yez," said the traveller. "Here's a Canadian railroad label 011 me shutecase* Yez can buy anny label in the wurruld in London."

Mr. Peter Cowley is a charming globetrotting optimist who, finding that New Zealand lacks girls, writes in the "Sunday at Home" to get lots and BILLETS FOR lots to come. The-follow-BELLE. ing paragraph will possibly induce lots and lots to come: "It should not be assumed that because the chief exports of the country are wool, mutton and dairy produce, there is any work for women on farms. New Zealand knows nothing of girl farmers I" He might have been a little more explanatory. The thousands of ladies (formerly girls) who are seen in picturesque gumboots tripping lightly with decorated buckets in their hands and cherry ribbons floating from their chic bonnets in tiie breeze are merely rehearsing the comic opera, which is the chief business of the sweet little farmsteads which dot the delicious scenery. The many middle-aged farm ladies who may be observed avoiding farmwork get so enuuied with leisure that they may be seen playing tunes with axes on the family woodheap just to while away the time. Mr. Cowley, however, truly warns the girl who may join the jocund with the decorated buckets and the cherry ribbons that "she must not be afraid of isolation." Again, readers must get it out of their minds that the girls are going into the wilds. But what must be made most clear to British girls who come is that girls on farms don't farm. It is not done.

THE CHILD MIND. Jean is three years of age. Mother went shopping and took Jean. They stopped in front of & fishmonger's shop. Among the trophies of the sea were scattered rabbits, each pointing its bare and pathetic pink stumps to the ceiling. "Oh, mummy," said Jean, "I didn't know fishes had legs."