THE PASSING SHOW.

Auckland Star, Volume LXIX, Issue 143, 20 June 1938, Page 6

THE PASSING SHOW.

BROAD.

(By THE MEN ABOUT TOWN.) Mac’s pocket edition of himself has just taken on Soccer. His mother thought, rightly

so, that it wasn’t such a roug-li game as Rugby or League. A fortnight

or .League, lorungm. ago he had his first match and arrived home after

the game as clean as a just-laundered shirt. Last week something must hare gone wrong, because this time he brought home the s&irs of battle. Both shins were bruised, a strip of skin was missing from one cheek, and on his shirt and shorts were the nucleus of a section which would probably fetch £SO a foot. Mum gazed at her one and only and remarked, “I thought Soccer was not rough?” “It isn't,” replied the lad/“but I was goalie to-day.” A few minutes later while having dinner lie remarked, “Dad, we’ve got a great coach. He’s a Scotsman, but we can’t understand what he says.”—Johnny.

PEDANTRY..

A correspondent who signs himself, with becoming modesty, “Touchwood,” writes: “While on the subject, perhaps ‘Touchstone’

will explain why the word isolation is invari-

ably pronounced I-s'olation by scholars and others when it should be is-olation,- and surely much'better sounding.” The scholars and others are merely conforming to common usage, which 'determines pronunciation from age to age. Alternatives in the case of isolation have been countenanced, but in the last fifty years nearly everybody has come over to the “I” sound. Anything else is pedantic. A pendant is a pretender to superior knowledge, or one who makes a 'vain display of learning. Pedantry often shows itself in unusual pronunciations that have long been abandoned. Even where an old dictionary gives a certain form of pronunciation that sounds unusual, it may be risky tj adopt it, because the consensus of usage - may have changed. The word illustrate, for instance, once carried the emphanie on “his,” but only a very conceited person would use that pronunciation to-day.—Touchstone.

FRUITY BITS,

The sight of thousands of oranges bestrewing our beaches is nothing novel to residents of Auckland’s marine suburbs. With

the next tide they (the oranges) will be once

more drawn into the waters of the gulf. What eventually happens to them nobody knows. It is an accepted fact that fish do not eat fruit —not even lemon fish. One of the most fruity cargoes to be washed up on North Shore beaches came from the good old ship Kaipara. Over twenty years ago this vessel struck an uncharted rock near North Head. During the ensuing day:, her cargo of frozen mutton was jettisoned and Devonport and Takapuna received the benefits. The careases looked much worse than the most acute facial eczema cases, while the odour penetrated the whole district. It can at least be said of the present orange scandal that these floating fruit were under proper Government control and will in consequence go obediently “outwards and downwards.” However, for a long time after the Kaipara incident it was deemed imprudent to offer a North Shore resident a meal of mutton. The whole aflair probably originated the expression, “The same to ewe.”—B.C.H.

BENDIGO.

“MaeClure’s” par. regarding Bendigo was very interesting and brought back memories of good old Notts. Bendy was one of the

gamest and cleverest of bare-fisted fighters one

can read about. I believe his onlv defeat was by Ben Gaunt, of Hueknall. near Nottingham, and this was on a foul; at the next meeting Bendy made no mistake. Ben Caunf was a bigger man and also a great fighter. Bendy, at the age of 38, won the championship of England, a come-back,-.and to-day we say a man cannot come back. He then retired and turned religious, taking up local preaching. He was a "rent friend of Richard Daft, the great cricketer (All Englands Daft), and Bendy in his years used to be employed as a waiter in the pavilion at Trent Bridge on cricket days, and Dicky Daft would bet lialf-a-crown that no one could hit Bendy on the face. Bendy would stand still and only move his head about, causing one to miss, and the half-crowns usually went into Bendy s pocket. I believe Bendigo, a township in Australia, was named after him, also Bendigo the racehorse of years ago. In a cemetery in the heart of Nottingham Bendigo is buried and over his grave there lies thestone figure of a lion, and the inscription reads: “He fought like a lion and died like a lamb.”—W.M.

ADAM’S “BIG APPLE.”

Perhaps you will allow me to pass a few remarks to the great public through your column about the new dance hit of the age—

Adam’s “Big Apple.” First, dear reader, should, you wish to participate in the;

dance it is necessary to I become a member of the exclusive society of (Which the Hon. Adam is president. Having done this, you are now ready to learn the necessary steps. They are designed to enable you to express yourself in a way, lam sure, .Mickey Mouse never dreamed of.' Perhaps the most important step of all is the quick body movement, similar to that of the snake. Footwork is. also very important and should be brought into use when there are any Socialists kicking about.. It is desirable that you be prepared to ■’shine'’ at any moment during the performance of the dance. This means'that should Adam get squashed and lose his balance \ on should at once take his place in the centre of things and hold the fort with winks at the ! ladies.. It would he advisable to siim the ' “Song of Freedom,” as this adds to the'effeet. ! i he dance is fast and furious, and every man I living a private life, providing he is'enterprising. is urged to get into it. He will find I it extremely beneficial to his health, and. : incidentally, his bank balance. You may expect the climax of the dance towards the" end of i the year. In the meantime, however, you are [ asked to pray that the performance of Adam's I “Big Apple” may prove to be a good one; so j many other apples are otherwise.—Bobby. I

MISHAP.

It was a social affair, but hubby had had to work hack late and couldn’t go.' The idea was that he would call along later and take

the wife home. But the work ran on, and finally he rang up and told wili'e

that she had better make her own arraimemeats for getting home. Well, chivalry°is not dead, there was no lack of volunteers, and so the problem of getting home presented no difficulties. It was when home was reached that the trouble began. Hubby had the key. So there was wide locked out. But knights are still bold. It was a cold night amAhe obliging friend who had driven her home was not going to leave her shivering on the doorstep for an indefinite period till hubby rolled along with the key. He began a systematic exploration of nil the windows—perhaps one i had been-left unlocked. One had. It was the bathroom window. The job was all but done. All the gallant knight had to do was to climb through that window—it was a small window and he was a large man—get down the stairs open the door, and—well, there you were. But' the gallant knight didn’t know the internal geography of the. home. lie squeezed throimh the window and let himself go, expecting to drop to the Hood. But he dropped on to°the wash basin. His weight carried awav the basin, a process that smashed a water pipe that served it. 1 don't suppose there is one woman in a thousand who knows where the main watcreoek of her home is situated. This ' one didn't, and the place was almost flooded out helore (ho frantically searching knight eventually found it.—B.O’X. ' c i