The ODD ANGLE

Auckland Star, Volume LXXII, Issue 303, 23 December 1941, Page 4

The ODD ANGLE

(By MacCLURE) • THEY NEVER CHANGE He was a prominent "conchie" in the last war—we won't mention names—and the proprietress suggested I'd better step up and speak to him myself. "He went to gaol last time rather than serve and we can't do anything with him. He just grins at us when we warn him to Keep the blinds down. I've pinned a note in his room, but it's a waste of time." I stepped up—after all I one can only speaK to these jokers. He met me witn a sheer on his lips, but said nary a word. In response to my request he pulled his blind down. "Tnank you,' I said politely, but he had already shut the door in my face. • CO-OPERATION—AS PRACTISED They don't all co-operate. Last night two of them tackled me and diu their best to start an argument. It didn t nappen to be one of my arguing nignts, though. "So you're an ni.P.S. biackouter, eh?" the more aggressive one sneered. I admitted it. "Well—why don't you get them to put the street lights out, then?" I mentioned that it wasn't a total blackout. The other non-co-operator picked out several chinks snowing in other windows. "Why the don't you have a go at THEM?" he demanded belligerently. The night was dark—here were two husky tellows with more liquor than they stand up under, bent on picking a quarrel. "I must get on," I said irritably. Next time i think it would be wiser to go in pairs—and carry a lump of wood—in case. • A MERRY CHRISTMAS To all readers of this column— and especially to the many oldtimers among us who have Known happier Christmas days—MacClure senas his heartiest wishes for a— Merry Christmas. The last two words do sound odd in these grim! days, don't they? Still—it's a aamn long road that knows no turning, ana, as tne Welshman said, "Whenefer one door shuts another one opens —whatefer." Yep—and if still another one shuts still another one will open—and it's" been like that with every one of you since you were born, so—thumbs up—and don't let us let our own fighting lads down. And now—with the cork out—here's the things you'd wish yourself. Santa Claus ain't dead—he's only partially blacked out. • SACRIFICE Coming home from th« pictures Feeble suggested a crayfish supper. "Why not—it may be our last," Old Alf said gloomily, "besides, our money won't be much use to us if the Japs, do come." It's a pity a lot of other folks forget this fact. "Of course, one can always send it to Walter Nash to be looked after," I suggested. "Yes—but we're not going to get time off to watch Walter if the Japs, come," Feeble chipped in. Now, crayfish supper is not the , best stuff to train on and I pointed I this out to them. "To train on?" Alf asked. "What d'you mean?" I had clean forgotten to tell them that I had decided to waive my rights to dig a trench and selected them for that honour. A little sacrifice like that in view of the sacrifice our politicians are making was, I felt, only the right thing to do in such critical days as these. • THE TARGET "So you DO think the Japs, will pay us a visit," the waiter asked. "You nary can tell," I replied, remembering .Pearl Harbour, "and— until Tokyo drops you a line informing you otherwise—l'd advise you to hang a curtain up on that upstairs window of yours—if it's only to fool the E.P.S. into the belief that you're co-operating with them. Not that I mind them bombing this joint, of course, that is, tf they'd only stop at that. The trouble is there are other folk living all around you and they are going to be bombed because your window has directed the enemy bomber. You don't care —you're probably tired of life—and too damned lazy to nail up a curtain —but it does happen there are quite ,a few crippled folk living round here who can't beat it so easily when the bombs begin to fall." He grinned— I was wasting my time. It was like water on a duck's back. "Forget him —he's a nark," Alf suggested. The trouble is one can't. Not very easily. Nothing short of a gaol term is good enough for those birds.