Big Bill's Family Tangle

Auckland Star, Volume LXXIII, Issue 114, 16 May 1942, Page 9

Big Bill's Family Tangle

JJIG Bill, our quarter-bloke, has had a somewhat delayed (but none the less effective on that account) revenge on his fond father. A Gilbertian situation, which William with ghoulish glee delights in pouring into the ear of present misogynist, over a handle of health-food. By Frank Bruno It seems that Bill, sen., taking advantage of his son's departure overseas to strike a blow for the Empiah and numerous patriotic societies, so dazzled his (William's) girl friend with trips to the zoo and unlimited packets of p.k. at Dr. Kildare matinees that she named the day and said yes—but not to William.

But instead of being romantically broken-hearted, William commenced a counter-offensive of spirited love letters to his ex-girl friend's and present step-mother's mother. Such tales did he tell of moving accidents that she loved him for the dangers he had (theoretically) passed through, and he loved her that she did pity them.

Well, that did it. Bill is now home, and has married his step-mother's mother. Which delights William so much that he insists on relating his father's rage and the chagrin of his ex-girl friend and present stepmother on discovering that now Bill is his father's father-in-law, and that his offspring will be his father's uncles or aunts.

And this brings me nearer home with the sordid tale of the knock-down-and-gouge affair on Maadi station, soon after we had landed in Egypt. It was a Saturday and general leave, so trips to the Y.M.C.A. and the Art Gallery and milk-bars appeared to be the order of the day. This, alas, was not the case. It was a broiling day, and the beer was cold, frost-misted" glasses winking in welcome.

So that, when the troops began to drift homewards in the train in hilarious bunches, great argument about nothing in particular and less in importance began to rise. Some of the debaters offered to enforce their views "wiv a buncha fives, fella!" Others began to cast aspersions on the units to which the opposition debaters belonged, and you know what happened, citizens? Well, j it happened.

The Diesel train pulled into Maadi station like an assault barge with the assault going off prematurely. The carriages bulged with wrath, which spilled out on the platform in a rushing torrent. (This was just as well for your correspondent I had just come under the notice of a long 11th Hussar sergeant with half his ear missing, and a corporal of vast dimensions of the N.Z.A.S.C. Praise be to Allah. I missed 'em in the rush.)

Smiffy. a fellow machine-gunner, was handing out one apiece all round, and one had to get in also. There was a wild melee, and Smiffy disappeared into a thrashing bunch. He came out again—speedily. In he went again. And out he came. In agin, out agin, in agin Finnegan had nothing on Smiffy's concertina movements. Each time he came out he was a little the worse for wear and tear.

"There's a — fat — of an Engineer," he yelled furiously to me, as I was untangling myself from a howling K.R.R. "Who thinks he's tough. I'll show 'im," screamed Smiffy, "who's tough around this joint!"

And in he went again. When he came out the fat Engineer was with him. just as the ivy clings. He was bouncing the snarling Smiffy like a tennis ball. I took one look and started to laugh. I couldn't stop laughing ftfr some time.

Out of al! the Engineers on that train Smiffy had to pick out "Porkv" Neale, of Ponsonhy, ex-middle-weight champion of New Zealand.