The ODD ANGLE

Auckland Star, Volume LXXIII, Issue 236, 6 October 1942, Page 2

The ODD ANGLE

(By MacCLURE.)

• AN HONEST THIEF Last Sunday was the sort of day, I think you'll admit, when a man could do just about anything he was allowed to do; which, of course, isn't much these days. We would take a stroll up to the War Museum, I told Alf, as much as anything to take his mind off that 4/6 fine the Public Library had charged him for the three three weeks' overdue books that had turned up from Feeble's old man. "It don't pay you to lend books—especially when they've been lent to you," I reminded him, and told him of the picture in Punch in which an old chappie showing a friend over his wonderful library, advised him, "Never lend your books, my friend. D'you see all these magnificent works? Well, every dashed one of them was loaned to me some time or other." At least he was honest about it. • WASTE Leaving the car parked on the roadside, we crossed a paddock. Below us lay a huge wasteland given over entirely to weeds. Here, surely, under a saner management, could be grown enough vegetables to supply the whole of Auckland. And here, too, were enough lilies for the picking to completely cover the graves of every dead man on our councils, every sit-back, every clog in the wheels of our war effort. Lilies and more lilies. And acre upon acre of weeds. "If only our dead men would lie down," I thought. But, even in death, I reflected, there'd still have to be a ceremcny; and more speeches at the graveside; and, then again, it wasn't consecrated ground—although it could be. Yes. Consecrated to the old folks, who, believe it or not, had a right to eat as heartily as our city fathers. To say nothing of our city mothers. • GUMPTION The War Museum was shut—l'd forgotten they don't open till two on Sundays—so we wandered around in the glorious sunlight. We passed Mac Haggis sprawled in front of Burns' statue, a Bible wide open in front of him. "So he's got it, too," I whispered to Alf. "Mon" MacHaggis replied sharply, catching my whisper, "When ye settle down tae a study of Holy Writ ye'll find th' answer tae a' th' wor-r-rld's troubles." "Drop us a line when you've discovered it," I said curtly. "I'll dae that—care o' th' Star—but I ken ye'll nae publeesh it. Ye're headed straight for th' bur-r-rning pit, the baith o' ye—even now the De'll has ye marked 'overdue.' I s'pose ye widnae ha'e a drop of onything aboot ye, ye ken wha' I mean?" We "kenned" his meaning fine, but—. "A' richt. me braw laddies," he snapped, "it was nae masel' Ah was theenkin' o.' Ah was merely theenkin' ye'd be a guid sight mair welcome had ye had th' gumption tae hae taken a drappie tae hell wi' ye tae wot th' De'il's whustle, ye ken." And with that off his mind he read on. • "V" FOR—VANDALISM AND VICIOUSNESS As we wended our way toward the gateway t came the excited chatter of children from the hospital. Surely, here, I thought, is one solid reason against all exemptions from home service. Involuntarily I glanced overhead at the single plane. "Probably only one of ours," Alf repeated the silly gag. Perhaps it is just as well one can afford to repeat silly gags after fully three years of war. Of course we noticed how the vandals had flesh-painted the statue. Vandalism has, seemingly, become the order of the day in this land in which everybody, from the Prime Minister downwards, has taken such care to make "a land fit for heroes" to live in—rehabilitated ones as well. "Let's ring up the asylum and see if everybody's accounted for," Alf suggested after we'd viewed the shocking mess the insane perpetrators had wrought. Alas, the telephone book was too mutilated to be of any service. We tried another booth with the same result. An old pal greeted us. He was well bandaged. "I fell over one of those confounded wire rubbish bins some hooligan had ripped off the post during the blackout and left as a trap," he told us. "But I was luckier than a neighbour of mine, though. He nearly split his head open on one of those parking discs the larrikins stand on the footpaths of a night 'for a joke.' I'd put 'em all in straight jackets for a month if I was a magistrate." Of course, he'd got to catch 'em first.