AS IT HAPPENS-

Press, Volume LXXIV, Issue 22307, 22 January 1938, Page 17

AS IT HAPPENS-

Co in fort on Duty

The latest scheme comes from Moscow, where it was suggested that traffic policemen's coats should be heated by wireless. A thin wire mesh is concealed between layers of asbestos in the coats, and they are then tuned in to a nearby station designed for the purpose. Of course it is not always extra heat which spells comfort for the constable. In places where it may be unpleasantly warm, such as the South of France, comfort is secured by the issue of fans for use on point duty. The nearest England has approached to such methods is a chief constable's permission for the Bury St. Edmunds' traffic police to remove .their tunics during hot weather.

There is probably only one place in the world, however, where the traffic policeman is allowed to sit down on duty. That is Hingham, a town of Massachusetts, where chairs are provided—and used.

"Wash-tub" Cold There's an old saying that "everything comes out in the wash." Washerwomen have been capitalising on this motto for years, and one even carried it so far as to wash gold dust out of a miner's soiled clothing —a convenient method of overcharging the customer with the least amount of objection. But what the women didn't foresee was that mining laboratories in general, and particularly the experiment station of the United States Bureau of Mines, would adopt the use of soapsuds as a very handy method of separating specks of minerals hard to isolate. To-day it is found very convenient indeed to "softsoap" the precious metal into disclosing its presence among less valuable grains.

A Puzzled Sentry A certain Japanese sentry is still trying to puzzle out why Alexander Pushkin didn't come over the garden bridge. Assigned to check out the departure of the faculty of the Alexander Pushkin School from war-torn Hangkew, the sentry held up the group because one member was not accounted for.

There were long arguments. Higher authority was invoked. Then it was discovered that the name of the famed Russian poet after whom the school is named had been mistakenly included on the military pass. The sentry still doesn't quite understand.

Salvaging Shells in France The company which hunts and destroys unexploded shells in the war zone is still at work, 18 years after the World War. It sends out special trucks, fitted for handling explosives, and each shell located is taken to an exploding ground. How much latent death still is hidden under the soil of France may be deducted from the fact that in the last six years the company trucks have brought in 1,450,000 tons of shells and destroyed, where they were found, another 167,000 tons of shells considered nan-transportable. The comoanv has not lost a man.

New Uses for Glass Novel ways in which glass ha; been used recently are a glas: springboard, a glass radio set o; midnight blue trimmed with chromium steel, glass shingles, a glass bee comforter, a cigarette lighter with a glass wick, and glass razor blades These last are now being made ir Czechoslovakia and are reported tc be as flexible and as sharp as li made from steel, but are producer more cheaply. Incidentally, they are easily pulverised, thus settling the problem of what to do with used blades. * * * Prehistoric Razor Blades The discovery that even prehistoric man did not know what to do with old razor blades has been made by archaeologists. Digging in Mesopotamia, in ruins of the world's oldest city, Tepe Gawra, Dr. E. A. Speiser, of the University of Pennsylvania, brought up a 6000-year-old razor handle. The handle is of grey limestone, has a long slit to take the blade, and a loop for the middle finger. Dr. Speiser reports that straight razors have not improved much in 6000 years. "This solitary handle now lends meaning to the thousands of blades of flint and obsidian that have been turning up loose on prehistoric sites," he comments —they are old razor blades discarded in the late Stone Age.

Mussolini's Dramatic Gestures IS There was a minor European ;s crisis (some years ago) and half a >* dozen diplomatic representatives of '- the greater States had to meet Mus- « solini in council. All were chatting n together on ordinary social matters 3 - when he made his entrance. Somen one on the other side of the door by ° which the representatives had en--1 tered opened it with a rattle and made a hissing sound. The door reg mained ajar and all looked at it d open-mouthed. There was a deathly silence. "Good morning, gentlemen." Everyone turned round. Mussolini was standing behind the group, motionless. There was no sign oi a door on that side of the room—and 0 someone suggested that he had come e up through a trapdoor. Anyhow, i- there he was, smiling slightly, his . eyes gleaming, his hand tucked into his breast-pocket, his pose sphinxL " like. At the conclusion he said: "I 3 thank you, gentlemen. \ou shall f have my answer at 10 minutes to 0 four this afternoon." At 3.50 all were back in the apartment of the morning. Again s the door was opened from without, - and again a hissing sound proceeded from the corridor beyond; but this s time the gathering was not to be s taken in so easily and everyone ■ n turned from the door and looked J c in the other direction. j 3 "Good afternoon, gentlemen." e Mussolini was smiling at them j from the door.

looking for trouble. We loved it. In the middle of the yards was a 1 drafting race. The gate was worked i from above, the cattle we did not f want to brand going out into a yard . and the others, one at a time, into , the crush. One big black bull had • given us a lot of trouble. We had ; been very lucky to get him into the ■ yard, and we had a big job get- - ting him into the crush. At last we did, and in a very few minutes he was castrated, dehorned, and 1 branded, and he walked in among ■ the rest of the cattle looking quite ; civil. Later that afternoon the cattle were taken out. On the way they passed through a small paten of matagouri near the lake, and, unnoticed, the big beast lay down in i the middle of it. A Surprise Encounter Next morning—Sunday—after the ■ small tasks were done, I walked , slowly down towards the lake. I > had a book, anr 1 the idea was to row i out on the lake and read and smoke until lunch time. But the shade of ■ the matagouri attracted me, and I sat down there to read for a while, taking off my shirt to let the sun's ' rays do their stuff. And so, lazily and happily, I read—but not for i long. A fearful snort frightened seven bells out of me, and there, not 10 feet away, was a gory and horrible head staring out of the scrub. It was the bull. It was not necessary to be a mind-reader to under stand his intentions. His little eyes winked balefully at me through the blood which was still wet on his head—and he was between me and J the killing shed, 50 yards away. I knew that if I moved he would. So

. out trees, unless it was a swamp i long ago. Next morning we climbed Mount Binser, and this time we did not stop from the time we left the hut until we struck the top. It was the first and last time I ever climbed 7000 ft without stopping at least once for a spell. The sheep were found, and we went once more to the station, where we discovered two pighunters in possession of the hut. One of them, whose name I never found out, was known to us always as "D'Artagnan, the Rascal Pighunter." The reason for this curious nickname no one could tell me. A Born Navigator Pakati was the only block to lie straggled; any sheep left at Lochin- | var would come in with the ewes and lambs at the dipping muster. When we got to Nigger Hill on our way to Cattle creek, Jim told me to take a hack and go over to Esk Head to get some stragglers. One long day's ride would take me there, and two days would bring the sheep to Lochinvar, where they -would be left. The route lay through country which was strange to me, so Jim gave me my directions—" Follow up Anderson's creek and pull up on to the Esk Head saddle; follow down the creek from there and you will find a hut about three miles down. That is Deep creek hut, and the sheep will be there. If you miss it, keep on and you will starve to death or get to Hawarden." I said: "Thanks very much. What a navigator was lost in you! Do I take the train from there or dig in tor the autumn?" But I had a rough idea of where to go, and packing up