Reporter's Diary

Press, 15 October 1976, Page 2

Reporter's Diary

More ice-cream YET ANOTHER scrap of information about the “Ice-cream Charlies” of pre-war Christchurch: Mr A. C. Vincent, of Ashburton, says that the ice-cream seller who peddled his wares around Riccarton ■was not. Sali Mahomet, of Cathedral Square, but another man, a Mr Drain, who lived in Faraday Street. He says Mr Drain sold ice-cream from a horse-drawn van in the Sydenham and Riccarton areas from 1919 to 1925. Sali Mahomet, on the other hand, started in Cathedral Square in 1907, “and never ever sold elsewhere.” Mr Vincent says he got to know “Solly,” as he was called, quite well over the years, and he was often “shouted” an icecream after he had lashed out a penny or twopence of his own. His ices were made from pure cream, which in those days cost threepence a pint, retail. His stall in Cathedral Square was one of the few places where children could buy ice-cream in those days, as dairies had not then made an appearance. Milk and cream were sold only by milkmen, Mr Vincent recalls, who delivered milk “still warm, for a penny a pint —a pint being a full pint, and a little extra for good measure.” There for the bier WHEN a Yorkshire chef, Ron Griffiths, collapsed over his pint of bitter and died of a heart attack, his friends at the isolated Fairfax Arms in the hamlet of Gilling East carried on

drinking. The local policeman was away; so was the doctor, and the nearest undertaker was 50 km distant. The landlord, Frank Amies, said: “We laid him out with dignity on his favourite pew and agreed that he would want us to keep on drinking.” Several of his drinking mates were bearers later at Ron’s funeral.

TVot the mushrooms

A FAMILY of five were rushed to hospital in Nancy, France, to have their stomachs washed out after their cat, with whom they had shared a meal of mushrooms, suddenly began to have what looked like stomach convulsions. Although the members of the family showed no signs of illness, a doctor had them taken to hospital to undergo the classic treatment for poisoning. When they returned home they found the. cat perfectly fit and well, the stomach contractions having produced five kittens. Momenta JEAN BATTEN, the pioneer aviatrix, was feted throughout the land when she arrived in Auckland 40 years ago (tomorrow is the anniversary), and was immediately signed up by a picture-theatre chain to make a lecture tour of New Zealand. But she still found time to reply to her fan mail. Mrs Joyce Jelley, of Christchurch, was a schoolgirl in Nelson at the time, and wrote off to Auckland for the flier's autograph. She still treasures the telegram she received, from Hamilton, in reply.

Beware radiosondes THE weather was very nearly the end of Mrs C. M. Davies, of Buchanans Road, on Wednesday. She was busy in her garden when she was startled by a loud thump. A small but substantial metal box, bristling with aerials, had hurtled down from the sky and landed in her garden, less than 20ft from where she was attending to a bit of wire netting. It gave her a dreadful fright. She said it gave off a strong sulphurous smell, and that it was attached by about a chain of cord to a metalfoil “kite." The Weather Office says it belongs to them. It is a radiosonde transmitter, one of many launched from Christchurch to measure temperature, pressure, and humidity at various heights. The “kite” is a radar reflector for wind measurements. The device is carried aloft by a hydrogen-filled balloon, w’hich bursts when it reaches about 100,000 ft, The box and reflector are then meant to drift gently earthwards on a little parachute, but the one that landed in Mrs Davies’ garden did not seem to have one. If it had happened a few years ago, Mrs Davies could have claimed a five-shilling bounty, but not these days. ‘lnternal Affairs' AS YOU would expect, the Ministry of Transport’s smart new building at the comer of Montreal Street and Cashel Street is the best sign-posted building in town. Every door is neatly marked with the title of its occupant — “Chief Traffic Officer,” “Traffic Superintendent,” ‘‘Parking Meter Mechanic,” and so on. But what’s this? “Internal

Affairs”? Aren’t they in the Reserve Bank building? Our inquisitive reporter took the liberty of opening the door, and found that the sign was quite appropriate. The room contained brooms, vacuum cleaners, a washing machine — everything required to keep the building’s internal affairs in good order. Horseplay THE drivers strike was on; the night of an All Black-Springbok test was approaching; and a Canterbury country hotel was low on beer. The licensee was worried that his supplies would not meet the demand for those planning all-night sessions to watch the test on television. A licensee friend in another town more than 100 miles away offered to help by lending from his copious reserves of bottled beer. There was still the problem of the transport strike and the various transport regulations to be circumvented. The ingenuity of the needy publican was equal to the occasion — the crates of bottled beer were transported inconspicuously in a borrowed horse float. Ominous LIVESTOCK visiting the Cinerama picture theatre added a macabre touch of realism to the film "The Omen” screening there on Wednesday evening. “It was only two minutes from the end of the film,” said a member of the audience. “We were all on the edges of our seats, when suddenly this big rat climbed up the screen and ran across the middle of the picture. Then it dropped down and disappeared into the front seats.” Half of the audience broke into nervous laughter, he said, and the front rows were transformed into a sea of waving female legs.

—Garry Arthur