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POSTSCRIPTS

Chronicle and Comment

By Percy; Flace.

I Add similes: As' tired of Mussolini as • Baer was of Louis in , that fateful I fourth round. j■■ ■ '.* *■ *' ". "Amos-'n'-Andy" decides that our widely-revered Prime Minister is"- a passive desister. * * * - Joe Louis married his girl friend before the big. fight. Another triumph for the ring.If Italy is in such urgent need of a place in the sun, what about the middie;of the Sahara? « '* * - . Anyhow,' we are strongly of the opinion that Mr. Dowriie Stewart would be a welcome accession to the strength of the Cabinet. AN UNFORTUNATE T. .A typographical error is usually not animportant :matter, but one that happened in Lorrach,' Baden, last month was such a serious matter that it put a compositor in gaol for seven-months. Where the copy read Heil, Hitler— which means Hail, Hitler—the comp„ " accidentally or otherwise,' set Heilt Hitler. That means '(so we are tcild) Cure Hitler, arid it had point, because the Fuhrer's enemies declare: that he suffers from hallucinations. -. -? * - * ; SCENE—ANY TIME NOW. Sergeant-Major: Now, come on me lad, take this 'ere rifle. ' CO.: I must, positively.-decline. :Tlie old Alma Mater' won't allow • it, you know. S.M,: Oh, 'c won't, won't 'c? You're another of therh, stooderit blokes, eh? ,'Oo do you belong to? / CO. (proudly): I am a Borstal Old Boy. S.M. (satjly, as the 8.0.8. was marched to the clink): E's.asooperior sort to most of them stoodents I've 'andled lately. BINDY. ,

: LIVING THROUGH METAPHOR. From'"The Times": An enterprising travel agent, rriight consider- taking people on a holiday bri which they would.actually'• '; live through the metaphors and. terms of their national speech,, riding for a fall, meeting snakes in the grass, and getting half-seas: over in little boats! •Didn't Mr. Chesterton!do something not very unlike it when he wrote a book in which one or, the other of the characters in turn sets the Thames on fire, makes pigs l\y,' buys a white elephant, -eats his hat, 'manufactures silk purses out of sows' ears, and builds castles, in the air?

TALK ABOUT ."STOLEN THUNDER"!

Only the other day "Ima" Lire, protested mildly ,(in;' i 'Postscripts") of some one having stolen his thunder. .Sad, if true. That;sort of-thing has: been going on for centuries; even Shakespeare and Wordsworth ."'.helped themselves- occasionally to the.: other fellow's - ideas'. ".'. Now, here's a case of two novels/which, -although the. books have different titles, were brought out by '-cliff erent publishers, and .bear 'different names: of/authors, are. almost identical, except .for. some, pages at the beginning and the end "of'the.volumes. In 1933 T. sWerner: Laurie; published a novel, "Confessions of - a Scoundrel," .by -"Geoffrey Spencer.' 1 About a year .later Herbert Jenkins published a book,! "The Sentimental Crook,": by Alexander Wilson, r: Tha last-named, story is slightly shorter than "Confessions of a Scoundrel." Certain incidents have been given a slight "twist" in detail,.but- generally the settings and characters are1 the1 same. When approached on the matter of this "coincidence" neither publisher ■ would make a -statement; they were "going intbthe": question." : - ■ ':■' --X" - ■-: ■ .

LAMENT. , For this occasion Mrs! McClancy magnanimously makes way for a'sister in distress. Mame, ole dear, me 'cart isbroke: I've been and gprn and lorst me blok« Last Wednesday. week, as never was. An' all, gorblimey, just becos 'E thought I'd;4old a. blinkiri'! lie 'Bout 'ow I came by that black eye. Now, as you; know, I ain't been well Me bloomin' 'cad's been givin' me ; You'd;think as I'd been on.the souse, And then I gets that loverly "mouse." It came when I was fast asleep, And when I wakes and gets a peep At that, there, op tic, I near died! Fair dinkum,-1 was petrified. When.'Erbert sees it, .'c says, '"Ere, Wot you been up to? S'mighty queer Fer you ter get a neye like that. 'Aye you. been fightin'? Strike me fat!" I answers, "No, dear, course I've' not: You carn't think I've been on the pot! Why, I ain't' touched nothink for a week." Ses''e, "Don't you give me no mora cheek. I've done wiv you—l warned yer fair— You-must of been; and then, yer 'air, Is all pulled aht. Yer can't tell me You ain't been on a fair ole spree v So long, yer won't see me no more." Now, wouldn't that just make yer sore! I'm in'cent as a new-born babe: Larst night I sees 'im aht .wiv Mabe. •If she 'as. got-'im, it's no use - To make a fuss—she's on the loose An' lookin' for,, a bloke like 'Erb. All I can do is just to curb Me sorrer; but'it is crool 'ard. . . . Must go an' sweep up me backyard. L.M. NEGRO FIGHTERS. When the negro pugilist is good he is very good. Here are a few illustrations cudgelled from one's memory. There was Joe Gans, the famous lightweight, nothing to look at physically, who was king of his "class in his prime. If memory serves, Gans' cut Battling Nelson to pieces in a marathon battle running to over forty rounds.-'; It wa3 only when-Gans developed lung complaint that he' began to go downhill. No. 2 was that -sawn-off giant Sam Langf ord, with a gorilla-like chest and torso.-and a thunderbolt packed in each glove. A good, human fellow, too, now' blind, ■ but still being cared for. Joe Louis, the new black star, helps "to keep ole Sam" comfortable. Then there was "Parson" Flowers, like Louis, a highly religious man, and as generous in the ring as out of it.aJFlowers had a brilliant record. Jack Johnson is of a. later day. There was none of the higher qualities in Jack. He was big, flash; vain-as a peacock; and possessed of a cat-like speed with hands and feet. He swept to the top by almost obliterating Tommy Burns in Sydney —an outcome which: cost us a cool fiver. A swaggering bully of-a fellow, this Johnson, who ultimately;.came by his deserts. Talking of these1 ringsters recalls that freak of a light-heavy. Bob Fitzsimmons, the - ex-Timaru blacksmith. Fitzsimmons was spare, with broad shoulders, thews of steel, and patterned with -freckkj like , breastplates.' Seldom other than heavily outweighed, he mowed the big fellows down,, hitting remorselessly and with machine-like precision, and never letting up while his spindle-shanks could sustain him and he could raise' a glov«^

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Permanent link to this item

https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/EP19350926.2.46

Bibliographic details

Evening Post, Evening Post, Volume CXX, Issue 76, 26 September 1935

Word Count
1,040

POSTSCRIPTS Evening Post, Volume CXX, Issue 76, 26 September 1935

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