POSTSCRIPTS

Evening Post, Volume CXXII, Issue 96, 20 October 1936, Page 8

POSTSCRIPTS

Chronicle and Comment

By Percy Flage,

A poor man hasn't much to do with lawyers—but some of them have had. * * » What the next map of Europe will look like when Mussolini's cartographers are finished with it, heaven only knows. * * * Then (says "Anon") there was that ad. slip (in the "Western Independent"): "Do as Mrs. Dawson died. Hefuse inferior substitute and insist upon ■s Pills." * * • News note: "Signor Mussolini flew to the island of Elba . .." Maybe choosing a site on which to spend his last days. * ■ • * While every man Jack of us is endorsing the official tributes to Jean Batten's great achievement, Jean is doing a spot of endorsing (in a business sense) on her own account. , * «;■; • TAKING THEM FOR A BIDE? Dear Mr. Flage,—Why all the fusi about the Industrial Efficiency Bill? According to Lord Elibank and the leader in Friday's "Post," this Bill is purely a traffic measure, as both d» scribe it as an "omnibus Bill." Semple, isn't it? LEONARD C. OWEN. In bed, Lower Hutt. ■...*.' * .*. INFORMATION BUREAU. "Din" (Roseneath).—You and your fortune are in danger of being parted, but if this will help you can tell those fellows that the North-South match. WAS played in Wellington last year, not down south as they suggest. W« did think that the occasion of Frank Kilby's last appearance as a player would be better remembered than that. It was in last year's inter-island match at Athletic Park that Frankie made his final bow. But we cannot help; you out so far as Nepia is concerned. "Bunk" Pollock had the full-back's job for the North last year, as he did again this year. George Nepia was full-back for the North Island in 1924, 1925, and 1933. After having played in thai North Island trial at Palmerston North last year, he took part in the final Netf Zealand trial at Wellington. * • * HERE'S TO BILL. These1 touching lines from "Mac," who thinks it "about time someone broke into Col. 8 to give Bill a hand." "Yus," said Bill, "I'm orf me beer. Account er. Mame, she's gone queec about a garden. She wants : a glert like Flage. She's like that now an' then, but this time it's crook. Gold coweye bloomin' in the sun, an' it's my job ter get a tui ter come an' eat its fill. Blime, there's some blokes shouldn't be allowed ter write erbout such things. I could get tight when I thinks er diggin" the yard, been down years an' concrete 'ard. ter start our glen. A rose we got don't bloom no more, got blight or bot. Mame make insect-t-flamin'-cide out er my bacca. An' me pride! A navvy spendin is hours er leisure diggin' fer flowers. Mame says, 'Ter birds an' bees be kind.' Aw blast! Drink up, yer on* behind." * .# ■ ■ * ;■;"; ALWAYS A GOOD JOKE V Extract from "Pearson's Weekly,* August, 1935:— The Week's Wit. Two sailors were discussing where they would live when they gave up the S Said one: "When! get ashore after this next trip I'm going to get a nice pair of light oars, and I'm going ta sling them across- my shoulder and start walking inland. When I strike a place where people' say, 'What are them things you've got on your, shoulder?' that's where I'm going to settle down." . • Extract from Homer, Odyssey, Boole 11, line 121, about 800 8.C.:- . ■ "Go with thy shapely oar till thou comest to the land of the men who know not the sea; and'when a passerby accosting thee, saith that thou carriest a winnowing-fan on thy shoulder, there rest."—"Punch" (London). *' * » , BOUTS-RIMES. A number of these seductive concoctions are to hand, though the desk is not exactly flooded with MSS. As a matter of fact, the rhyme-ends—our: own work—were not very clever.. .. .. too hastily done. The next one will have* a livelier appeal. The best boutsrimes received so far are these:— Poor pussy, she was black, And for a little money Boys put her in a sack, And thought it very funny; - For she was very old, And so they sent her flying . Into the water cold, ' And there they left her dying. "ROSE-MARIE." Brooklyn. Masked—black, Grabbed money, Filled sackSeems funny. Miser old, Tatters flying, * Stiff, cold, Helpless, dying. A. WISEMAN. Newtown. 1 Things are black, Have no money, Got the sackIt isn't funny; I'm feeling old. And time is flying, The weather's cold ... My hopes are dying. R.W.B. Ngaio. * *.■•.■■:. APOLOGIA. Well, we couldn't make the Khandallah bowling green last Saturday, after all. And were we mortified! And was Mame raging like strong drinkl Or-was she. She had gone to infinite trouble to prepare a monologue that was one out of the box, full of Kharidallahiance, 'n' that sort of thing. For our part, we had sat up half Fridaynight forging wisecracks appropriate to the occasion, which had we been, present and able to shoot them off, would have redounded greatly to our prestige and—no doubt—increased this paper's circulation in the district. Also we had had our pants, socks, and tie specially pressed—as it turned out, all for nothing. When Mame put her first call through we were plotting to sneak out the back gate. When twenty minutes later, she rang again—tuppence gone west—we were back in our workaday duds and rolling up our sleeves in readiness—to help with the washing! We, so sentitive, a poet, a (mis) leading public figure, to have such humiliating duties thrust upon us! Can you beat it? And Mame's slanguage when she 'phoned a third time, and finally, and was told- the worst! Personally, we feel as small as a scooter champ, shaking hands with Jean Batten. However, we do wish the highly-respected president of ths X.B.C. and its indefatigable secretary to have the facts and we are reassured to know that, in, spite of our absence (and Mame's), the opening was I siAb. a jolly, afl'air.