POSTSCRIPTS

Evening Post, Volume CXXIX, Issue 22, 26 January 1940, Page 6

POSTSCRIPTS

Chronicle and Comment

BY PERCY FLAGE, No R.A.F. for us: We prefer flight! of fancy. «■ # ♦. • Says Phoney: Annoying weather t isn't it? I'm sure you'll agree that the sky is the limit. » * ■ # Assuming that those were the Angels of Mons on the Arctic front, they must have been there expressly to take the Finns under their wings. * ■' ■■ * ■■■ ■. ♦ Here's something for you to chew on. The Egyptians used to raise1 altars to cabbage, which was worshipped as a deity. * # '•. *" CROWDED OUTDear" Mr. Percy Flage,—l enclose an idea which occurred to me , while several of my friends were engaged in a fruitless search through the pages of the "Evening Post" for the crossword puzzle. Oh where! Oh where has our crosspuzzle gone? Oh where! Oh where can it be? With war news cut short and rac« tales cut long > Not a trace of it can we see. , . M, ' . * * *' • TOOTHFUL NOTE. The comb was one of the earliest toilet articles used by mankind. The first combs of the Greeks and Roman* were made of boxwood, but the idea of using ivory for material was' later adopted from the Egyptians. While1 the combs of the Egyptians had teeth, on only one side, those of the Greeks had teeth on both sides. During medieval times the very wealthy often had combs of precious metals, sonietinies studded with gems. There was a time during the first centuries of- the Christian Church when the comb had aritualistic role. Records have been uncovered in which were- direction* fc * combing and arranging the abbot's hair in the sacristy before certain services. * * * INTIMATION. A.G.G. and Jake.—We liked? that billboard faux pas, but .circumstances unfortunately preclude publication. Hataitai.—We didn't find that implication in the Minister's talk. ' . "Another Correspondent."—Thanks for those' details, but exigencies of space compel us to cl6se down on the Bland Holt discussion. Endy Brown. —Erin writes to say that the lines you wanted were "The Illusion of War," by Rupert Brooke. Erin sends the poem complete; we shall try to- find room for it later on. Just Me, Milmay; and J.W.—Niqe of you to send such kindly greetings. We don't deserve half of them. No Red. —If you are not more careful we'll ask Mr. Savage to deal with, you. Does that scare you? Or does it? .•■•.. . Melisande (Otaki).—But we just cannot accept a second Melisande. The one we possess is quite a responsibility in herself.. Curious. —Lotus is a name given-by the Egyptians to various species, of water-lily. Lotus-eaters are a legendary people. Deshabille. —Transparent enough • to be risque. ' , '~..,«..■ * : * , * DAYTIME SPIRIT OF: WELLINGTON. She stared .at me; she laughed1 and . said, "Hallo!" I scowled; I mistrust ladies I don't know. • . " "Cheer up," she said. "Don't be remote —this tram Will suit. In Wellington who cares a damn About convention Do hot hesitate — Indeed, procrastination seals your fate In Wellington. See now! That tram's away! Ah! here's another—mind you. do not pay For me—two sections!" . . . . ■ J scrambled on; I found a seat; we rocked Along; a young conductor lurched and knocked : ■ '' My hat from off my head—he missed the strap, \ And took a seat upon a lady's lap— And we all laughed. ...'." Somehow I found myself * in., Cuba Street— ■ A woman pushed a pram across my feet— I swore; in all best cities of the wprld A gay. voice says, such accidents occurred. » "To cheer you up, let's have some fun." The wind Tore off a woman's hat; I stood and grinned— A soldier rushed to rescue, it; it flew— As if the madcap thing had brains— and knew— Before a downward tram—sprang upward—dodged - , Them both—but recognising LAW, tl lodged Itself between a p'liceman's legs. . . « I bought her flow'rs. upon the Quay; . they were' Sweet peas.. "Now tell me who you,, are." "Beware," She laughed. "I shall enchant you. Who am I? The daytime spirit of these streets-good-bye." RIORDAN HASTINGS. * * • TICK-TICK. Dear Flage: -My silver Rotherham hunter watch possesses some potent fancy magic for pacifying forlorn I crying babies. Passing along the corridor of the Town Hall when a community sing was in progress. I heard loud cries, intermingled with heartrendering throbs, which proceeded from one of the prams comprising the pram-rack. Peeping beneath the hood, I 1 fodnd a beautiful ten-months-old baby boy, with round rosy cheeks (they would put to shame ari*y luscious red cherry), hot and flushed, squeeze ing a copious flow of tears from between ■ tightly-closed eyelids. "Hullo, little man! What's the trouble?" The eyelids flew open at the sound of a friendly voice; glistening blue eyes discovered the owner to be a mere man,., and the wailing became louder than ever for his Mummy. Then I remembered. Out came my Rotherham. It was held against a tiny ear. "Tick-tick! ,Tick T tick!" it went, as it telegraphed its message to a baby boy that help was at hand. Instantly the crying ceased. Wonder-wide eyes flew open again. "What could it mean?" Something nice!" The "something nice" was drawn closer.and closer to baby-boy's mouth until just touching his moist, red lips. "No! It is not something to eat!" Transferred to his other «ar, it sang, "Tick-tick! ticktick!" While Daisy Bell, with herbicycle (not pram) made for two, "pedalled" away on the grand organ inside the main hall. Gently disentangling baby-boy's small fingers caught in the meshes of the cuff of his woollen jacket—the cause of his outburst —he was left comforted, though still solemnly ponder-, ing over the mystery of the "tick-tick" imprisoned in the bright cool object, quite unaware that the scene might aptly typify Age and Youth engaged in dalliance with fleeting time, beside | a baby's hooded' pram.