POSTSCRIPTS

Evening Post, Volume CXXXIII, Issue 136, 11 June 1942, Page 4

POSTSCRIPTS

Chronicle and Comment

BY PERCY FLAGE

• Allies, says Camou, are people who know all about. us and don't let it become a prejudice. * * ' ■■ * We trust the inscrutable Russians have something special saved up, too, in the way of summer. * ■ » ■ * Sir Walter Raleigh: The bodies of men, munitions, and money may justly be called the sinews of war. Two German soldiers on the Russian front were discussing the war. "Hermann," said one, "we are losing the war." "Ja, Ja," replied the other indifferently, "but when. Lieber Gott, when?" ' * # . * PUB POSTERS. America, too, is going all out in war posters warning the public that LOOSE TALK CAN COST LIVES. This slogan is seen all over bars and drug stores in the States. One poster in a pub shows Hitler's face with a megaphone sprouting .from his ear, and the words: "Even in this friendly tavern there may be enemy ears." Another pub poster shows two overalled workmen with Hitler's shadow looming behind them, and the words: "Don't be a dope and spread inside dope." * * # GLOOMSTER. Dear Percy Flage,—Lilian. E. Fyfe's note about the so-called "Winterless North," published in your column tonight, reminded me of an occasion many years ago, when, in the depth of a cold, wet winter, a Sydney man had become marooned in Wellington because of a shipping strike and the consequent stoppage of the trans-Tas-man sea service. In the local Turkish bathrooms—where our visitor had gone evidently in search of warmth—l found the following gloomy remarks he had entered in the visitors'- book: "The dead don't mind living in a graveyard, otherwise. Wellington would have no population." Yours faithfully, W.M.B. * ■ * . » MORNING TEA MONOLOGUE. I've gotta 'nother win this year, Which, dearie, you might like to 'ear. I know that you think good uv me An' wouldn't put me upper tree, An' trees is very 'ard to climb For people what are 'orf their prime. I 'card larst week uv kankeroos, Little ones, turnin' vp1 'c's toes, An' shinnin' up a big red gum As though 'eadstrong for Kingdom Come.

Also, a fish what does the same, Though some'ow I can't say it's name, P'raps it's a young shark orf its feet i Which sometimes we are made to eat. What's that? My win? 'Aye I fergot? Well, dearie, put me on the spot. 'Ere is the hanswer if I'm right— We're not far orf the shortest night. I always get in first with that, But no one never lifts 'c's 'at. 'Ow'ever I've a mind to use, An' never, never, give a buse To no one. Still, I'm sure as fate 'Itler is fore it sooner late. I'd love to see at any price 'E's stummick tackled with wild mice, Until 'c tosses in the tow'l . . . When, loverley, is a fat fowl foul?