BIG BROTHER BILL and the BAIRNS

Evening Star, Issue 20364, 21 December 1929, Page 9

BIG BROTHER BILL and the BAIRNS

A WEEKLY TALK The winner of the badge prize is Margaret Baker, 14 Do Carle street, St. Kilda. Margaret Baker’s design was very beautifully drawn in colour, and will make an excellent badge for the family. Mercia Johnson, 118 Queen street, D.unedin, receives honourable mention. Margaret Baker’s; design is a circle of blue, ''with a gold star in the centre. On the gold star is a burning lamp. Around the top edge of the circle are the words “ Big Brother Bill’s Family. The lower edge contains the words “Alere Flamman,” meaning “to nourish the flame of friendship.” On the three top points of the star will be the sign '4YA. Big Brother Bill wishes to thank those who are sending toys for the poor bairns this Christmas. Quite a number have already forwarded theirs to _the radio station If you have anything to mak» poor bairns happy this Christmas, Brother Bill would be glad if you will send it -in not later than Monday, December 23. This is the happy season of the year, when families meet together to exchange gifts and renew old acquaintance; indeed, it is the happiest season of all thi year, Joy and gladness should be so full and overflowing that a little spilL over for other people. Big Brother Bill remembers the good time he has had with his family during the past year and wishes he could meet them all. Since that is impossible, - he takes this opportunity of wishing th un all a merry Christmas and a nappy New Year. May you all have the jollies* time this holiday, without a shadow to mar your fun. Your always affectionate, BIG BROTHER BILL. THE CHRISTMAS BOX ESSAY The winner of the Christmas bos essay is Velma Crerar, 17 Lambert road, Dunedin. The essay is printed below for all the family to read. Everybody knows that it is easy to spend money, and none the less easy because you happen to be spending it on other people; but the most delightful fashion in which to spend money on other people is to accompany it with little acts ot personal service that make the gift doubly acceptable. These little touches won Velma Crerar the Christmas prize. The five-shilling prize will he available at the ‘ Star ’ Office on Monday, December 23. COMPETITION. If I had 5s to spend on making people happy, I would buy six small Id dolls, make six little pincushions out of odd,- pieces of silk, each with one of the dolls on top; 6d of coloured beads, and thread them into necklaces; three tops, each costing 2d; Is worth of marbles. I would make little bags and put a few marbles in each, four comic papers, each costing 3d, twelve penny balloons, which I would blow up and . tie with a piece of thin coloured string, and 6c! of dates in little coloured paper baskets, is what I would buy with the remainder of the money. I would get a branch of a tree and hang each present on it with coloured string and give it to one of the children’s hospitals. One pin cushion I would keep out for my mother. Velma Crerar, 17 Lambeth road.

THE HONOUR SQUARE

Annie Robinson, Mount Cargill, awarded live marks for neat writing. Mollie Skene, 426 Castle street, awarded five marks for interest.

THE POSTIE'S BAS Finegand, Balclutha. Dear Big Brother, —How are you getting on? Our cow is milking well, just now, and we are receiving a considerable amount of cream. The garden is looking well just now. I have some of those delicate trailing sweet peas in flower, and roses nodding their heads in all directions. We have potatoes ready for using, but are not because we have not finished our old ones. I have passed this term, and have also managed _to obtain my proficiency without sitting for it. The Clutba River is now a dirty yellow colour, but the beautiful willows that fringe the bank and dip their leafy fingers into the rushing yellow waters hide its ugly appearance. We have not had any practices for our school concert yet, but hope .to put forth an item as good or better than any of the classes. I was at the show on Friday, and enjoyed myself immensely by watching the horses.—With lots of love to yourself and the family, I remain, Yerna M'Auslan. [Thank you for your letter, Verna M'Auslan. Brother Bill thinks that your, description of the garden, both flower and .vegetable is quite good. Sweets peas and roses are good in their place, cabbages and potatoes are’good in theirs. There is plenty of room for both the useful and the beautiful, little sister, in life as well as in the garden, and, when useful things do their work rightly, they become beautiful, just as beautiful things become useful only as they do folk service. But these are deep matters indeed, only to he mentioned because we all do well to remember that helping folk gives beauty to the plainest and humblest, who do, not forget. Congratulations on the excellent result of your examinations. Brother Bill likes the way you talk of the muddy Clutha. You will know that the river is dirty because it is doing splendid service to the rich country on which your farm stands. Brother Bill doesn’t wonder that the_ lovely green willows splash their trailing fingers in the stream.- If you listen closely, Verna, you will hear them whispering their gratitude to the river that feeds their roots .with moisture and rich silt. Tour concert will be over by now, and Brother Bill hopes that you gave a good account of yourselves.]

Hello Everybody!

St. Clair. Dear Big Brother Bill,—l would lovo to join your happy family. I am six, and go to school. Daddie roads your letters to me on Saturday, and I am very fond of hearing about all your family. I have four dollies,' and would love Santa Claus to bring me another. I am very busy washing their dresses now for the Christmas holidays. Teddv Bear’s rompers also had to be washed. I have a pussy, and his name is Jimmie, He is a-pretty puss, and plays all day with me. Now, dear Brother Bill, I wish you a merry Christmas, and all the bairns, and shall write again soon. —Yours truly, Enid Sherriff. [Thank you for your little i letter, Enid Sherriff. Since mothers are busy with Christmas cleaning, which means washing things, of course, mothers of large families of dollies must be having an equally busy time. It is very nice, however, to have the family looking spick and span at the holidays. All sorts of good wishes for your Christmas cleaning, Enid. Brother Bill hopes that Santa Claus will remember your„ request about that extra, dollie; no doubt ho will. Jimmie is a good name for a pussy, little sister. It is simply splendid that he plays with you all day long, It also that his little mistress is very kind to him. Thank you for your good wishes. Brother Bill returns them a hundredfold.] 10 Brook street. Dear Big Brother Bill, —I have not been able to write to you before as we have been having our proficiency exam. I do not know how I have got on yet, but I shall soon know. You asked me why I liked town better than the country. I suppose it is because T was born in the country and lived there for a long time. _ If I had been born in the town I might have liked the country better. We certainly bad fun, and I liked riding horses best of all. The nearest store was four and n-half miles away, and the station was three miles away. We had to go to the station twice a week, and I sometimes rode the horse there. The store sold boots, shoes, groceries, fruit, and clothing, which is not like the shops in Dunedin, as they only sell one of the things that is sold at the store. The school was one and a-half miles away, and in the winter the roads were always muddy and full of puddles. On a frosty morning we used to slip everywhere.—With love to yourself and the family, I remain, yours truly, Mona Burnard. [Thank you for your letter, Mona Burnard. You are a little philosopher without knowing about it. You think that‘people like the places where they do not live. Perhaps you have heard the saying that “Distant fields are the greenest.” But people can live in a -place and like it better than any other, little sister. Brother Bill wondered why anyone who had lived in the country could like the city better, but your letter seems to give good reasons why. Muddy and slippery roads are not as nice as well-paved streets, to be sure; on the other hand, you can’t have fun with horses in Dunedin. Brother Bill has never had fun with horses; they usually have fun at his expense. He hopes that the city will find as much fun for vou, of its own kind, as the country from which you came. Y rite again soon.] 426 Castle street. Dear Big Brother Bill,—l have just been down to our house at Company s Bay with dad and mum, and have arrived home tired and with many scratches, but feeling very happy. \Ve got some very nice ferns for our fernery. While down there dad and I had a lovely scramble over the tree tops on tile creepers. What fun we had swinging up and down cannot bo described. So, dear Brother Bill, climb a tree vourself and see how far you can travel over the trees without coming to the ground. I am going to Timaru for three weeks at Christmas, and I am leaving next Friday »n the ear. I am sending in an entry for this week s competition. Dad is going to post me up your page in the_ ‘Star,’ so that I will not miss it while I am in Timaru. In conclusion, I would like to wish yourself, the aunties and uncles, and all the bairns a very bright merry Christmas and a happy New Year from your much-scratched sister. —-Mollie Skene. P.S.—Would you please tell me what the marks are for? [You have written a most interesting letter, Mollie Skene, Your picture of Brother Bill swinging from tree to tree made him chuckle a little; he isn’t built for that kind of exercise. There is rather an uncomplimentary suggestion about it, too, but he passes that by; perhaps it isn’t uncomplimentary after all. If, Brother Bill was as agile as the things—you know what ho means? —that swing their chattering way across tropical forests he would make a first-class gymnast, and ho wouldn’t mind being that at all. Lucky girl to be going away in the motor car! Brother Bill Hopes that you have a wonderful time at Timaru, and come back as brown as a Maori. Write again soon. The marks in the Honour Square are all added up against the winner’s name, and when they reach a certain number a prize is awarded.] Mount Cargill. Dear Big Brother Bill, —I have not written to you, for a long time. We are all very busy at school just now, as our term examination is on, and we are all busy practising for our concert, which is to he held up here soon. I have another dear wee sister. Her name is Monica. She is three months old, -and can laugh so lovely at us all. That is four sisters and five brothers I have, so you see we have a large family. I am sending an attempt at this week’s competition, which I hope to win. Christmas will soon he here now, with all the good things it brings. T nearly forgot to tell you my black pussy has three darling wee kittens, and my father’s greyhound has five dear wee pupa that have just got their oyes open. I must close now ' Yours sincerely, Annie Robinson. '

[Your name is in the honour square, Annie Robinson, for neat writing. Congratulations. Brother Bill hopes that your concert was a splendid success. Monica is a lovely name, and has rather a wonderful history- One lady named Monica was the mother of one of the world’s most famous men, and a wonderful mother she w.as, too. Christmas

and good things. The two things go together, don’t they; take care that mother shares in them, Annie. Brother Bill likes-those wee kittens that you talk about; but he likes the wee greyhounds a teeny mite better. You must bo a fortunate girl to have a dad who is interested in greyhounds. They are among the most graceful and beautiful of all the dogs. You must- write and say how the babies get along.] THE APPROACH OF CHRISTMAS There’s a little chap at our house that is being mighty good— Keeps the front lawn looking tidy in the way we’ve said he should; Doesn’t leave his little wagon, when . he’s finished with his play, On the sidewalk as he used to; now he puts it right away. When we call him in to supper, we don’t have to stand and shout; It is getting on to Christmas, and it’s plain he’s found it out. He eats the food we give him without murmur or complaint; He sits up at the table like a cherub or a saint; He doesn’t pinch his sister just to hear how loud she’ll squeal; Doesn’t ask us to excuse hifii in the middle of the meal, And at eight o’clock he’s willing to be tucked away in bed; It is getting near to Christmas—nothing further need be said. I chuckle every evening as I- see that little elf, With the crooked part proclaiming that he brushed his hair himself. And I chuckle, as I notice that his hands and face are clean, For in him a perfect copy of another hoy is seen— _ A little boy at Christmas, who was also being good, Never guessing that his father and his mother understood. There’s a little boy at our house that is being mighty good; Doing everything that’s proper, doing everything he should. But besides him there’s a grown-up who has learned life’s bitter truth, Who is gladly living over all the joys of vanished youth. And although he little knows it (for it’s what I never knew), There’s a mighty happy father sitting at the table, too. A CHRISTMAS STORY Now, children, if you will just gather about, I’ll tell you the story of little Tom Doubt. Just sit on the floor there and look up at me; Yes—yes—l’ll take two of you—one on each knee. And now I’ll begin. Well, this little Tom -Doubt Said he couldn’t figure old Santa Oaus out; Ho said that no reindeer could patter a hoof Or gallop like mad on his snowcovered roof; And he said that his chimney he knew was too small For a white-whiskered saint to get down it at all. And he didn’t believe that the girls ;and the boys From Santa Claus ever got candies and toys. Now little Tom Doubt said: “ I’ll prove that I’m right;' ( No letter to Santa Claus this year I’ll write. I want a new sled and I want a new "■ drum, But I won’t let him know that I want him to come. I’ll test out the Santa Claus story this year— I won’t even tell him that I’m living here.” When he woke in the morning, he found by his bed The drum that he longed for, the new shiny sled, And all that he wanted, yet never had told, And his look of surprise was a joy to behold. “ Why, he’s real! He has been here!” cried little Tom Doubt, “ But however did Santa Claus find all this out?” CINDERELLA AND RED RIDING HOOD Cinderella and Little Red Riding Hood must have been among the very first children that Peter Pan flew in upon, for they have firmly refused to grow up for 300 years. It is just three centuries this year since their creator was born. These fairy children who are almost immortal were born in the brain of a very serious literary Frenchman, Charles Perrault, who thought of them and wrote them down to please his little son. In days that are just gone a learned mathematician, Mr Dodgson, told the tale of Alice in Wonderland to amuse two little girls. One of them is dead now, but Alice lives on. Charles Perrault, who has given more pleasure and delight to children of all ages and all nations than many more eminent writers, called his fancies the Tales of Mother Goose. Cinderella, with her glass slipper, was one of his cherished neroines, and some fussy people have pretended that Perrault did not mean it to bo a glass slipper, a slipper of verre, but a slipper of vair, or fur. Do not believe them. It was a glass slipper.' Cinderella wore that and will never wear any other. Also he wrote the story of Bluebeard, and there had been in France a real Bluebeard of very evil reputation- and habits,' and a dreadful end. But no children were ever frightened by Perrault’s Bluebeard, because they were sure that when Sister Anne went out on the balcony she would be sure to see the brothers riding to the rescue and they would come in time. Other delightful stories Perrault told, and each of us has his or her own favourite. The writer of these lines confesses that of all of them he likes best Puss in Boots, who did so well for the Marquis of Carabas. Hero h a beautiful adventure, with everything handsome about it. Perhaps the oddest thing about all these dear companioiis of childhood is that Charles Perrault never dreamed that they would become immortal, and makg him immortal* too s He jyrote

rather dull poetry, and thought that was the work which would make, him remembered. Hans Anderson was like that. He thought that The Tin Soldier and the Little Match Girl and the Snow Queen were trifles. They are trifles that twinkle like stars in the sky. THE CHRISTMAS TREE I ■ A BED-TIME TALE Oranges like gold lanterns _ hung among yellovy-greon leaves of orange trees about the hills, and the over-ripened fruit fell to cluster at the feet of brown trunks. , . Little Andre thought them beautiful—if ho ever thought about them at all, for he was as used to the sight as we are used to the beautiful orchards of England. What did seem wonderful to Andre was T something he found one day as he was walking up the long, steep road that led away from the little harbour town in which he lived. .. The road was lined on each; side with rocks and strange, half-tropical ■.plants such as aloes and cactus, with their huge, thick oval leaves. But of these ho took no notice. It was when he came to a point by a broken-dowir grey wall belonging to an old fortress that Andre found what seemed at first just an ordinary little tree. A red and blue striped sentry box stood not far away, but as far as Andre could see there did not seem to be anyone about. At 'the edge of a grassy mound the tree stood- It was nothing very much to look at; anyone might have passed it by a hundred times without giving it so much as a thought, but to Andre it suddenly became a tiny world of romance. Why, it was. a Christmas Tree I The kind you saw in pictures and in shop windows at Christmas time; and as to-morrow would be Christmas Day it semed to Andre as though it must almost have grown up in the night out of the ground, and spread out its green arms solely for him to find. , . He knelt on the ground beside it. and stroked its little branches, and held its small green fingers' gently in his own, and then he went up the hill to deliver his errand. You certainly would _ not have imagined that it was Christmas Eve if you had gone that walk with Andre, for dust was on the road and a warm sun in the sky; in fact the weather was like that of an English summer, for in that country, far down in the South of France, the people do not know what real winter is Hk.e Now, down among the cobbled streets beiow, where steps scrambled up from the grey quay to old houses gay with coloured slxutters, was one very tall house divided into flats; m on© or them lived Andre’s great friend, Antoine. with his mother and father and tiny sister. ■ Antoine’s father, and Andre s, too, made their living by letting out boats to the visitors who came to stay in the little town; but when visitors were scarce times were hard, and both Andre and Antoine knew that when Christmas and New Year came they seldom had presents and gaieties like some of the other children. But this did not trouble them much, for they found many happy things to do among the little winding streets and down on the pebbled beach, .or on the quay watching the boats that came and went, and the lights of the town that sent gold rivers threading across the grey sea at night. fo-day, as Antoine sat on the steps of the tall house amusing his sister, hurrying towards him along the cobbled paving he saw his friend Andre. He knew by the way that he was wav--ino- that Andre had something to tell him, so, leaving his little sister, Antoine ran to meet him. And then Andre explained. There was a real Christmas tree, he said, growing just for them up on the hillside! They would tell no one else about it in case they laughed, but it was there for their very own. They roust find shells and berries and makea little flag of red paper and decorate it; and on Christmas Day and New Year’s Day they would go to visit it; and when the boys whose father kept the tabac shop boasted to them again about the Christmas tree they had, they would with truth bo able to say they had one too. . . All this he said to Antoine almost in one breath! And so early in the morning next day, before many people were about, they collected pink shells, choosing those with tiny holes in them through which they could tie string and so hang them on the tree. They found a doll’s cup that had once belonged to a little china set. and a small broken trumpet which long ago had refused to sound ; and they made the paper flag, and gathered a few scarlet berries, and then, clambering up the hillside with their few treasures, they began to decorate the little tree. , It certainly did not look quite like the trees in shop windows when it was finished, but to the two boys_ it was; wonderful because it, was theiy own. How proudly it tossed its head in the breeze 1

And than suddenly, not far away, they saw a figure that must have been there all this time, and who was now walking swiftly up and down. It was a sentry! He must have been watching them. But there was nothing to fear. They had done no harm. So they turned back to their tree, and presently they went down the hill again, back to the cobbled streets, keeping their secret in their hearts. Later in the day each of them received a toy. Andre’s was a box of coloured crayons, and Antoine’s a book —small gifts, but they had not expected more. And then, after church was over, once more they started up the hill to stand beside their dear Christmas tree, and to make sure that it was still safe.

They were glad to notice, as they hurried round behind the broken wall to where the tree was growing on its patch of grass, that the sentry was gone. They could enjoy their tree the better being quite alone. But when they caught sight of it they stopped suddenly and stood for a moment as if their feet had become rooted to the ground. For they saw the most wonderful sight. The tree had not been moved, neither had their decorations, but something very remarkable had taken place. On the topmost branch shone a dazzling star. Coloured candles and shining glass balls hung from branches lower down; and a wooden horse, a doll, a gun, a box of sweets, and many pretty little toys.

Something magic had happened! Was it Santa Clans who had passed by, sprinkling the little tree with these shining gifts ? What an adventure it all was! And what an exciting Christmas morning! And then suddenly a little cloud spread over their happiness. Supposing the tree belonged to someone else I To someone who had come while they had been in church and taken possession. It was more than likely. Of course, that must be the explanation. With these terrible thoughts in their, minds, they heard footsteps behind them. The sentry man was coming. Perhaps it was his tree. He wa~ no longer carrying a gun, and that meant he yas “ off duty,”

"Vlhiat was lie doing here? Was lie ! angry with them ? ' But when he spoke, as he did the next moment, He asked them the most wonderful question, which sent the little cloud that had risen in their minds flying far a ray. / “How would you like to take that tree home, mes enfants?” he said. “I have a spade near and I will dig it for you, if you like. We will carry it to the town, so that your brothers and sisters may see it and bo happy, too, Santa Glaus did not forget you, you ace. I believe he means you to have a merry Christmas. And if I help you ray Christmas, will bo merry, too. We will take it to the house of Andre, because Andre’s father once did a fine thing for mo, when in his boat one day, by saving the life of one I loved.” And so the little tree left its 1 me on the hill, and went to live in a big pot down in the grey town where the coloured. shutters were, and where on New Year’s Eve the boys from the tabac shop peeped through the window and saw it, and thought it a far finer one than any they had ever had. THE COMPETITION 'Here is a puzzle to interest you during the Christmas holidays. The first question is answered" to give an example of the method of beheading a word; when you are asked to curtail a word it means to take off the last letter. The prize is half-a-crown, as usual. WHAT PART OF YOURSELF, BEHEADED, BECOMES A TREE? S-PINE. * WHAT SORT ~OF RIVULET, BEHEADED, BECOMES A BIRD? WHAT COUNTRY, BEHEADED, BECOMES DISAGREEABLE? WHAT FISH, BEHEADED,. BECOMES A GIRL’S NAME?, WHAT REPTILE, BEHEADED, BECOMES A NECESSARY ARTICLE USED BY CAEPENTERS p WHAT FLOWER, CURTAILED, IS USED BY LADIES IN DRESSING? WHAT BEVERAGE, CURTAILED, WILL BE AN INSECT? WHAT BIRD, CURTAILED, MEANS TO CLIP? WHAT BIRD, CURTAILED, MEANS TO EXCITE? WHAT ANIMAL, CURTAILED, WILL NAMIS A SCOTCH

RIVER? WHAT FRUIT, BEHEADED, MEANS TO WANDER? WHAT BIRD, BEHEADED, WILL STILL BE A BIRD, WHAT FRUIT, BEHEADED, BECOMES A FISH? THE LOUIE EEOIPE i Would you like to know how to make a lollie Xmas pudding? If you would like to do so during the Christmas holidays try the following recipe:— Take three cups of sugar and one cup of cream (or one cup of liquified condensed milk), and boil until the syrup threads when dropped into water; now add one-fourth _of a cup of honey. Continue boiling until Syrup will form a soft ball when tried in water, now take from the fire and beat the stiffly-beaten white of an egg into it. Beat smartly for one minute, and add half a cup of finely-minced nuts, raisins and currants, and candied peel. Beat until firm and creamy. Now shape either into a hall, or to the shape of a small basin. Let this stand for a night, when it may be covered with white icing in the ordinary fashion. Cut into slices. Cheerio everybody, BIG BROTHER BILL.