BIG BROTHER BILL and the BAIRNS

Evening Star, Issue 20510, 14 June 1930, Page 9

BIG BROTHER BILL and the BAIRNS

The winner of the “figure square” competition is T. M'Cutcheon, 11 Ann street, Roslyn, The correct solution is given below: —

Big Brother Bill wishes to thank those who have sent such kind letters of appreciation recently. The writers have specially mentioned the fact that their names are not to be mentioned, which does not prevent this word of thanks from the recipient. There is a matter that seems to need constant reminder. If you wish your names to be given over the air on the important occasion of your birthday, then the envelope should be addressed to Big Brother Bill, Station 4YA. If the envelope is addressed Big Brother Bill, care the ‘Evening Star,’ it is more than likelv that disappointment will ensue. Will you remember this, please? Big Brother Bill would not disappoint a member of the family for all the “tea in China.” Please assist him by recollecting the importance of these different addresses. Your always affectionate, BIG BROTHER BILL. THE COMPETITION • \ Here is a puzzle of a new kind /It looks very much harder than it really is Read the story carefully and the solution will appear quite simple. Big Brother Bill will give a prize of half a crown to the bairn who deciphers the puzzle. Address your envelopes to Big Brother Bill, care the ‘Evening Star,’ Stuart street, Dunedin. Mark the envelopes “ Competition.” THE STORY A beggar, instead of asking folk to “please give,” displayed a board bearing this inscription: 4 A . ISO. Thie aroused the curiosity of people, and the beggar made a . fortune by selling printed explanations at 6d each. Now he drives a Ford. Can you read the sign?

THE POSTIE'S BAG 19 Ann street, Roslyn. Pear Big Brother Bill,—lt is such a Jong time since 1 wrote to you. We are all back at school again and are working hard. I came top in my examination. On Saturday, May 24, at our Sunday school we had a big party and a concert afterwards. There was a birthday cake with sixty candles on it. I recited a poem called ‘ Poor Eruo.’ I also sang with some other girls. Tho name of the song was ‘ A Japanese Umbrella.’ The little ones danced ‘Here We Dance Lubyloo,’ while we sang for them. One man sang four Scotch songs. My wee sister Poreen was four on May 23. _ She got a doll, a tea set, and a printing and colouring outfit called “Our Farm,” also a few other tilings.—Love from Nancy [Thank you for your interesting letter, .Nancy Horne, Brother Bill supposes that the school cake was for the school’s birthday. It was certainly a lovely concert that followed; but why did the man sing four Scotch songs ? Was he encored twice? The programme seemed so nicely arranged with bairnsitems that it seems a pity the man should spoil it by being so many times on the platform. Brother Bill has just thought of /an explanation, however. Perhaps the number of times you figured on the programme, decided how large a slice of the birthday cake came your way. In those circumstances Brother Bill does not wonder that the man sang four times; Brother Bill would have asked to be made the whole pro-' oramme. Poreen evidently had a delightful time at her birthday party; Brother Bill hopes the same for Nancy Horne.]

41 Durham street, Mornington._ Dear Big Brother Bill, —May I join your band of bairns? I am 15 years old and I am in the fifth form at the Otago Girls’ High School. I have just tinisned my lessons, so I thought that I would write to you. One day when my sister and I were walking along a road we saw a black and white blackbird. Its wings, tail, and breast were white, and the rest of its body was black. lam reading a book called ‘ The Harvester,’ by Gene Stratton Porter. I have read three others of her books also. I will have to close now, as it is time for bed. Well, good-bye, Brother Bill, with love from your new sister.—Helen Dodd. [You are reading a delightful book, Helen Dodd. Brother Bill remembers that ‘The Harvester’ was the first book that he read written by Gene Stratton Porter, immediately went hunting for all the books by the same author. But, strangely enough, he thought that no other of this writer s books was quite so beautiful. Brother Bill will pass on a little secret about reading. He thinks that books are very like people in one regard at least, it all depends upon the sort of person you are as to the amount of interest you find in books and people that you meet. Brother Bill suspects that, like himself, you are very interested in out-of-doors, in the garden and lovely flowers and trees, and in all living things. It mb t at aft a bad way to be, little sister, and it will make your life a great deal more interesting. There is more good fun in an hour in the country, and more good health at a cheaper rate, than in two hours sitting in the best seat at a picture show. Your white blackbird was an interesting thing, Helen. Brother Bill remembers a friend in Australia who made a get ox a white crow. It looked the quaintest bird in the world, and you received quite a shock when it opened its rnoutn and began to talk. You must write to Brother Rill again. J \

Hello Everybody!

4 Ferguson street, Parkside, Caversham,

Dear Big Brother Bill,—l am only a little boy sij years old, and I cannot write very well yet, so mother is writing this for me. I have not written to you before, but mother reads ■ the letters to me every Saturday, and I enjoy them very much. I have two brothers and a sister. _ One brother is nearly five, my sister is three, and baby Brian is one year and seven months. He is a little trick. He runs round now, and can say quite a lot of words. He gets into mischief, but ho is a little darling. I would like to see my letter in the paper, but mother says you have so many letters you may not be able to print mine. I hope you will be able to find room. I am in Class 111. now, and I am going to work hard and try to write my next letter myself. —I remain your little friend, Lennox Arthur Swete.

[Your letter is in the paper ? Lennox Arthur Swete. You have a nice, comfortable family at your house, little brother, and that little trick of baby Brian makes it quite complete. Of course, ho is a darling; all babies are the same. Mischievous, too. That is the way of small* things, and a very useful way indeed. Brian gets into mischief because he is busy learning things. It is the way of a healthy young thing to bo curious about everything he sets eyes on, and his curiosity leads him into making all sorts of quaint experiments. Brother Bill heard of a baby that ate a worm the other day. The wriggly thing was half in and half out of his mouth when mother saw what was happening. Mother shrieked her dismay, and pulled at the worm. But baby’s hard gums shut down tight on the worm—and a worm is made to stretch only so far. Brother Bill thinks you had better guess what happened next. The mother is sure where one half of the worm wont to; only baby knows what happened to the other. When Brother Bill said that he didn’t see much, difference between a raw worm and a raw oyster, the baby’s mother was quite indignant. Brother Bill would not like the family to cultivate a diet of raw worms—it sounds too disgusting—but the baby might have eaten something to do him a great deal more harm. You will remember, little brother, that Brian’s mischief is his way of discovering things for himself; and you will watc that he doesn’t get too near dangerous things. Thank you for your letter.]

Bay View road, South Dunedin. Dear Big Brother Bill, —As I have not written for a while, I thought I would do so to-night. Haven’t wo had beautiful sunny days lately ? But. between you and mo, Brother Bill, I think it’s jolly cold when one tumbles out of bed in the frosty morning, don t you? All the same, the weather makes up for it during the day. Holidays have started again, and I’m haying a stunner time. We have a black kitten, and he eats so much that when he walks he falls over. His name is Patch. I went to Port Chalmers, and then Portobello, during Easter, and travelled a lot to other places. Well, I must close now, as I want to do some drawing. With lots of lovo and luck to you and all the bairns. —I remain, your affectionate sister, Marvie Clarke. fMany thanks for your nice letter, Marvio Clark. All the trouble about the water is over,_ and this is certainly a satisfactory business. It wasn t the most comfortable feeling in the world to walk the city streets on a,dark night. Brother Bill wondered what our grandfathers used to do, and whether wo were sufficiently grateful for the difference between then and now. He wondered the -same thing about the trams stopping. Brother Bill knows a fine old gentleman in this city who used to play as a boy along the mud ruts that have since been changed into Princes street. This old gentleman has seen our lovely city grow into what it is out of the virgin bush. Ho is an old, old man now, but he walks from Roslyn to church every Sunday night and ne walks back again. You should hear him chuckle about the complaints of folk who couldn’t ride three blocks in a tram. Your kitten seems to have a good appetite, Marvie, but I wouldn t feed him too well, or he’ll get diseased. In that case he will fall over wee tor all. Congratulations on the nice holiday that you spent at Easter time. It is a- long way away now, hut the memory will be a happy one.]

29 Driver street, St. Ivilda. Dear Brother Bill,—Please, Brother Bill have you room for another wee sister? I am sorry you have been very sick, and I hope you are better again. I have a wee sister and a brother, ino baby says Brother Bill is her brother, and she loves him very much. I am learning music, and I like it very much. Twice when we were going for a walk the cat followed us, and would not go home. I am seven years old and 1 am in Standard 11. at school. —Your loving friend, Beth Reid. [You write a very nice letter, Beth Reid, for a bairn only seven years old. It is also very kind of you to include all those wishes about Brother Bill s health. Ho is better, “thank ye for speerin,” and returns all the good wishes increased a hundred times. Cats will follow sometimes, little sister, but not as often as dogs. It is in the nature of the beasties, and they cannot help it. The dog will follow its master into tho storm, whilst the cat cuddles the fire, which goes to show that the cat is a much more selfish pet than the dog. But both cats and dogs aro nice pets in their place. You must write another letter soon, and tell Brother Bill the sort of pets you have at your house.] 29 Driver street, St. Kilda. Dear Brother Bill, —Thank you very much for calling my name oyer tho wireless. Mother says that a fairy must have told you about it. Wo bad good fun at the party. X had a wee pig m my cracker. There was a house on fire in Caversham, and we could see it from our place. I am in Class Five at day school 1 go to the Presbyterian Sunday School, I am, your little brother, Leslie Reid, [Your letter is a dandy one, Leslie Reid. You certainly seem to have had a good time at tho party. What sort of a cracker containing a wee pig? It is a very much nicer situation to watch a house fire than to be inside the house that is burning, little brother. An Australian bush fire is a terrible business, Leslie. The wind roars, and

great trees burn lige standing torches. Sometimes a tremendous crash is heard as a forest giant falls, and always there is a constant crackling ns the tree branches burn to death. Whilst men are fighting the fire, there is the danger of snakes, made crazy by the fire, biting them. The wind carries flakes of burning tree bark, and, whilst the men may bo busy fighting the fire in one place, they may discover it has begun behind them. Then they are sandwiched between two walls of flame, which is how some men lose their lives. Any sort of fire, excepting the comfortable house friend, is a bad one, but the bush fire beats all. You must write again to Brother Bill.]

A CRAB AND A PIGEON TALES OF TWO RAGES The hare beaten by a plodding tortoise has its match to-day. Birds seems to us the swiftest of all creatures, yet a pigeon belonging to Mr Wakeham, of Jersey, has taken two years to fly from Bordeaux to its island home. It took part in a race with other pigeons, and failed to return. Two years later another ratio was run, or perhaps we should say flown, and with the other birds this lost one returned to the loft. On the other hand, a crab has walked 150 miles in eighteen months. It was caught, labelled, and released at Aberdeen, and a year and a-half later it was found at Portincaple, Loch Long, off the Firth of Clyde. As it Was a Scotch crab we may be sure tliat this was no idle stroll but a walk foi a Pr Who would have thought a fleetwinged pigeon would find a rival in the humble old crab? THE CHEETAH GOES TO BED A courious true story comes from Northern Rhodesia. An Englishman living there tamed two cheetahs, which became as tamo as dogs, except that now and then they would go out and run down a buck with a fleetness that could hardly be matched by the greyhound. . . .. . , One evening a missionary, tired and depressed, appeared at the Englishman’s place, and went to bed in one of his host’s huts. Breakfast was at 7. No missionary appeared. “ Tired; best leave him a bit, thought his host. Tie left it till 9, and, as there was still no sign of his guest, the Englishman went to look for him. To his great surprise he found the missionary lying flat on his back in bed, with one of the cheetahs, which had jumped in at the window, stretched on his body.' The cheetah simply wished to be exceedingly friendly, but the missionary imagined he was a real savage leopard, and was lying there in a state of terror! A NEW BABY The baboons on the Monkey Hill at London Zoo have been very quarrelsome and aggressive lately, so thirty female Hamadryad baboons nave been put on the hill in the hope that their presence may make the colony more peaceful. Hitherto there have been only six females on the hill, and as they wore under special protection and guarded fiercely the keepers have had to be careful not to annoy them, for when startled they raise a loud cry to announce that they are in danger. On several occasions the keepers, while sweeping on the hill, have had to beat a slow and dignified retreat without turning their backs on the baboons, and as the slightest sign of alarm on the part of the men would at once bring matters to a crisis, it was decided that something should be done to make the animals less ferocious. The presence of a number of females should make the male baboons feel that their wives are strong enough to protect themselves, and it is now hoped that there will be less jealousy and fewer battles. A few of these new baboons brought their children with them. One baboon lias a son about three weeks old, and as her offspring is not yet old enough to look after himself, mother and baby have been put in a cage by themselves. It is some time since the Zoo had a baby monkey, and this little creature is most interesting. Although his mother’s fur is brown and his father’s grey, the baby is thinly covered with black hair, and he has a wizened, caro-worn face.

Unlike members of the cat and dog families, the mother baboon does not pick up her offspring and carry him: the baby climbs on to the parent, and then clings to her body with his arms and legs. This is why a monkey does not like to ba lifted by his keepers, but prefers to jump into their arms. The new Zoo baby is an exacting, peevish infant, for, unless his mother nurses him continually ho shrieks loudly. If in desperation she pushes him from her and seeks a few moments' peace in a far corner of the cage he totters after her, crying bitterly. But, if anyone looks closely at her baby the mother baboon forgets everything else, and, clasping the little one in her arms, she glares at the_ intruder, and tries to conceal her precious charge. THE FAITH OF SIR WALTER RALEIGH E’en such is time, that takes in trust Our youth, our joys, our all we have, And pays us but with earth and dust; Who, in the dark and silent grave, When we have wandered all our ways, Shuts up the story of our days; But from this earth, this grave, this dust, - My God shall raise me up, I trust. —Sir Walter Raleigh on the eve of his execution.

THE TRAMP PASSING BY This story of a bit of everyday heroism reaches us from the North of England, where it happened just before Christmas. A tramp was footing it along the road to Sheffield, where the railway lino nearly touches it at Mot,tram. He was nearing Hattersley tunnel, where the trains come out with a roar, when he heard some boys shouting from the line. Ho was passing on, not being at the time very interested in boys or in railways on which ho had no money to spend, when something in the snouting made him think again. He looked over the fence, and there was a boy in the middle of the track who was doing more thpn shout; he was crying for help. Down the bank to the line scrambled the tramp, and there he found that the boy wjio was calling loudest had most reason for it. He was stuck. The boys, being boys, had been unable to resist the fatal attraction of going where they had_ no business to be; and in one of their dashes across the rails this boy’s foot had slipped between a sleeper and a steel rod connected with the signals. Ho was a plucky boy, but he was beginning now to whimper with sheer fright. The tramp, who had a fellow feeling for people in trouble, told him not to bother, it would soon bo all right, and looked round for something to prise the steel bar away. There was nothing. But he was a resourceful man for a tramp. “Let’s loosen thy shoelace, lad,” said he. “ and happen tha’ll get thy foot out.” He unlaced the boot, but the boy still could not wriggle his foot out.

Then the tramp began to walk up the line, searching for something, anythin", that would lever the bar away. He had not gone 20yds before he stopped, stricken almost motionless with fright. A whistle shrieked from the other end of the tunnel ns a train entered it. The train -would bo on them immediately. For a moment the tramp lost his wits. Tho impulse to run away bore down tm him; he afterwards said so. Hut it lasted only a second, and as the horror left him he became a man again, with all his wits about him. " He could not drag tho boy out. There was no time to stop the train. There was one thing only left to do. The tramp did it. He twisted the boy’s foot over and made him lie down by the track. The hoy was terribly hurt, but there was no other way, and the tramp, to give him courage, lay down beside him. All was done more quickly than it takes time to write or to tell it, and hardly had tho man and the boy lain down side by side than the osprey dashed past them with a roar, and in a cloud of dust. The boy fainted with pain and fear, but he was able ipresently to stand up again. Bv now people from the little town of Mottram near by were beginning to come on the scope; the boy was released. And what of tho tramp? He would have gone on his way, but the people of Mottram would not have that, T> v soon haled him back with them. Thev entertained him. They made * collection for him. We may guess how the mother of Herbert Nowles thanked him. But the next morning the tramp was gone. He was on his way again. Ho was a Sheffield man, and ho wanted work. It is to be hoped he found it.

A TEA TABLE SCANDAL Said Mrs A. To Mrs J., In quite a confidential way; “ It seems to mo That Mrs B. Takes too much something in her tea.” And Mrs J. To Airs K. That night was overheard to say She grieved to touch Upon it much, But Mrs B. took such-and-such. Then Airs K. Went straight awav And told a friend the self-samo day ’Twas sad to think (Here came the wink) That Mrs B. .was fond of drink. The friend’s disgust Was such she must Inform the lady which she missed That Mrs B. At half-past three Was that far gone she couldn’t see! The lady wo Have mentioned, she Gave needlework to Airs 8., And at such news Could scarcely choose But further needlework refuse. Then Airs 8., As you’ll agree. Quito properly, she said, said she, That sho would track The scandal back To those who painted her so black. THE TORTOISE WAKES UP A BED-TIME TALE Old Janet, tho cook, and Mary, the parlourmaid, could not see eye to eye with regard to Segrave. “He’s so stupid, said Alary, with no more brains that a piece of coal. But Janet was obstinate. “It’s these slow ones that get there first sometimes,” sho said. “Slow and sure’s the thing. Hurry-scurry and you trip up and smash things. And as for Segrave, why he’s more knowing than you’d reckon.” But Mary burst out laughing. “Oh, you think so, do you? Well, go into the garden and call him. You’ll see ho doesn’t even know his own name.”

“ Ah, well,” answered old Janet, “ whether ho knows his name or not, what ,L say is, you never can toll. I have a feeling about Segrave.” Meantime, the object of their discussion stood unmoving and silent beside a rose bed on the garden lawn. Dew glistened on the grass and birds sang of white-lined nests and cornflower skies. A blade, droning speck which was an aeroplane sailed high overhead, and a rose shed a pink petal on to Segrave’s back. But still no stayed there, unconscious of the world’s beauty, his face inside his tiny house, his eyes dosed. Wendy, who owned the tortoise (for a tortoise Segrave was—or is, for ho still takes up a position in a certain garden in Hampshire), came across the sunshiny lawn before starting for school and stroked his polished back, and said “ Good morning, Beautiful,” to the little leathery face protruding from its house, like an old, old man at his cottage door, and then she gave him a lettuce, which he disdained. “ it’s a lovely day for you, Segrave,” she added, ‘‘and take care of yourself while I am at school.” She then untied tho long string which was attached to a little ring through Segrave’s shell, and tied it to a different place (which happened to be a pipe on the wall outside the kitchen) so that he might have new

ground to wander in if he should feel like taking a walk. Before they had tied him up like that Segrave would disappear for months at a time, and, as Wendy said, _ “ You might as well have no tortoise at all if you couldn’t talk to him.”

Later that afternoon, while Wendy sat at a desk learning her lessons, Segrave slept on the ground outside the kitchen window and Cook slept inside. Not that Cook would have exactly called it sleeping, but she admitted that she got drowsy and liked to sit down after luncheon and close her eyes.

Now, Cook, as she sat there, suddenly seemed to seo a strange thing. She thought she was standing on a wide, sunny path that narrowed to a shadowed wood where pine trees dipped their feet into waves of bracken, and far through the trunks she could see the brown roof of a little house.

Something told her very strongly that she must reach that house whatever happened; and yet, whenever she tried to walk in that direction a cord reaching like a dividing line between the sunshine of the path and the shadowed wood seemed to prevent her feet from moving. Try as she would, she could not go forward one inch. All at once a wonderful thing happened. As she could not go to the house the hquse began to come to her! Then she noticed that the house had four feet on which it was walking, and a little old face extraordinarily like Segrave’s looked from the front door.

Why, it was Segrave! Segrave grown large and important, filling the path till each of his aides almost touched the trees as he came; Segrave with his dark eyes peeping from his shining shell, coming nearer and nearer to her. Suddenly Cook was wide awake! She must have been day-dreaming. What a strange dream! She reached out for a work-basket on the table and started to fumble for her thimble; but every time she tried to sew the thought of Segrave came so vividly into her mind that she stopped. Wliy did she keep thinking of him? She put down her sewing. She would just go and have a look at him to see that all was well.

But when Cook got outside Segrave was nowhere to be found. A trail of string still hung to tho pipe, but the other end, which had been attached to Scgrave’s shell, had come undone, and Segrave himself had vanished from sight.

Round the garden went Cook, searching under bushes and behind trees and plants, hut no sign could she see of tho escaped prisoner. Suddenly she caught sight of tho garage door, which was wide open. She went forward and peered in. There was Segrave, mute and stolid, in tho middle of the entrance. But Cook saw something else which made her heart beat taster. Prom a corner of the garage smoke was beginning to curl up in a small grey spiral from something on the ground, and flames were beginning to paint a leg of the bench orange and crimson as they ate into the wood.

As she looked a tiny flame burst out and caught the edge of a newspaper lying on the floor. Someone must have been smoking there, and, on his way out, carelessly thrown a lighted match down. Cook darted to the hose which was used for cleaning the car, uncurled the long rubber coil, and fixed it to a tap, and in a few moments water was streaming on to the blazing paper. The danger was over. No damage was done—thanks Segrave thought Cook, ns she picked him up and carried him back to his old place in the garden. “ Bless you!” sho said, looking down at him. “ And they tell me you’ve got no brains! How will they explain your coming into my dream like that, and then leading me to the garage? Why, you’ve saved the whole place from being burned to the ground.” And when she told Alary all about it sho added: “ I always did have a strange sort of feeling about Segrave.” But Alary just smiled to herself and began setting out the tea things. THE LOLLIE RECIFE To make milk kisses you must take two pounds of sugar, a quarter pound of butter, and a quarter tin of condensed milk. Aloisten the sugar with water, and boil to about 270 degrees. Now take off the fire and add butter and condensed milk. Beat tho butter and condensed milk into the syrup, then pour out on to a greased dish. Divide into cubes, and wrap in wax paper. Cheerio everybody, BIG BROTHER BILL.

1 2 3 4 5 2 1 4 5 3 3 2 5 1 4 4 5 1 3 2 5 4 3 2 1