THE POSTIE’S BAG

Evening Star, Issue 20985, 26 December 1931, Page 4

THE POSTIE’S BAG

' 9 Fernhill street. Dear Big Brother Bill, —Am 1 too old to join your happy circle? 1 am fourteen, and left school two years ago. Although I cannot listen to your voice over the air I read your page every Saturday in the ‘ Star,’ and 1 thoroughly enjoy it. 1 live on a farm nearly 150 miles away from Dunedin, but just now 1 am staying with my aunt, and will be here until February. Our farm is one of tiie driest places of Otago, but Christmas visitors who experienced the cloudburst will not think so. You see, we live near Alexandra. I have often heard dad say despairingly “1 wish it would rain,” but now he will he saying ‘‘l wish it would stop raining.” I get a letter from home every Wednesday, and you can well imagine my feelings when I hear the postman’s whistle. One letter from home is worth a dozen from anywhere else, because the ones who write are so dear that no matter how short a note received it is always very welcome. The news is all so different from everyday happenings down here, and it also is another link connecting me with my people. Well, Big Brother Bill, I will close now. I am sending you my motto, which often helps me out of difficulties. Wishing you a merry Christmas and a bright and prosperous New Year, —I remain yours sincerely, Dulcic Mnnro.

[Many thanks for your letter, Dulcie Munro/ You are not too old to join the family, and we welcome you to its ranks. Your name is in the honour square for an interesting letter. The bairns always like to read letters written by others who live on farms and in other interesting places. Your letter is interesting, too. because it shows that things Brother Bill gives emphasis in these columns are the true things after all. “ East, west, hame’s best,’ 1 Dulcie, which is the Scots way of saying that there is no place like home. If homo is the best place in the world and the home folk are the best folk, then we owe a duty to dad and mother that nothing on earth can fully repay, because they have made the home. They do not say themselves, and nobody else can tell, just how much sacrifice and labour, love and forethought have been put into the building of it. Dad does not boast of all his work to make the bairns happy, and mother says nothing of the thousand and one things she must do to keep the home running smoothly for dad and the bairns; but they are doing it all the time and saying very little about it. Big Brother Bill believes it is tho unkindcst thing in all the world when the bairns repay all this care and thought by lack of consideration and carelessness. For this reason he has made one of the rules of his family to bo “ the homo folk first.” Wo are bound to behave with courtesy and consideration to strangers; let’s do the same at homo always. Brother Bill has both heard and read of the tremendous downfall of water just recently in Central Otago. First a terrible frost burns the fruit and young trees, then the frightful rainfall washes soil away from their roots. If the trees do any thinking about things they must be wondering what is going to happen next. The probable thing is that tho orchardists and farmers will start in with quiet courage and patience to bring things back to normal again. Old Mother Nature is the most wonderful person, of course, but in her bad moods she can be fearfully destructive. Many thanks for your letter. You must write again soon.]

25 Norfolk street, St. Clair. Dear Brother Bill, —It is a long time since I have written to you. I was disappointed when I looked for rny last letter in print. I want to ask you, Brother Bill, if I can join your family. My teacher is very sympathetic, and Jets us sit by the lire to get warm on frost-biting days. Having been by the lire long enough to bo warm, we go back to our places and start daily work. 1 am ten, and in Standard IV. at St. Clair School. 1 take a great interest in your friendly page in the ‘ Evening Star.’ We have a little sister in hospital, who has stood up bravely to a serious operation. Her name is Claire, and she is eight years old. 1 am ciiter■ng tor your competition this week, and hope I am successful. Well, I must close now. With lovo to all the bairns, aunts and uncles, and yourself.—l remain, yours truly, Reece Baker. [Many thanks for your letter. Reece Baker. You will not be disappointed over this letter, because it now appears

ill print. You are quite welcome to the family. Most teachers are sympathetic) nowadays, and very kind to bairns who may be suffering under any handicap. The reason is that they are very human and kindly in their thoughts about the bairns they teach, and. whilst they must be strict because discipline is not the least thing we learn at school, they are ready to help the bairns in all ways they can. Many thanks for your kindly words about the columns, Brother Bill is glad that you like all that is written there. Your sister must be a courageous little, person by all that you write of her. Indeed, you will be interested to know that the hospital nurses all agree that the bairns are very brave when they have to bear pain. Many thanks for your letter, you must write again soon,]

80S Cumberland street. Dear Big Brother Bill, —I am sure that the books 1 have sent you will bring much joy and pleasure to some poor boy or girl. 1 have many other books. We have a wireless, and I enjoy very much listening to you and Aunt Anita. Would you let me come into your happy family of bairns and bo a member? I am thirteen, and 1 will be fourteen on February 11. Would you please call my birthday over the air when February comes? My small brother Job is very eager to join the family. Well, 1 must close now, wishing you and Aunt Anita heaps of love and a very merry Christmas and .a happy and prosperous New Year. — Your faithful friend, Maida Frew. [Many thanks for your letter, Maida Frew. You are very welcome to the family. Your books will make many bairns happy, and Brother Bill is very, very grateful. You may bo interested to hear what became of them. They have become part of a library of books that Brother Bill is collecting for the bairns in the Fever Hospital. You see, the bairns in Fever Hospital have to be t lie re for six - weeks at least, and sometimes they are able to read after the first few days. Books are the finest things to help pass away the time, so yon may feel that yours will help many to pass tedious hours away. Brother Bill will bo glad to calf your birthday when it comes, but you must let him know about it in time. Many thanks for your letter, and write again soon.]

Brighton road. Green Island

Dear Big Brother Bill, —It is quite a long time since I last wrote to you, but now as it is our Christmas holidays I have a lot of spare time. 1 am in Standard VI. now, passing Standard V. with 1,146 marks for the whole year. The last time 1 wrote to you w - e had a calf, and now we have another, which I named Daisy. Daisy is usually tied by our window, and one day she put her bead through tho window and ate our curtain. I will close now, wishing you a merry Christmas and a happy New Year.—Yours truly, Iris Sickels.

[Writing to Big Brother Bill is an excellent manner in which to spend your holidays, some part of them, at least, Iris Sickels. A calf is like any other infant beast, inclined to be playful and given to experiments in the matter of food. Brother Bill has known of small bairns who will suck their thumbs and has heard of other small bairns who simply will not stop biting their fingernails. Just why they do it goodness only knows, but a calf that eats clean curtains is certainly cleaner than a bairn who bites his fingernails. Don’t you think so? Talking of calves reminds P. other Bill of an experience he had at Purakanui some years ago. He was spending holidays in a cottage there, and, because the cottage was small and the party a large one, was sleeping in a small room alone. Tho bed was by tho window, and the window was open wide so that Brother Bill could enjoy the night breeze. In the middle of the night Brother Bill was awakened by a soft sighing noise like someone whispering in the darkness outside of his window. Then a big, dark head came through the open window, moved slowly up and down, blew a breath that smelled of grass and cowbyres into Brother Bill’s face, then filled the room with a frightful bellow, at least that’s how it sounded to Brother Bill. By the time Brother Bill had got his own breath back again the black head had vanished, and the open window showed nothing but stars twinkling in the darkness. Calves are very nice, to bo sure, but not so nice when they nearly scare you to death in the middle of the night. But there is something to be learned even in a daft experience of _ that kind. Tho silly stories about night bogies arose in some such fashion. Somebody had an unusual and rather alarming experience one night, and, because of the darkness and their own fear, ignored the perfectly natural explanation in favour of a terrible one suggested by their imagination. There are neither ghosts nor night bogies creeping about in the darkness, Iris, and if we are not afraid of people there is nothing to be afraid of at all. Many thanks for your letter; write again soon.