BIG BROTHER BILL and the BAIRNS

Evening Star, Issue 21204, 10 September 1932, Page 4

BIG BROTHER BILL and the BAIRNS

Hello Everybodyl

SERVICE IS THE RENT WE PAY FOR OUR ROOM ON EARTH The winner of the hidden word competition is Olga Nees, 19 Stuart street, Dunedin. The words were: Siren', risen, Erin’s, reins, rinse, resin. THE HONOUR SQUARE Evelyn Clyde, 10 Preston crescent, Belleknowos, is awarded five marks for neat writing. Winnie Ritchie, Shannon Farm, is awarded five marks for interest. THE KNITTING BRIGADE Brother Bill is constantly receiving delightful and charming surprises in connection with the knitting brigade. Parcels are always exciting, and the kind of parcels that Brother Bill is receiving are botii exciting and charming, too. Dainty little knitted squares that tell the story of careful thought and kindly deeds and charming letters all of which are quite worth printing in the columns. There is not room for all, unfortunately, but here is one letter that tells the story of the silk patchwork quilt that Brother Bill inquired about last week. THE COMPETITION Here is an original competition sent in by Mervyn M'Rorie, 59 Sligo terrace, Iloslyn. It is called “ Electric Tactics.” The answer to each one of the questions must be given by using some name connected with electricity. You must get your friends who know something of the different parts used in electrical work to help you with the competition. Send your answers to Big Brothei Bill, care of 1 Evening Star ’ newspaper. Stuart street. Dunedin. Mark your envelopes, u Competition.” The prize will be 2s 6d. If she is late—meter. If she is awkward. If she is reserved, ff she is flustered. If she is stout, if she is a bad cook. If she is very good. If she is ill. If she is lazy. If she is plain, THE POSTIE’S BAG 31 Stanley street, Mornington. Dear Big Brother Bill,—The letter I wrote you and sent with my parcel must have gone astray, so this is the third time I have written you to ask you if vou have room for two more little girls in your very large family. My little sister Molly is seven years old, and she knitted the peggy squares in the parcel, the patchwork quilt you received. I made with the help of mother.' We thought you would find a good home lor it, and I stitched lots of kind thoughts into it. I trust some little girl will benefit by it. 1 did not send in any peggy squares. Molly knitted the peggy squares while I was busy with the quilt, but I intend to make some now. I wrote to you just about this time last year. lam a Brownie in the Mornington Pack, and have received my first-class badge. I am eleven years of age and in Standard V. at Mornington School. Haven’t we had glorious weather for our term holidays? To hear the birds singing in the trees, to see the little crocuses pushing their little heads through the ground and the daffodils in bloom makes one feel happy to know spring has come.— With best wishes to all your family, from Joy Ferens. Manv thanks to Joy Ferens and to Molly ‘Ferens for their kindly thought and beautiful work done on the quilt. It will certainly find a needy home and he of benefit, and its warmth will be all the greater because of the kind thoughts that were stitched into it. “ Granny,” aged eighty-four, of St. Kilda, has also sent some dainty knitted squares, for which many thanks; and Grandma Keen, eightyfive years of age, of 57 Sutherland street, has to be thanked, too, for some charming squares. Dorothy and Bruce MacDonald, also grandma, have sent in squares. Brother Bill is wondering whether the younger generation of bairns can knit quite as beautifully as their grandmothers? He has received a really beautiful cot quilt from Mrs Fairmaid that is a work of art; it is a lovely example of what kindly thought and skilful needles can do with add pieces of wool. Hawthorne Private School. Cumberland street, also

sent in a parcel of squares and the letter was written by Joyce Kitchen; they are very nice indeed, and Joyce must thank all the scholars who helped her. “Well-Wisher” and “A Little ’Un,” together with a round dozen of anonymous knitters, have sent in their parcel also. Oy Renwick, 53 Canongate, wants to know if the knitted squares done during his. or her, term holidays are all right. Of course they are, and Brother Bill was glad to receive them. Brother Bill omitted to say that Joy and Molly Ferens arc very welcome to the family. There is no end to the need for knitted squares, and Brother Bill will be glad to receive and acknowledge the parcels as they arrive. He will be glad to welcome also new recruits to the knitting brigade. Shannon Farm, Cromwell. Dear Big Brother Bill, —As the holidays are nearly over, I thought that I would write to you before lessons begin again. The weather up here is improving now, and although it is not so cold there is still a scarcity of water. In answering my last letter you asked me if we had an orchard. Yes, Brother Bill* we have, and the tiny buds on the trees are ready to burst any day now and show forth an array of white blossom. Up one side of the orchard is a belt of poplars, which are also showing a sign of spring. In the gardens bulbs are peeping their tiny green heads above Mother Earth and enjoying the sun. During the holidays we have had two cousins from Roslyn staying with us. They enjoy farm life very much. Last Thursday afternoon we "went to Alexandra, and we came home over the Clyde bridge, and every board on the bridge rattled. One afternoon I set a rabbit trap and the next evening we caught a rabbit. One of my cousins had not seen a trap being set before, with the result that she asked a terrible number of funny questions. Well, Brother Bill 1 had better close. With love to all the bairns and yourself.—l remain, yours truly, Winnie Ritchie. [Many thanks for your delightful letter, Winnie Ritchie. Brother Bill asked about the orchard because,the name of your farm is an ideal name for an orchard, and, also, there are a great number of orchards about CromvMl. The year is turning toward the spring —the loveliest season of the year. The summer is the busy season, and the autumn is the season or growing quietude and peace as old Mother Nature prepares for her winter’s rest; but the spring is the season of growth and beauty, when the same old lady puts on her loveliest clothes and colours that have been stored away during the winter months. Brother Bill is glad to know that Winnie Ritchie loves to look for the changes, too. Brother Bill might ask some funny questions if he visited Shannon Farm, not being used to country, life; but he expects that Winnie Ritchie would treat his ignorance kindly, as she did the questions of her relatives. He supposes that trapping rabbits is necessary, since bunny has become a real danger to more important things; but it isn’t a bit kind to bunny. The steel jaws of the trap are really dreadful if one catches a finger or a hand in them. Brother Bill knows, because he has experienced the sensation. Just what they mean to bunny he hesitates to think. But there seems no other way out of the business, Winnie, and you must be a competent young lady to have traps of your own and be successful with them. Many thanks for your letter. Write again soon.] 10 Preston crescent, Belleknowes. \ Dear Big Brother Bill, —May I join your happy family? I am ten years old and in Standard IV. at High Street School. We play hockey at our school, and I am in the B team. Yesterday our A and B teams went by bus to Mosgiel to play a match, but, sad to say, they lost. I have a brother Bill. I often do your competitions, but this time I am sending it in, and hope to be successful. I must close now. Love to all the family.—l am, yours sincerely, Evelyn Clyde. [Many thanks for your letter, Evelyn Clyde. You are very rvelcome to the family. Brother Bill has watched the hockey players, and they look very nice indeed in their gay hats. Perhaps Evelyn Clyde was among some of the groups that were playing. It was too bad that you lost your matches at Mosgiel, but it may have been good discipline, Evelyn. It is splendid to win, as Brother Bill has written before, but it is sometimes much better to lose. Does that sound too hard? The one who can win with pride has much less strength of character, Evelyn, than the one who can lose, with courage. Besides, since life'gives failure as well as success, it is good to be able to lose with courage ana optimism. Bill is a good name, and your brother will doubtless bo a good fellow to know; Brother Bill hopes so anyway.] 149 District road, Ravensbourne. Dear Big Brother Bill,—l am ten years of age, in Standard VI. at school, and have been learning the violin for three and a-half years; so I found the competition very interesting. 1 have a little brother whose name is Keith, and he is seven years of age, and in Standard I. I nave some bantams which I keep as nets. They are so tamo that once I had my photograph taken with one standing'on my head. I must close now, hoping you are in the host of health. —1 remain, yours sincerely, Bruce Campbell. [Many thanks for your letter, Bruce Campbell. Brother Bill is glad to know that your violin studies are progressing so \VelI. He remembers you, of course. Bantams are quaint little pets, and do become quite tame; at least, some of them do. Brother Bill has some bantams on his place that are as wild ns sparrows They escaped from their pen some weeks ago, and it is not at all easy to coax them -back again. They are quaint little birds, very important, too, as they strut about scratching for their daily bread. One of them has made friends with a white Leghorn fowl, and goes to roost with her, also walks about with her during the day. The dark bantam and the white Leghorn can he always seen together. And they come together for their wheat and mash. The photograph of yourself and your pet must he a quite interesting one. It might bo a good idea, one day, to have a competition 'for the best picture of the bairns a«d their pels. What do you think of it?]

THE BLACKFELLOW’S WAY David Unaipon, the well-known Australian aborigine, has been explaining one of the mysteries of communication between tribes. The question is often asked how it is that the blaokfellows of Australia or the natives of some regions of Africa can send messages so quickly to one another as almost to rival the white man’s telegraphy. David Unaipon has a curious explanation to offer. When an aborigine wants to appeal for help to another member of nis tribe, he says, he first attracts attention by sending up a smoke signal. The man who sees the signal then strives to empty his mind of every thought except for a message, and the man who made the smoke signal co-operates by concentrating all his thought on sending the message. This joint effort between the sender of the message and the receiver acts as a kind of wireless. MR ENGINEER The Soldier flames with splendour, The Sailor’s eye is bold, The pomp of Judge and Prelate Is wondrous to behold; The Alderman and Actor Are vain as any peer; But modest as a daisy Is Mr Engineer. Who ever heard him boasting, Who.ever heard him sneer: This lord of solid Progress, The silent Engineer? Life still had been a jungle, And men like soulless beasts, Mean slaves of hateful tyrants, Sad dupes of kings and priests, If pluck had found no channel, And faith had not burned clear, And truth had no disciple In Mr Engineer. The merchant gets the profit. The statesman gets the cheer, But he who does man’s business Is Mr Engineer. The world swings on to power With wheel and crank, and rod; The Earth obeys in silence This suffragan of God; He masters air and ocean, He brings millennium near; The soul of evolution Is Mr Engineer. With neither plume nor scarlet, With neither sword nor spear, From triumph unto triumph Goes Mr Engineer. SMALLEST AND LONELIEST SCHOOL In the wild fells of Northumberland, hidden among beautiful rugged scenery, is what must be the smallest and the loneliest school in the British Isles. Once a shepherd’s hut, it has now been turned into a cosy, inviting little schoolroom; the walls are hung with pictures, there is a school library, and the room is painted in a charming style.. This Lilliputian school, known as Emblethorpe Council School, Tarset, is ruled over by Miss Amy Allcroft of Falstone, and her pupils are Jean (13) and Agnes (11), who are sisters; and Betty (10) and her brother Henry, who is seven. The scholars are the children of shepherds, and they walk more than three miles every morning to school. Miss Allcroft rides on her pony Patsyten miles each day to and from this little tin-roofed shack. When the mountain burns are in spate it is often difficult to reach the school. Three times last ypar it was impossible to ford the burns; once when Miss Allcroft tried to get to school she was stopped by a burly farmer who barred the way and would not allow her to risk her life. The second time she mad© the attempt Patsy plunged until his nose was just above water. They had to turn back, however, and Miss Allcroft owned that she thought her end bad come. “ It has to be a real storm to keep us away,” Miss Allcroft declares. “Throughout the year we maintain an attendance of more than 90 per cent.” The children keep a complete change of clothing at the school, for they sometimes arrive drenched. Naturally they take their lunch with them, and in winter time school finishes at 3, so that they can climb the mountains to their homes before dark. Henry, the lad of the school, is not shy. What the big girls do he does; ho even joins them in their knitting. Government inspectors who survive this dreary and weary walk to the tin-roofed shade are surprised at the intelligence shown by the children and especially at their knowledge of natural history. A CUCKOO AT THE WRONG DOOR No fewer than eighty-four species of birds are victimised by the English cuckoo. Either one of • the tribe has badly blundered or we must add an eighty-fifth to the roll of birds doomed to receive an egg and a nestling not their own. Hearing a loud outcry the other day an observer looked up at a martin’s nest under the eaves of his house, and saw a fierce battle between a small bird and a large one. The combatants proved to be one of the owners of the nest and a cuckoo. To the man it seemed that the little bird had ejected the monster. At any rate, it beat the cuckoo away, and, pursuing it with angry screams, drove it out of vision. It is almost impossible the cuckoo had ; entered the nest; the opening is too small, and the nest would not hold the body of the cuckoo. Probably it had laid an egg and carried it up with the intention of placing it in the martin’s nest. In that it may have succeeded before the contest began, for the speed of a cuckoo when engaged in its work is almost incredible. Whether it succeeded or not, the cuckoo must have experienced some failure of instinct. If its egg hatched the young cuckoo would burst its tiny cradle and bring it, with itself, to the ground, for a martin’s nest is like a sealed vessel with only a tiny opening. It is difficult to see how such a plan could bring success to a cuckoo’s hopes,

yet how unpromising are the adventures they_ have hazarded! If a martin’s nest is too small one would think the great nest of an eider duck or a grebe, a ponderous diving sea bird, is too large; but the fact is that young cuckoos are reared by these seagoing creatures, though how fish eaters rear the young of caterpillar eaters with the oily meals that sustain young grebes and eidets is as yet an unsolved mystery.

Probably we should have said that the first cuckoo which placed its egg in a sea bird’s nursery had lost its senses, yet eider ducks and grebes are among the eighty-four birds upon whom cuckoos habitually descend. In such cases the true cause jnay be not so much a breakdown of the bird’s sense as a breaking of new ground. In which category ought we to place the performance of a nightingale which before the break of day toward' the end of May startled the curator of the London Zoo by bursting into song in a bush beneath his. bedroom window in Regents’ Park? For ten minutes it sang, and then ceased.’ Dr Seth-Smith, to whose astonished ears the melody came, believes the welcome little stranger to have been an unmated male which had wandered from its family haunts and was whistling down the wind for a companion that was not there. It must have been a similar chance that took a nightingale to a wood near Warrington, in Lancashire, a latitude to which this melody is a complete stranger. Never, until broadcasting, had a bird such an audience. Special trains were run to give music-lovers a chance of hearing the songster, and thousands of people sat silent waiting the coming of his song, and were not disappointed. He, like the Zoo bird and the cuckoo, had wandered from the paths to which he was accustomed. THE OLD COCKLE WOMAN A GOOD-NIGHT TALE Years ago, when the Irish peasantry firmly believed in fairies and demons, Betsy, an old cockle-woman, was made the victim of her own superstitious beliefs. Betsy was not a favourite in her native" village, where the people were ignorant but friendly toward man and beast. She was unneighbourly; she hated children, and starved her poor

little donkey Mike, who helped her to earn a comfortable living by carrying the bags of cockles she gathered on the shore to the inland folk. To see Betsy and the donkey on these _ journeys was a pitiful sight, for Mike was merely a dejected bag of bones and the miserly Betsy a bundle of rags. With a firm belief in the Evil Eye she hung her withered neck with charms, quirked her thumbs if a hare crossed her path, and even for cherished gold would never have ventured near the sea rocks at night for fear the king of the mermen should carry her away. The neighbours, who so kindly allowed their own pigs and bens to dwell cosily in their kitchens, were indignant at the sight of poor Mike; but they were too much afraid of old Betsy’s spite to do anything to help him. Then an old dame in the village had her two grandsons to visit her, and their first sight of Betsy and Mike passing the window made them burn with indignation. Hearing that the old woman so • firmly believed in spells and enchantments, they resolved to play a trick on her. They concealed tlielnselves among the rocks while Betsy gathered her cockles and Mike' stood, with drooping head' waiting patiently. Then they crept out, slipped the bridle of the donkey, and while one young man led the beast quickly away by a rope the other put the bridle over his own head and stood in the donkey’s place, pawing the ground impatiently. .At last Betsy turned round, and, seized with utter terror and amazement. she fell on her knees, crossing herself wildly, for she hadn’t the least doubt that the fairies had turtoed.her donkey into a man. “ Wretched woman!’,’ cried the young man. “By the help of the good people I am at . last released from your tyranny, and it is now your turn to become a donkey in my place and serve me.” “ Never!” shrieked Betsy, shrinking back in liorror. “ Then hide your face in shame, woman, and repent. In six weeks I will return for your answer.” He disappeared to the place where his friend had taken the donkey to be fed and cared for, and at the end of the six weeks they tethered a plump animal outside Betsy’s door; and such fear had she of further enchantment that she fed and lodged him for the rest of liis life as though he were the king of donkeys.