BIG BROTHER BILL and the BAIRNS

Evening Star, Issue 21518, 16 September 1933, Page 5

BIG BROTHER BILL and the BAIRNS

GIVE TO THE WORLD THE BEST THAT YOU HAVE, AHD THE BEST WILL COME BACK TO YOU There are two pairs of winners to be announced this week. You will all recollect that so many entered, the wordbuilding competition that Brother Bill found it impossible to examine them all in time for last week’s The successful bairns will find their 1 names printed below.’ The list of wheels was won by T. 'Allan, 28 Melrose street, Littlebourne, the mouse puzzle by Gilbert M’Crindle, 351 George street, Dunedin. The correct number was 13. Gilbert is to be heartily congratulated on the spirited little drawing which accompanied his entry. The word-making competition was won as follows: —Under ton years, Raymond Bruce, 14 Pacific street, Roslyn, with 550 words; over ten years, Myrtle Dyer, 2 Islington street, Musselburgh, with 1,116 words. THE COMPETITIONS The puzzles for this week are a little different, but not very difficult. The smaller bairns of the family are asked to make Brother Bill a proverb from the letters supplied; the older bairns to go hunting for fourteen Presidents of the United States. Address, your letters to Big Brother Bill, care of the ‘ Evening Star ’ newspaper, Stuart street, Dunedin. Mark your envelopes “ Competition,” arid the number also. UNDER TEN YEARS. (Prize, one shilling.) Make a familiar proverb from these letters: aa bb dd ee hhhhh iiii nnn oo rr ss tttt u ww. TEN YEARS AND OVER. (Prize, one shilling and sixpence.) Start at the upper left-hand letter and move one letter up, down, right or left, but not diagonally. By using one letter once only you will bo able to spell the names of fourteen Presidents of the United States. You will end at the upper right-hand letter. WASMSWIONE, nihamnlslg GNADO 0 S N I D TOORN D I C 0 I B.IBSOARNLL ffernmokjo TLEVESOLAO tyvelfiocc ELENAREPKN RCLDGALDSO

THE POSTIE'S BAG Stromness street, Palmerston! Dear Big Brother Bill, —I am writing to ask if I might join your happy hand of little folk. 1 am thirteen years old .and in Standard VI. at lalmerston District High School. I enjoy reading your columns very much, and often work your competitions. 1 am entering for this week’s competition, and hope to be successful. My youngest brother, Colin, has for a pet a white Angora rabbit. It is such a pretty little thing. When wo let it out some one has to stay and watch it, because, as soon as our backs are turned, it runs for the flower garden. It eats all the young shoots, and more especially the chrysanthemum leaves. We have been having real holiday weather lately. Nearly all our spring holidays have been wet, but we had luck this time. All the spring flowers are beginning to bloom now._ As i have nothing more to say, I will close. With love to the bairns and yourself.— I remain, Ailsa M'Leocl. [Many thanks for your neatly written letter, Ailsa M'Leod. Your name is in the Honour Square for neat writing. Brother Bill is glad to welcome you to the family, and hopes that you will soon write again. He is glad, too, to know that the columns give.you enjoyment. An Angora rabbit makes a ' very , nice pet indeed. Of course, hunny will make for the green leaves in the garden because that is his food. He goes there for the same reason that his master sits down at the table when mother calls for dinner. But it is not ▼cry nice for the garden. You must tell Colin that the best way to keep hunny in good health is to find him tome of the flat plaintain leaves that grow wild, plenty of dandelion leaves, and some of the young leaves of the dock. They are good food and good medicine for his pot. Write again •eon.) Shannon Farm, Cromwell, September 2, 1933. Dear Big Brother Bill, —The last time that 1 wrote to you winter reigned supreme, but now that dreary season has passed away, and spring is returning. The meadows , are. growing greener, and catkins are appearing on the trees, while the tiny brown coverings, which Mother Nature made to cover the young leaves ffom the winter, are dropping, off and tiny green leaves are appearing in their places The various fruit trees are ready to burst into blossom any moment, and show forth a white array. The bulbs are peeping their tiny green heads above Mother Earth and enjoying the spring sunshine, and the little lambs frisk gaily in the fields. Our little grey duck is growing prettier and tamer every day, rind i am quite sure that if you were to see it you would think it was very handsome. Although it seems quite happy and contented here, 1 really think it longs to be able to fly like its brothers and sisters, be cause if a grey duck flies above the farm and utters a weird cry our little duck looks up and jumps off the ground and tries to join its companion. We enjoyed the community sing last

Hello Everybody!

Friday; we thought it was one of the best this season. Where we live we get very good reception from Dunedin during the lunch hour. We are looking forward to the children’s com munity sing on Monday, the 4th. Love to all the bairns and yourself.—Yours truly, Winnie Ritchie. [Many thanks for your letter, Winnie Ritchie. Your name is in the Honour Square again. You do write very interesting letters, and Brother Bill and the baims are always glad to read them. Spring is the most interesting time in all the year. It always has been, .Winnie. Winter has its beauty, of course,-even though it is a dreary time, but there is no time in the year quite like that when spring is abroad in the land and the time o£ the singing of the birds has come. Brother Bill saw the sun rise this morning, and there was even an added beauty about this happening. The apple green sky, with a tiny sickle moon, and the green that swiftly faded to rose just before the ' sun came over the trees. Your story of the grey duck sounds a little pathetic, Winnie. The poor chap seems to be hungering to fly with his mates; perhaps you will one day find that his hunger to do this has been greater than his fondness for the folk who are kind to him. and when you go to seek him he will be away. You will not mind this, because the wild things love their liberty and are entitled to this happiness. Write again soon.] Grey road, Reef ton. Dear Brother Bill,—Just a few lines to let you see 1 can write. I am only seven, and I am in the First Standard, I walk to school every morning. We live half a mile from school. I have a little dog named Pat. I have three pet sheep and one cow named Queeny. Wo play football at school and the girls play basketball. They are going to play a match against Westport next Saturday. Mum’s got one patient. He shot his arm with a rifle. I remain, your little brother, Lennie Wills, [Many thanks for your letter, Lennie Wills. Although you live so far away, Brother Bill is glad to admit you to the family. You are very welcome. Brother Bill is glad, too, to see that you can write. Last year Brother BUI visited Greymouth and liked it very much, and, on the way, found his way by accident into Reefton. It was an accident because, driving through from Nelson, he happened to take the wrong turning; but he enjoyed the drive very much indeed. You are very fortunate to have a pet dog, three sheep, and a pet cow. Have you names for the sheep as well as the dog and the cow? Brother Bill is sorry to hear about mother’s patient with the shot wound in his arm. It sounds as though somebody has suffered a nasty accident. Write another letter very soon.] Ross place, Lawrence. Dear Big Brother Bill, —As 1 have not written for a long time 1 thought I would write to you this week. I camo third this time in class. I.am glad that the holidays are here, as m y mother has come to pay us a visit. Dm, our little dog, is getting fluffier every day. Ginger is lazier every day. Ginger is our cat, and he is awfully greedy. lam a Guide now. and I have a Morse flag. . I am going in for this week’s competition. Well. I have to hurry to catch the mail.—Trusting you are well, yours, Dorothy Suters. f [Brother Bill was glad to hear from you again, Dorothy Suters. It will soon be daffodil time at Laurence, won’t it? Then lots of people will be coming to visit your small town. Brother Bill came once to see the daffodils a-growing, and a-blowing on the hillside, and they were very lovely. Cats are really very lazy at times, but they are very' different when hunting Did you ever see Ginger stalking a bird or a mouse? Flat to the ground, inching along slowly, and every hair in his fur showing energy waiting to be loosed in the last leap. Congratulations on being a Guide, and upon having your Morse flag. Brother Bill hopes that yon will win other badges; they are all very useful because they show valuable knowledge gained and stored away ready for use. Write again soon.] 29 Whitby street, Mornington. August, 29, 1933, Dear Big Brother Bill, —Here I am once more. How are you getting on? J am entering for the competition, and 1 hope 1 am successful. We have a little kitten called Micky. He is black and grey in colour, with white underneath. He has big green eyes, and is very frisky. I made a little woolly ball for him to play with, because the tennis balls hurt his paws. Sometimes if I am outside he runs up the plum tree, and meows for me to play with him. so I throw the ball up to him, and be catches it with his daws, keeps it up in the tree for n while, and then he hats it bads to me. If you roll a table tennis ball along the floor or ground he runs after it and plays with it until yon go and get it Jf yon bounce it he tries to catch it before it touches the ground. To-day Mum and .1 went out to St. Clair to see my auntie. After wc bad grayed there a while we went on to the beach. Well, I shall dose now, with lore to yourself and the rest of the family.—Mavis Manccy. [Many thanks for your letter, Mavis Mancey. Brother Bill is getting along quite well, thank yon, and, as the good letter writers say. “ hopes this finds you the same.’’ You do seem to have a happy time with the kitten. Mavis. The young things like to play with moving objects. You will be surprised to know that the cubs of lions, tigers, leopards, and all the great wild cats do exactly the same thing. They make themselves balls in the jungle; the big mother cat sometimes makes one for them, and they play for hours. But it isn’t really play, although the small things think it is. It is old Mother Nature’s wise way of teaching swiftness of movement, and keenness of eye, the things that make all the difference between life and death in the jungle. Brother Bill has a dandy little Pomeranian dog given to him by a friend, Jlis name is Bunty. When let out in tho morning Bunty finds a hall where ho has hidden it tho night before, and wanders about from one person to another asking plainly for a little game. If everybody happens to be too busy he

Ross place, Lawrence

sits down and with the ball in his mouth growls his indignation at the family until somebody takes notice. Brother Bill thinks that it is the friendliness of our pets that makes us all so fond of having them about the place. Don’t you? Write again soon.] 59 Jackson street, St. Kilda, Dunedin. Dear Big Brother Bill, —I am entering for this week’s competition. I solved last week's competition also, but I didn’t send it in, I had my little sister down with me yesterday, and she enjoyed herself very much. She lives down by the Oval. We went to the beach with some other children. After tea we got the same children, and we played cards and tricks and puzzles. We all had great fun. Well, Brother Bill, I must conclude now with my solution and two puzzles for you.—l remain, yours lovingly, Lorraine Douglas. [Many thanks for your letter, Lorraine Douglas. You seem to have had a happy time with your sister and the other bairns. The good weather is coming fast now, and Brother Bill hopes that there will be many more happy times for you all. Thank you for your competition entry. Unfortunately it was not successful, but there will be other times, and if you keep trying there is no reason why your name should not be in the winning list at the head of the columns. Write again soon.] THE LONG AND THE SHORT OF IT They were of different stature and race and upbringing, the one a small Indian boy of the Criminal Tribes, lately become a Scout in the Mission Settlement; the other a young English District Officer, obviously regarded by the boy as a deity of the first magnitude. “ You had better hear the story of both,” said the Scout Commissioner in charge of the Settlement; “ I will begin with the hoy.” And then he told this story. A few months ago there was a bad outbreak of cholera in the Settlement; patients had to be brought in to the Hospital and laid on the_ floor as best they might by their relations, as there were no extra supplies or help of any kind. A young girl was dumped down by her weeping parents, who made absolutely no attempt ito render her more comfortable in any way. “ Cover her up—fetch a rug—do something!” said the distracted nurse as she rushed past; but bewildered moans only came from the equally distracted parents: “How can we? We have nothing. What can we do? ” Half an hour later the nurse returned to find almost a miracle performed. The child was clean and wrap,ped up carefully, with hot sand in a bag at her feet, and hot coffee to drink, all produced by a little boy in a very clean shirt. “ Why have you done this? ” “I am her brother.” “ How did you know how to make hot coffee and what to do? ” “ I am a Scout.” “ Now for the young District Officer,” said the Commissioner, “ but for him the little fellow would not ho here. Two years ago the young D.O. was sent to find out where a tribe had hidden its stolen goods, and he brought his Scout training into_use. “ He noticed the white, fluffy heads of some reeds at the river’s edge on his way to investigate the_ camp of this criminal tribe; he noticed that fluff from these same reeds was on the blanket of the tribe; he noticed that the same black mud from the river’s edge was sticking to the toes of the headman of the tribe; and, leading him straight down to the river, so impressed the headman by his apparently magical knowledge that the old man dug up the stolen treasure there and then, and became from thenceforth, with all his family, an inmate of our Settlement in Southern India.” The Comissioner pointed to two figures in the distance, the long and the short of it, who were gazing intently at a Scout chart. “ All seems to be for the best in a strange world,” he said. SOMETHING WRONG ON THE WIRELESS Many inquiries were addressed to the Budapest Broadcasting Station the other week concerning certain strange noises which had interfered with the delivery of the news budget. Atmospheric disturbance was the explanation given. It was only by chance that the real truth was revealed. It appears that the broadcaster had had his little daughter, aged five, confided to bis care that afternoon. He, was to take her on to a children’s party, but meanwhile had to keep her with him while he went through his task. Ho laid stringent injunctions on her to be seen and not heard, and she promised not to utter a word. As she is an obedient little soul, her father felt tolerably safe ns he lifted her on his knees and plunged into his daily account of the happenings of the previous twelve hours. Ho was in a graphic and rather harrowing description of a recent railway disaster when he suddenly heard an ominous sniff coming from the bundle in his lap, which he had fondly believed to bo sleeping. Foreboding in his heart, he stooped hastily down to see two largo tears rolling down the drooping face. The description of the sad scenes connected with the disaster had been too much for the tender little heart. It was a poignant moment. Desiring nothing so much as to stop and comfort his child hack to cheerfulness, the father was forced to go on with his tale of woe while the sniffs grew louder and more frequent and at last culminated in an anguished wail. Fortunately the reading came to an end at the same moment, and Five-year-old soon forgot her troubles, especially with a children’s party in the offing, so that no lasting harm was done. As for the passing curiosity of the public it was easily appeased with the phrase about atmospheric disturbance.

NOT m THE POT In General Seely’s latest book, ‘ I'or Ever England,’ is a delightful story oi how a kid survived the South African War. It was running about in a camp oi the Bth Division, which had been cut off from supplies for some time. The men were famished; everything that could be turned into food was eaten, till horseflesh was almost the only 'thing left; yet all the time this little kid, fat and well, was trotting about among them. Men who saw it for the first time chased it oxcitedy, their only thought a good meal, but there was a label round its neck which, wlien they had read it. made them laugh and let the kid go. Someone brought it to General Seely, and this is what he read on the label : Hold hard! Don’t put me in the pot. You think I’m rations, but I’m not. I’m Jiving with the stli R.E., And where they' are I wish to be. A FISH THAT LIVES IN A BOTTLE In the Plymouth Aquarium is a tiny side tank and in it is a stone bottle lying on its side. From the mouth of the bottle a little horned head with large eyes is seen projecting. It is the head of one of the blennies, known as the tompot. Those small fishes inhabit the holes and crevices of the rocks at extreme low tide. If they can find an old bottle to live in so much the better, for the tompot seldom leaves its shelter except perhaps to dart out for a moment to reach some food. ■» There is another blenny which loves a bottle for its home. This is the butterfly blenny, so called because of the beautiful fin sticking up on its back, shaped and marked like a butterfly s wing. It lives in deeper water and a large empty whelk shell trawled from several fathoms, or an empty glass or stone bottle, will often contain one of these little fishes. Inside the shell or bottle the butterfly blenny will lay her tiny round eggs, and one of the parents will remain in the bottle guarding the eggs until they are batched. Still a third blenny. the shanny, is the commonest of all. living on all our coasts high up between the tide marks. The eyes of the shanny are’ ever on the alert and move independently of one another. Directly an enemy is spotted back goes the shanny into its rocky home.

The eggs of the shanny are laid on the underside of stones in deep rock crevices, and hero again the eggs are carefully guarded by one of the parents. Naturalists in the laboratory have hatched out the eggs of all those blennies, tin? tompot having the largest egg, the shanny’s coming next in size, and the butterfly blenny having the smallest. The babv fishes are much alike, although the throe kinds can be distinguished by their form and colouring. When newly hatched they come up near the surface of the water and feed on the tiny free-swimming shrimp-like animals which abound there. As they grow the side fins become very long, and for such little fishes they can swim well. Thev are at this stage members of the plankton or floating life of the sea, and are plankton feeders When about, an inch long they go down to the bottom and stay there for good, feeding on the animals on the sea floor. The shanny lives chiefly on barnacles, which it scrapes off the rocks with its chisol-like teeth. TRY THIS Here is a very amusing little thing to try. Put a piece of paper bn a table, and. with a pencil in each hand, make a W with your left Hand and an M with your right hand at the same time. This may sound an easy thing to do, but it is really quite difficult to guide the pencils in opposite, directions. To be abje to do this quickly and well shows that you have good control over your finger muscles. THE BRICK A GOOD-NIGHT TALE In spring- it is pleasant to go out into the fields and pick the new flowers, and Marcia, daughter of Philip the wine-seller, stood at the shop door and thought longingly of a primrose

bank outside the city walls where the finest wild flowers near the river grew. Marcia was seventeen and very bnppy, for only yesterday she had been betrothed to .Julian, the shipmaster’s son from Gaul, who came yearly with the vintages from across the sea, and whom she had grown to love dearly. The city of Augusta, therefore, today of all days, seemed unbearable with its bustle and noise. : Julian was away bargaining in some countinghouse with ah uncouth North Country merchant for a small cargo of jet, and Marcia suddenly felt she must get out into the quiet fields to dream her happy dreams. She slipped on a cloak and a great straw hat, for even now the British sun had not quite dispelled the cold mist that arose from the Thames marshes, and ran out. As she went she passed the time of day with tradesmen on her path, for she knew them all and was liked by most on account of her glad smile and kind, though thoughtless ways. Besides, her father was a prosperous man. He was a Roman citizen, though he was actually a native of what is now Savoy, and had never been in Rome in his life. He had come to Britain in the wake of the legions, scenting profit among the thirsty settlers in the foggy western isle. And prospered he had. The land was at peace and well conquered, so much so that one hardly saw a soldier in the streets of Augusta—or London, as some called it (for this is a story of long ago). ' There was a postern gate in the northern wall towards which Marcia was hurrying, for beyond the wall was a stream, and beside the stream was the bank she sought. On her way she passed close to the groat forum of the city where all public business was transacted, and where the street was more thronged than ever. Here came a slave-dealer with a throng of rather fearful and shy strangers from the Suffolk coast; after him came a man with a great radish-shaped jar on his back, full of oil from the dock, and two men after him, creaking and groaning a kind of running chant as they trotted by, bearing between them • a vast crate of garlic. Grave merchants passed with tablets in their hands and styluses behind their ears, followed by obsequious clerks with an abacus for counting. Small tradesmen ran out of their low booths to intercept the passers-by and persuade them to make a purchase; and great was the noise and confusion all of a sudden when a sheep-driver, rustic and wondering open-mouthed at the marvels of the great city, with its fine public buildings of marble and stone, let his flock get out of hand and run into every open doorway, as annoyingly stupid and timid as only sheep can be. Marcia stopped to laugh at this spectacle, and turned aside into the brickyard of Titus, an old friend of her father, whose place of business stood conveniently near, where she waited in the gateway to enjoy the fun. Here stood Titus, too, stroking his grey beard and smiling at the dismay of the sheep drover, who was seeking everywhere for his charges and getting not a few sly blows and kicks as he dived about. Greeting, little Marcia,” he said presently, this fat old Titus. “ Greeting! It was surely only yesterday that you sat on my knee, and now I hear you are betrothed. But perhaps it is some other Marcia!” ‘‘ No, no,” smiled Marcia. ” But it isn’t. It is this very. very, very happy Marcia standing beside you. Oh, look at that silly sheep! It’s coming our way. Look, it’s coming in!” and, in her excitement, she stepped backwards, right on a brick that had been set . out with a lot of others. It was still wet and soft before baking.\ She pulled her sandaled foot off the damaged tile, and looked with mock dismay at Titus. “Oh, dear!” she said. ‘‘l’ve spoilt it. But how plain the mark of my foot is. See! Kvery nail in my sole is so plain Dear Titus, do please set the brick in your wall—and remember the happy Marcia who passed this way one morning!” The brickmaker stood looking after her, as she went on her way, shaking his head with smiling admiration, and then glanced at the footprint on the flat red brick. “ And I will bake it,” he thought, “ and set it in my wall. Happiness does not pass this way so often but that it deserves to have its path marked for always.” That is what he did; and the brick stayed in his wall long after both he and Marcia had gone. Roman rule left Britain; Saxons came, Northmen, and Normans. The centuries sped by, and still the footprint of the happy girl remained as sharp and clear as on the day she made it. So it is still, and you can see it for yourself if you will go into the London Museum and look for it.