A farmer who seemed to enjoy grumbling had an extra fine crop of potatoes. A neighbour said to him: “All, for once you must be pleased; every one is talking' about your fine potatoes this year.” "They aren’t so bl’.d," admitted the man grudgingly; "but where are the bud ones for the pigs?"
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Greymouth Evening Star, 16 October 1939, Page 10
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53Untitled Greymouth Evening Star, 16 October 1939, Page 10
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