Hey Nonny Nonsense !

Grey River Argus, 18 April 1940, Page 10

Hey Nonny Nonsense !

Policeman: How did you knock him down?

Motorist: I didn’t touch him. I pulled up to let him £0 across, and he fainted. .

“If you spend so much time at golf, you won’t have anything laid aslae for a rainy day.”

“Won’t, eh? My desk is crowded with work that I’ve pul., aside ■ for a rainy day.”

‘Oatmeal, in the form of porridge,” says Lord Beaverbrook, '’contains more food value than bacon and eggs, and is just as palatable.” <Next week: Tapioca as a substitute for steak and onions). — ‘Reynolds.”

Germany is extending the Siegfried Line to the North Pole. There is grave discontent among the German troops, who are complaining that the ersatz cardboard, of which the fortifications are built, is already deteoriating owing to the damp, and is often inadequate to keep out Polar bears.

The staunch Trade Unionist suddenly sat down in the middle of an attack and lit a cigarette. A frantic seargeant shouted in his car: “Blimey, what do you thinK you’re doin’? Don’t you know the Germans are two to one against us?” ■“Quite,” came the lordly reply, “but I have killed my two.' * * * * * An Irishman ceaselessly railed against the' British, and enlarged on the hatred he felt for them. There was nothing they had not clone to his beloved Erin. At length an exasperated London lad asked, “Mike, why on earth did you join the British Army?” “Well,” said Mike, “I didn’t join to help you swoines. I just asked the recruitin sergeant if it was a private war, or could anybody join? When he said anybody, be jabers, I jist joined in--to hell wi ye all!” * * -x- * -x- *

“What a delicious cake, Maggie. Would you be willing to give me your recipe for it?” “Certainly, miss. It’s’ mighty easy to make. I just take as much flour as I think I’ll need and quite a Mttle dab of butter, and a pinch or two of cream of tartar, and several eggs if they’re plenty, and Less if they ain’t, and stir till I get tired, and bake in an average oven 1 until I think it’s done.” •K w -X- -X- w * R.A.F. story of a squadron dinner. They dined well, and late, mid the next morning one of the pilots woke up in hospital, neatly bandaged, with his air chief bending over him solicitously. “What happened? Where am I?” he moaned.

“You don’t know!” came the unbelieving reply. ‘Don’t you remember standing on the window ledge of the dining-room, three floors up, and boasting that you could zoom over the square and make a perfect landing in the street?” Great heavens!” gasped the invalid. “Why didn’t you stop me?” “Stop you, blast youi” exploded his commander. “You lost me a liver, T bet that you could!”