Aunt Roberta’s Family

Manawatu Standard, Volume L, Issue 115, 11 April 1930, Page 12

Aunt Roberta’s Family

AUNT ROBERTA’S LETTER. Dear Girls and Boys, I must hasten to explain to you about the prize money won in the competitions. Tho postal notes are mailed from Wellington, as usual, and the prize money for two competitions is posted at the one time. For instance, the results of the 4th Competitions appeared on the 21et March, but this prize money was posted with the prize money for tho sth Competitions, the results of which appeared on tho 4th April. Prize winners in the 4th Competitions, therefore, did not receive their money beforo about tho 4th April, and the prize winners'in the sth Competitions also received their money about tho same timo. In future, however, under the “Results'of the Competitions” I will telliprizo winners when to expect receipt of their prize money. 5s special prizes will be posted with the other prize money, also the Roll Call special prizes. It may be the luck of members to have to wait three or four week for Roll Call prizes, and, yet again, they may receive them almost immediately after responding. •I should indeed be a proud and happy Aunt Roberta if ALL my nephews and nieces took as great an interest in the Family as Allen-a-Dale does. I am passing: on some extracts from a letter received- from this nephew, and hope all will tako notice of his very sensible remarks :

I hope you will not have to break your good resolution. Love and best wishes. LORRAINE HOSKING: Of course, snakes are never seen in the city or tho suburbs; they are only met with many miles outback. Thanks for writing to me, my dear. OYA: If new members don’t take an interest in “Aunt Roberta’s Family” I would rather be without them. The postal notes were mailed from Wellington the very day you wrote. I expect they arrived safely. I think I have explained the situation fully in iny letter. Best love. ALLEN-A-DALE: I appreciate . your letter very much indeed, and hope it will do some good. Tho “lovely little song” may appeal to some members, so I will find a place for it in the Literary Corner. Have you a relative in Wellington—very Scotch and who is a fine golfer? The beet of wishes.

LITERARY CORNER. (More contributions are needed). Favourite verses, short descriptive passages out of well-known books, and opinions of various books will be published in this ocmor each week. Wherever possible author’s name should bo supplied. Sent by Fuzz Buzz: No endeavour is in vain— The reward is in the doing, I And the rapture of pursuing Is the prize the vanquished gain. —H. \V. Longfellow. The following verse's —“Keep a Kind Heart” —so true to life, have been contributed by Cecil Schwube : Oh, why are We always so ready • To hear what another may say— To canvass the -faults of a neighbour, Forgetting our own by the way Wo know not the heart that we censure, Bo gentle, forgiving and kind, One drop from the fountain of pity A wound that is bleeding may bind. A word that in coldness is spoken May sever the friendship of years, The flower of feeling my wither, And leave leave them in sorrowful tears. Then why should we always bo ready I To hear what another may say— To canvass the faults of a sister, Forgetting our own on the way? THINGS TO MAKE. (Marks will be awarded for suitable things to make —recipes, toys, fancy articles, etc.) EVERTON TOFFEE. (Oya—l mark.) Butter 11b, golden syrup lib,. white sugar £lb. Stir and boil up, then boil without stirring until a little in cold water snaps. Four into a buttered dish and cut up when cold. ICED DATES. Dates (stoned), water. 1 tablespoon, essence, sufficient icing sugar to mako' into a stiff paste. Beat mixture well, stone dates, and fill the centres with the icing. Half the mixture may be coloured pink with a little cochineal. A DAISY CHAIN NECKLACE. (Fuzz Buzz—l mark.) To make the necklet, sow on one end of the clasp and then thread twenty green beads. To mako the first flower, thread on one white bead and then a yellow bead for the centre of the flower, then three more white beads, and then pass the ne’edlo through the first white bead, drawing the string taut, so that the white beads encircle one half of the yellow one, forming half the flower; then thread on three more white beads for the remainder of the floweret, pass the needle through the first of the white beads which were put on after the yellow one, drawing the thread taught, and the flower is complete. When the chain is long enough sew on the other end of the clasp. ROLL CALL: Annette Bristow. GAMES. (Marks will be awarded for suitable indoor or outdoor games). GLASS TRICK. ' Articles required: (1) thick tumbler. (2) Piece of soap cut round- the size of a penny-piece. (3) Two safety matches. 1 (4) One saucer of water. Stick matches in soap and place in jentre of saucer with water, surrounding 1 it. Light matches and put glass over them. ’ You will find the water all comes up nto the glass. f s A THUMB TRICK. E

. . V Honestly, I think your family can be oxcused for not writing when they have a ’tremendous lot of homework, which most Of them haven’t, and it doesn’t seem too bad when you’re here to keep them in order, which you aren’t. But now that you’re away everyone ought to be falling over themselves any everyone else to send in mountains of entries, instead of which they’re jolly well taking the opportunity to slack. I’m not writing this from the superior point of view of a Model Member, because, I’ve fallen far short of being one. But I’m doing my best this year, and it seems to bo very little for each member to compose one entry every fortnight. I’ve thought out a little list of people I’d like to see: — (a) Remus; is - this member resting on his laurels now? (b) Kiwi: What on earth has happened to our feathered friend ? (c) “Grace Taylor. (d) Ralph Holmes. These two used to supply a man-sized 6hare of the junior talent, but they’re apparently, like most, wilting in the excessive heat of our summer this year 1 (e) Audrey Drummond; Audrey was a star, pure and simple, and I thought she’d back up the Page any time, (f) Peter Pan; judging only from tho prize letter and one entry (also prize) the God of Youth sent in, I thought a newmoon at least was rising, but apparently it was only a comet 1 (g) Porthos, Athos and Eros; these three ’osses I deemed the most reliable of mustangs; they appear to have escaped to tho open plains again. (h) The three Bagnails; their case is evidently hopeless; but if only 1 It doesn’t seem any uso continuing the “Silent Member” competition, because those with any talent simply write a letter, collect a half-crown, and retire to the oblivion whence they came. One member who really is a thorough one is Ethel Procter. I’ve seen her name in nearly every competition since I began to write, and in lots before I joined the Page. She never seems to be fed up, a bad complaint at the moment, and is a niece. any harassed Aunt, ought to be proud of. I’ve found a song I think fits you so perfectly, with reference to this Family of yours; I’ih giving one verso below: Confide ye aye in Providence, for Providence is kind, And bear y'e' a’ life’s changes with a calm and tranquil mind; Tho’ press’d and hemm’d on every side, ha’o faith an’ ye’ll win through, For ilka blade o’ grass keeps its ain drap o’ dew. Aunt Roberta can account for the silence of Remus and Peter Pan; they are Southlanders, and I have had to pass them on into the keeping of Godmother Tauria. 'Audrey Drummond is writing under a nom-de-plume now, and, if my records are correct, Porthos is over the age limit.- I have no reason to offer for the silence of the other members mentioned by Allen-a-Dale. Allen-a-Dale not only -possesses that great asset —commonsense, but he also has vision. He paints autumn for us in glowing language: “I don’t, think I’ve ever really noticed autumn before, but this year it seems to have fallen over the earth like fairyland, all frosty blue sky and curdy white clouds and greefli leaves with brown edges. The thousand-jackets are masses of little sweet white flowers, and there are golden-green sprays of buds on the peppertrees, and smooth catkins, like fat caterpillars, on the silver birches, and big green-and-orange berries on the karakas, and purple juicy ones on the tawas. The red-gums go sweeping up in waves of scarlet, the horse-chestnuts bristle palegr.een defiance; the walnuts are heavy with juicily inaccessible fruit; the sheoak is covered with sprays of pink blossom, and the tips of the maple-leaves < are just turning rosy. Everywhere in the i trees there are splashes and speckles of brown, and a few dead leaves have already fallen. Oh, and there are water- > lillies, pink and white and golden, on tho ponds, and the honeysuckle flowers aro just beginning to wither.” Your loving, I

Go up to a friend and tell him to clench 1 his fist with his thumb tucked in. Then 1 tell him to bring his thumb out without 1 opening his fist. This is easy enough to do. Then tell him to clench his fist in the 1 same: way again and put it right up under 1 his arm. Now tell him to try ana bring his thumb out without opening his fist. No matter how many times ho tries he 1 will find that his fist opens each time. 1 RESULTS OP PREVIOUS COMPETI TIONS.i . HIGHLY COMMENDED ENTRIES. ORIGINAL VERSE. “BESIDE A CHEERY FIRE.” (By OCEAN SPRAY, 13 years). When outside it is raining, And the street lights all are lit;' Inside our little parlour, Around the fire we sit; We , talk about the weather, And the sheep out in the field, And wonder what the next year’s crop Of wheat and oats will yield. We watch the fire’s reflections, Upon tho .ceiling glow— Dancing, never ceasing, Flickering to and fro. There’s really nothing pleasanter, When we all wish to retire, Than to sit upon a sofa, Beside a cheery fire.

“BESIDE A CHEERY FIRE.” (By THE CUB, 11 years). I sit- beside a cheery fire, When - the nights are very cold, And watch the flames a-flickering, In blue, and red, and gold. Outside the dead leaves dance and whirl, The wind goes shrieking past, The writhing trees their branches toss, And bend before the blast. And so I sit before a fire, The’cat upon my knee, While in the flames of red and gold, The fire sprites dance in glee;

ODE MOTTO: "CHAKACTEB AND PERSEVERANCE ”

WHEN FATHER COOKED THE DINNER. “DAD APPROVES OF A VEGETARIAN DIET.” • (By WINDFLOWER, 12 years). One day in the summer holidays we were going to visit a relative, and the important question of who should cook the dinner arose. While we were worrying over this, Dad came jauntily into the room," and carelessly remarked, “Oh, I’ll see to the dinner, ’ but Biddy must stay and help.” When I compained, he said consolingly that I could share in the success of his cooking. As it was? But more of that anon. First of all Dad wanted an apron to protect his suit, but) when I produced a large white overall, he looked askance at it. At last, after an unsuccessful hunt for something better, he put it on. This took about five minutes, and Dad was a fine purple when at length be emerged. It looked so tight on him that after eyeing it dubiously I suggested he should take it oil; but Dad was not in a mood for another struggle with tho offering garment, and lie set to work busily on tho fire though rather hampered. After the vegetables had been prepared, Dad turned his mind to the meat, which had just arrived, remarking that women were not the only people who could cook, and that all the world s famous chefs were of his illustrious sex. When tho meat had been washed, and flour and dripping put on it. Dad set it in tho oven, which t owing to tho roaring fire, was extremely hot. “First you need a good fire,” said Dad, piling on 11101-0 fuel, “then a 6teady heat to cook tho inside of the meat.” In a few minutes it became apparent, by a small of burning meat, that the firo was cooking tile outside very quickly, and Dad had to take the meat out and leave it on tho top of the range till the fire steadied down. He let it die down indeed so low that tho meat was not properly cooked. This rather damped Dad’s ardour, but it returned with full forco when he discussed the pudding he would make. Plum pudding, Dad’s favourite, was selected, and Dad, murmuring something about, “Bush life .. . plum-duff. .. camp firo and billy good enough for us,” took down the heavy pot in which wo steamed and boiled our puddings. Now, Dad is rather shortsighted, and it was not surprising that lie took a generous spoonful of tartaric acid instead of taking soda. The pudding was tied up in a cloth, and placed in the pot of boiling water, while we cleaned -up the mess in the kitchen. When the others returned they found a table beautifuly set, on which reposed an underdone leg of mutton, some floury potatoes, and a dish- of beautiful green peas. Dad had to sharpen the carving knife beforo he could cut the meat; and when it was cut it looked so unsavoury that we could not eat it, Dad remarking feebly that he had always approved of a vegetarian diet. After this the pudding was carried in, and, though rather sticky on the outside, it certainly looked good. Baby with indiscretion took a large mouthful, and began to cry. We all tasted our helping; ono was enough to indicate what had happened. But Dad, with a resigned face, loyally ate his plum pudding, though it must have been a very “bitter pill.” A few days after we were teasing Dad about his dinner, when he calmly raised his head, and said blandly to Mother: "I never did think Biddy’s eyesight was good, she actually ga\e me the tin of tartaric acid instead of the baking soda 1”

‘,‘COUSJN AMY COMES TO DINNER.” (By RUTH. BARKER, 13 years). Ono sunny morning mother announced that she would be away all day. “Who will cook the dinner for me?” she asked thoughtfully. “Oh, leave it to me. I’m a good cook —l’ll cook it,” cried father, capering about like on excited school-boy. So it was settled. Father would cook the dinner. “I’ll make a twenty minutes pudding, •that sounds easy,” lie muttered. ” As he could find no baking powder he decided to put some soda in, and he actually ground up some washing soda, of all things, mind you, and put that in. Pouring the mixture into a SAUCEPAN, ungreased, he put it in the oven, and slammed the door. No sooner had the oven door slammed than a knock, was heard at the front door. In his hurry to open it, Father accidentally knocked over a jug of milk he had placed on tho floor. - For an hour lie talked with the man at the door, and quite forgot tho pudding until he smelt a strong odour of something burning coming. from the kitchen. Rushing into the kitchen he opened the oven door, and there to his bitter disappointment he found his pudding was a smouldering black mass of, what shall I say—charcoal. “Never mind,” Father said cheerfully. “I’ll fry some potatoes and tomatoes,” and he did so very well indeed. Poor Father, wasn't ho very relieved when liis vegetables were a success 1 For the family’s pudding he decided to give them the remains of yesterday’s dessert, over which he carefully poured some sour cream and salt instead of sugar. Unexpectedly a rich relative called that evening, just as all had sat down to dinner. There was nothing to do but to ask her to join us. The first part of the dinner was most enjoyable, but the pudding, the rich relative was tho first to taste it 1 “Ugh,” she exclaimed, “I er can’t er eat any more. Excuse me— er, please.” Cough, cough, and she retreated, violently choking. Father took a bite. He, too, found that

the “bite" wasn’t agreeable, and followed her, .muttering, “This pudding . . . this pudding— ah awful 1” “Goodness, me 1 What will cousin Amy think of us? She’s used to good cooking,’’ and, jumping up from the table, Mother went m search of Cousin Amy to apologise. “I’m awfuilyl sorry—but—but—but,’’ Mother began, and, unable to control herself any longer, burst into hearty peels of laughtor, in which all joined, the rich relation included. “Oh, what happened asked Amy, who was, the first to stop laughing. “Father cooked the dinner,” explained Mother briefly. “Well, you can’t expect a man to cook a dinner as well as a woman,” poor Father defended himself. “Anyway, you cooked it very well, the er first course, I mean,” said our very human relation. “Yes, yes; he did; he did,” all the family agreed. “FATHER MAKES PANCAKES.” (By RONNIE DALEFIELD, 8 years.) The only .things, we remember our father cooking are pancakes. He used to talk of the wonderful ones he made when he was a bachelor, and said that he used to toss them up the chimney, and run outside and catch them in the frying pan 1 (One of my brothers once astonished his. teacher by telling her about this). So one day father made some pancakes to show us now fine they vyere; but they did not look a bit like the light fluffy ones that mother makes. His pancakes were over half an inch thick, and burnt black. They filled the house with a horrid smell. And when we asked him to toes them "up the chiimney, and catch' them outside in the fryingpan, he said that he had forgotten how to do it I “THERE IS NO DINNER.” (By COLEUS, 12 years.) “Oh, Ho 1” said father, as he lazily rolled out of bed one morning. “I’m

going to cook the dinner to-day. I’ll show them what I, can do,” he boasted. Mother had gone away, and father was taking her place. He quickly dressed, and all through breakfast ho was boasting of what he would cook. • “We will have stow for dinner to-day,” ho said, with a grand air. Going into a butcher’s shop he said, “I’ll have a pound of some stuff to make a stew with. You know What you call it.” Having bought the meat, Father set off for the grocer’s shop. "I’ll have six bunches of long red things, please, I think you call them calrets,” he said. “Carrots?” asked the grocer. “Oh, yes,” sighed father, “I suppose that’s right. Are are they the things to put in a stow?” he asked nervously. “Yes,” said the grocer. “Thank goodness!” returned- father. “Six pounds of onions and eome parsnips, please. That’s all; goodbye,” and away ho went.

Arriving home he proceeded to peel the potatoes. “Oh, dear,” he sighed, as he commenced. “What a blunt knife it is! I’ll have to sharpen it.” All went well until, trying to go too fast, the knife slipped and cut his finger. “Ow! Ow 1 Oh!” ho cried, as he went hopping around, looking for a piece of rag, leaving behind him a trail of blood. Having bound up his finger, he then commenced to peel the potatoes about an inch thick; until by the time he had finished each potato looked like a fiftycornered oval ! He managed to finish the potatoes and then commenced on the onions. Hie had hardly .started before tears were rolling down his cheeks, as the juice from the onions spurted into his eyes. However father managed to get through those onions I don’t know. Having cut the meat into pieces about four or five inches long ho put it all on to boil, with the vegetables, in the biggest pot in the house, with the tiniest quantity of water imaginable. “Ah! now, this is something like cooking,” he said, as he stirred the stew, spilling it all over the stove. “How about the pudding?” thought father. “I know 1” ho cried. "Slewed plums, and blackberry pie.” Going out into the spare paddock next door he started to pick blackberries, but it was not long before he had scratches all over himself. “Oh, dear, these thorns do prick !” he cried, as lie tumbled headlong into a blackberry bush, spilling the blackberries. At last, in an hour’s time, when he had enough blackberries for a pie, ho returned to find the stow boiling all over the stove. “I just feel like giving it up,” said father, desperately. “Well, I’ll make the dough and put the plums on now. I wonder if the plum 6 will bum like the stew?” Fetching a pot he put the plums in and half a cup of water with them. “Now I’ll make the dough,” he said. Getting a big basin he started to mix the dough. A big patch of flour adorned his nose and his hair was sprinkled with flour. When, at last it was mixed it would hardly roll out it was so wet.

All of a sudden ho thought ho smelt something burning, and turning round he sa\y smoke rising from the pot of plums. He lifted the lid—and what a sight met his eyes 1 The plains were burnt black and the juice had gone thick and was sticking to the bottom of the saucepan. '“Oh, dear,” he sighed. “What a dreadful mess ! I think I’ll just taste the plum that is not burnt. Oh! ” he spluttered, “what a dreadful taste ! I must have put salt in the plums instead of. sugar. Oh, well, this is all right,” he said, ,as he looked in the oven at the pie, whicfi was a lovely brown and looked • so tempting. “Now, who said I couldn’t cook?” he cried. “I think I’ll just taste a little. Yum 1 Yum! How delightful! I’ll just have a little bit more, I think.” Having finished this he could not resist taking a bigger helping that time. The pie was then about three-quarters eaten. “Oh, I might as well eat the lot,” he said. A few minutes later he said pensively: “I wonder what we’ll have for dinner? I burnt the stew, I burnt the plums and I’ve eaten the pie. What am I to do? I think in .future when mother goes away wo will live on tinned meat.” “Oh, father, what have you cooked for dinner?” cried the children coming in from school. “Oh, shut up I We’re going to town for dinner to-day.”

THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A PENNY “A USEFUL PIECE OF MONEY.” (By THELMA CRANTON, when 9 years old.) I am a very useful pieoe of money, and I’m made of copper. When I was new, many years ago, I looked almost like gold. I have a head and tail but no legs and I am flat and round. If dropped on my rim I roll very fast and have been lost lots of times. I have been in many countries and have seen many funny things. Once I was given to a big dog, who carried me to a 6hop, whore, after putting mo on the floor, ho was given a bun to eat. Another time I was given to a monkey on an organ. Orie day I was stolen m Auckland, and throe days afterwards I was put into a Sunday school plate in Dunedin. I did not have much rest, and for j a short time was puid into a picture j palace every night. Then a bad boy got hold of me and punched a hole in me , which spoilt my life of usefulness- as. money. ( “A ‘YOUNG’ PENNY.” { (By HAZEL COLLINS, when 6 years old.) I am a penny, and I was born in 1928, so I am very young. I was sent to a bang in Palmerston North, and one day a man took me away in his pocket. Ho gave rue to his little" boy, who is a member of “Aunt Roberta’s Family.” I think little' Billy is a lazy boy, for ho did not write his entry lor the competitions till the last minute, and then he . used me to buy a stamp so that he would catch thp last mail, lie gave me to> the man in the post office, who put me into his box, and here I still remain. There arc such a lot of pennies on top of me. I don’t think 111 bo used again tor a long, long time. CRISPIES. Winnie had been very naughty, and her mammie said: “Don't you know you will never go to heaven ii you are so naughty ?” . After thinking a moment, the child replied, “Oh, well, I have been to the circus once and Uncle Toni’s Cabin twice. I can’t expect to go everywhere.” Two Scotsmen were down at the sea. Says Jockl “Sandy, mon, I’ll bet ye saxpenoe I’ll stuy under the water the longest.” Sandy: “Recht ye are, mon.” The bodies were recovered twelve hours later. | * * * * 11 “Now,” tiaid the teacher, “take the number of your family. There’s your 1 father, your mother, and the baby. How many is that?” “Two and one to carry,” replied young Baggs. « ¥■ * * l Mac Andrew: “What! Ye cannot get a porter tae take oor luggage?” McTavish: “Na, na. Ye try, mon. Your accent’s no’ quite so noticeable as mine.” # * * * Teacher at school of boxing (to newcomer) : “Now you have finished your first lesson, are there any questions you would like to ask?” Newcomer (rubbing a few bruises): “Can I finish the course by post?” . | * ■ *' * * ' | Landlady: “I’m sorry the chicken soup does not seem very good. I showed the i new cook just how it should be made, but i she doesn’t seem to have caught the idea.” Boarder: “I think it’s the chicken she seems to have missed.” j ***** j Why is a rubber heel like a Scotchman ? A rubber heel is a footpad; a footpad is a highwayman; a highwayman is an airman; an Ayr man is a Scotchman. I When is the sun like a jelly? When it sets. I * , , I Why has a Scotchman the softest voice J of any man ? I Because he never 6houts. I