Big Sister's Page

Manawatu Standard, Volume LII, Issue 204, 29 July 1932, Page 10

Big Sister's Page

BIG SISTER’S LETTER. Dear Brothers and Sisters, I had such a shock the other evening! 1 was sitting quietly by the fire thinking over something for our “Hobbie’s Corner,” when I heard a funny little grunting noiso. At first I took no notice, but went on with what 1 was doing. Then I heard this noiso again. Mystified, I looked round, but seeing nothing I thought it must have been imagination. Then, suddenly, and loudly, there was an unmistakable grunt, so I jumped up, and in my haste put my slippered foot on —a hedgehog I Poor little fellow, ho must have got as big a shock as I, but he was not hurt, so I gently picked him up and put him outside. But how did he come to be inside, you may well ask. Do you know, one of my small sisters (mischievous imp!) had crept up silently behind my chair and put “Master Hodgoy” there! Wasn’t she a scamp? Now, a Sister wrote to mo, and asked me especially if 1 would not publish her name in the “G.P.0.”. because, she said, it is much better fun to keep one’s identity a secret. So if any intending Brothers or Sisters are too shy to write because they would rather “start off” with their pen-name, they may do so. I am very pleased with the entries for the second Ladder Competition and I would advise any late entrants to send their contributions before it is too late. (The subject for the senior competition is an essay on “My Hobby” and tho juniors, a short story about a bird.) About the knitted squares. I have had a number promised me, and our quilt is growing day by day. Tho little girl who goes to Terrace End School, and who sent me some beautifully knitted blue squares, has sent mo another one. She is a kind little girl, and I thank her very much indeed. Are any more of my brothers attempting knitting? “Peter Pan,” who is quite a big brother, has promised to send me two squares to-morrow, and I hope ho will not be the last Brother to knit for me. School holidays will soon ho hero so I hopo any of you who intend going away for the vacation will write to Big Sister and tell her about it.

Love from, BIG SISTER,

G.P.O. Ruth Tunnicliffe: Your pen-name is familiar to me; certainly you may keep it. I think you must have a very generous nature to bestow such glowing praise on your friend—l’ve no doubt you can do as well yourself. Are you sending in an entry for the competition?' 1 hopo you will write mo another nice letter soon, ltuth, so good luck to you, Sister. Pudney Tame: Your letter was very welcome, new Sister, and certainly j shall comply with your request to keep your name dark.” Thank you for your good wishes —they are most encouraging, and you may bo suro I appreciate your kind thoughts. Yes, tho members are “rolling up” well, aren’t they? Where did you get your nom-de-plume from—is it from that funny little rhyme one used to hear at sohool—- “ ‘What’s your name?’ ‘Pudney Tame!’ ”

Lorna Cocks: I have received your entry, and the results of the competitions will be published next week. I’m so glad you like writing for the Page, Lorna —and it’s good practice for your school essays, too. Yes, indeed, it must seem a long way to school on cold and frosty mornings! Father was very kind to help you, but as you get older and write moro often, you will try and write your stories all by yourself, won’t you dear? Trevor Ingley: And here’s another Brother w'anting to join! I’m very happy to include you in my circle, Trevor. You are quite an experienced Brother. I am very sorry you could not enter for tho first competition, but thero aro heaps of others. Thank you so much for your promised squares—l am very proud of my Brothers’ knitting! You may have the chosen penname —good luck to you, Brother Trevor!

HOBBIES CORNER. THE PINE CONE DUCK. This amusing duck will delight Baby Brother, and it is no trouble to make. Obtain a pine cone of suitable shape to form the body, and make a split with a knife in tho thick end. Into this fit the head and shoulders of a duck—you can make it from tin, with painted eyes and bill, or you might have an old toy celluloid duck you could use for tho purpose. Since it is unlikely that the cone will float upright in tho water, drive a screw into the under part for ballast. Then press a small piece of soap into the narrow part of the cone, and place the duck in tho water.

After a while the bird will start to move over the water in a most lifelike manner. The reason is that the dissolving soap lessens tho surface tension of the water skin at the rear, while at the front this tension remains the same.

COLLECTING SMILES. SAD END OF A HOBBY. The story is told of a Russian named Sernow who died in poverty and exile, having lost the whole of his immense fortune in the great upheaval. In the days when ho was rich he had a queer hobby to which he consecrated his whole life: ho collected smiles—or, rather, photographs of smiles! Wherever he went he carried a camera with him, and with a hunter’s patient zeal would wait for hours or days to record the lovely, fleeting passago of joy or kindliness in tho faces of the happy. When tho war broke out ho had over 4000 smiles in his collection, gathered from all corners of the globe. But tho war put an end to his pursuit; there seemed few smiles left in the world. The revolution of 1917 compelled him to fly from Russia, leaving all his riches, including his beloved collection, behind him. Tho one-time millionaire became a pauper, who had to earn his daily bread by peddling and doing odd jobs. He did not mind that so much. What ho minded and mourned over to the day of his death was tho loss of his collection. Sorry as ono feels for him one cannot lrelp reflecting that if ho had spent his hugo fortune, not on recording smiles of the happy, but on producing smiles on the faces of the unhappy, he might have collected such a mass of lovely memories as even tire Bolsheviks could not have robbed him of.

A GAME. “DICKY SHOW A LIGHT.” Have any of you played this game? It is best fun out of doors, but it can bo playfid in a dark passage or room, provided you aro not too nosy. The boy who takes the part of Dicky carries a bullseyo lantern (or littlo electric torch), tho light of which he hides with his hand, or a shade, until some distance away from the players. Ho then suddenly shows tho light, and all tho other players dart off after him. But the light is again hidden, and Dicky quietly slips off in another direction, and shows tho bright beam when it is least expected. In this way tho merry chase is kept up. All tho players should keep veryquiet—particularly Dicky—and I’m suro you will find it most exciting. THE FLOATING BALL. Now here is another game. All you require is a basin of water and a small, clean rubber ball. Each player in turn, with his' hands behind his back, bends over tho 'basin, and tries to catch the floating ball between his lips and teeth. But hero is the catch. Most of tho players will try and grasp the ball with the teeth, but it will dodge about and splash its pursuer; but if you draw your breath in sharply -when your mouth is just near the ball (your mouth will he open, of course) you can lift the hall out of the water by 7 suction. Your chums will think you quito clever if you aro the only one who happens to know this! A SECRET. “A little bird told mo”—that one of my Sisters, Topping, is a promising little actress and at a concert the other evening she took the' part of Betsy Prigs in Dickens’s play “Martin Chuzzlewit,” and did it well, too! And tho “littlo bird” also said that another of my Sisters greatly admires Topping’s stories-. So Topping, thus congratulated, will aspire to greater heights, I’m sure!

MANY HAPPY RETURNS OF THE DAY. Or wo should say, of the month, to Doris King, of Rangiotu, who was eight years old on the 22nd of this month; Brer Rabbit, who celebrated her 11th birthday on the 20th ; and “Vera,” whose 17th birthday fell on the 11th.

(Would all Brothers and Sisters who have not done so, please send in their birth dates? GREAT FIRE OF LONDON. Tho vivid picture left to posterity by tho immortal Mr Pepys has made the Great Fire of London ono of the most familiar facts of history. But how many know that the City itself was completely burned down on four previous occasions—in tho years 798, 982, 10815, and 1211? Other great fires occurred in 1676, when no fewer than five hundred houses in old Southwark were destroyed; in 1794, when six hundred and thirty houses disappeared in Wappitig, the damage being valued at a million pounds; and in 1861, when the memorable Tooley Street fire consumed property worth two million pounds, and in Which Mr Braidwood, Chief of the London Fire Engine Establishment (.the “ancestor” of the London Fire Brigade) lost his life. Considering such an alarming record, it is surprising that fire protection was not recognised as a public duty until 1865.

As the result of tho Metropolitan Fire Brigade Act, passed in that year, the Metropolitan Board of Works took over tho staff, stations, and equipment of the London Fire Engine Establishment, which had been founded, equipped, and controlled by the great insurance companies, and of the Society for the Protection of Life from Fire, a voluntary organisation which since 1836 had maintained equipment for that purpose. Bcforo 1832 each of the great insiiranco companies had maintained its own private brigade. The existing London Fire Brigade, which is now completely motorised, has sixty-one stations, so placed that appliances aro able to reach the remotest point in its area within a few minutes. Its headquarters is on the site of one of the burial grounds of the Great Plague.—Sent by Mcrvyn Dalciield.

THE MYSTERY OF THE GORGE. Bob Harvey took up the cliaso as excitedly as his terrier, who dashed over the rocky ground in pursuit of .a huge, grey rat. “Faster, Snap, or you’ll lose him!” But Snap, who was old and nearly blind, soon lost his quarry. Ho disappeared among some straggling bushes which grew on the cliff near the edge of the gorge. “It’s no good, Snap; you’ll never got him now,” gasped Bob breathlessly, ns ho came upon his pet. , The dog looked up at his muster and whined, but lie continued to tear , up the ground with his forefeet, stopping awhile to snuffle in the hole he had made. ... , Bob dropped on to Ins hands and knees, and as he did so he heard a low musical note which grew loutrer and louder and reached a higher

pitch. Then gradually it receded, uko tho wind on a stormy night. Leaning forward, Bob was conscious of a cold uprush of air which seemed to come from a crevice where tho dog was digging. Ho was moro than- a littlo curious to discover tho cause of theso phenomena, for there was a legend in tho village that a witch lived in a cave in tho gorge. Indeed, thero were many who would swear that often, when walking on the top of tho cliff, they had heard her wailing. With an effort Bob pulled aside a large rock; and hardly had he done so when a quantity of earth gave way, revealing a largo cavity at his feet. Ho snatched at tho dog’s collar just in time to prevent liun leaping into tho dark void. “Wait, Snap,” ho cried, “or you’ll bo buried alive.” Peering downwards, he could dimly seo what appeared to bo a large natural tunnel in tho rocks. 'Then, suddenly, he felt an iron grip on Ins arm, and he was wrenched backward and thrown nearly off liis feet. Standing over him was a thick-set, elderly man, scowling unpleasantly. “Wirat do you mean by fooling around here?” he exclaimed. “You 11 bo killed if you’re not careful. Bo off with you, and don’t let me find you out hero again.” Bob flushed angrily, and winced with the pain in his arm. Then he realised that this was the man who, tho previous day, had been talking to his father about buying up their property. Coolly he released himself from the vice-like grip. , , , “You haven’t bought tho place yet, sir, and I still have a right to go wherever I choose.” 'Then, turning away, he called to his dog, “Como on. Snap, it’s timo for breakfast.” When ho reached the tumbledown cottago where ho and his father had passed so many happy years lie said nothing of his discovery or of Ins encounter on tho cliff, but after breakfast he took a powerful torch—liis most prized possession—and started off toward tho cliff, for ho meant, if possible, to clear up tho mystery. Why was that old fellow so infuriated when ho met him? And why, after all, was he so keen on buying land which was generally known to bo worthless? This last was a question that puzzled his father even more than it did himself. \et lately they had hardly, been able to make both ends meet, and Mr Harvey was thankful enough of a chance to sell his useless land for a modest sum and buy a cottago down in tho village, one in which 'the walls would not be damp, nor the roof falling in. Reaching tho cavity, Bob flashed his torch into tho darkness below, and then, squeezing his body through the gap, ho dropped on to firm ground. , , , , By tho light of his torch he found himself, as he had expected, in a long, irregular tunnel which sloped sharply downward. It' was probably a fissure caused by a movement of the earth long, long ago. There must bo an opening somewhere down below, ho thought, for there was a continual current of chilly, damp an*. He carefully made liis way down, sometimes crawling on hands and knees, sometimes wriggling sideways to avoid the jutting rocks. Having gone some distance, ho suddenly rounded a sharp bend, to find himself in a huge cave. . There he stood, awestruck, for his torch revealed wonders such as lie had never seen before. High up in the vaulted roof hung stalactites of unparalleled beauty, lie low were stalagi micGs set in pools of still, crystal-clear water. . ! Slowly he explored the cave, flashing his torch around him and revealing fresh beauty. His heart thumped wildly, for it seemed as if he had passed into another world. Every sound ho made echoed and reechoed, and every time he moved the torch long, dark shadows danced and assumed fantastical shapes, until it seemed that innumerable beings of this strange underworld were mocking him. At tho far end of tlio cave fie passed through an opening into another rock chamber, similar to the first. Ho found himself walking in what had evidently been the bed of a stream long dried up. 1‘ ollowing this ancient river . bed lie entered a second low passage, which twisted and turned as it sloped gently downwards. Suddenly Bob came to a dead end. Apparently the subterranean passago had been blocked at some time' or another by a fall of rock. Ho clambered over tho lmulders until ho reached tho roof, and here ho found a small opening through which came a cold blast of wind. To his joy lie discovered he was able to thrust aside the rocks which barred I his way and crawl through the opening. He found himself in familiar surroundings—a small cave in which he had often played. Looking up at the gap through which he had passed he could see that many of the rocks had quito obviously boon piled there recently by someone who presumably idid not wish the wonderful inner caves to be discovered. Without doubt tho florid stranger who had tried to buy the land had discovered the inner caves quite by chance, and, realising that they were among the finest in the country, knew that they were worth many

thousands of pounds if they were opened up for sightseers. Mr Harvey sold his land for a considerable sum and purchased such a house as he had dreamed of buying. Bob, too, was ablo to fulfil a wonderful dream —that of going to a university. Tho news of tho discovery must have spread rapidly, for tho stranger who had tried to swindle them was never heard of again.—From My Magazine.

IN THE ABBEY. A TOUCHING TRIBUTE. This touching tribute to a mysterious child, whose nnmo is often read in Westminster Abbey, appears in The Sentinel (Toronto) : Not far from tho Clmpcl of Henry VII. in Westminster Abbey, and near the tombs of tho three Queens —Mary, her half-sister Elizabeth, and Mary Queen of Scots —thero is thought to have been buried long ago tho body of a little girl. Above it is this inscription only—- “ Jane Lister, dear cliilde.” How came you here—tell me how came you hero With theso of England’s garnered great to lie? In this vast tomb of Kings, cool and austere, Why should you sleep while centuries g° by Lost and alone—Jane Lister, chdde so dear ? 'Who brought you down this dim and storied way, Where mighty names are carved on wall and floor : Who carried you that far forgotten day In through tho Abbey’s heavy darkened door — You, who belonged to (Morning, and the May? Poets, and Queens, and Ministers of State, These are your neighbours in this house of peace, You are ringed round with weary men and great Who each one, here, at last found long release From weight of grandeur, pain of love, and hate.

Here Gloriana’s restless heart is still. And Mary Queen of Scots is free of

grief, Hero the Crusader’s armour rusts at will, And never Summer shino or swinging

leaf Brighten these alcoves that the shadows fill.

For hore the night and day arc both as one, And folded hands have laid their treasures down; Hero aro no battles fought—no races

run; No man wears other than a carvcn crown, In this gay quietness, bereft of sun.

They should have found for you a pleasant place Small one, —where daisies grew and grass was green, And shadows from tall trees made lovely lace, And in young April little lambs were seen. Or the high moon looked down with smiling face. O, much I wonder why they brought you here, Where Kings and Queens and glorious warriors lie, With ono lone unknown soldier on his bier. Strange ghosts, methinks, you aro companied by Littlo Jano Lister—childe forever dear. —Virna Sheard.

S.P.C.A. Tho director of the Juvenile League of the S.P.S.A. writes: Dear children, It was nice to see so manv of you at tho S.P.C.A. party last week —and you all looked so jolly—but I'm sure I won’t know you when 1 seo you in your ordinary, clothes again. Who was tho little black golly-wog? 1 know lie wasn’t really black ’cos I saw a pair of white hands —and wlrat docs a littlo penguin look like when lie’s not a penguin? Have you been wearing your nice new badges and telling everyone about the League? Wo want as many members as ever we can get, so tell all your friends and get them to join up quickly. You can all write letters I’m sure, so this week I want you to write to me and tell me all about your pet —if it’s a dog or a cat, or a bird, or a pony, or whatever it is. You can write a really interesting letter about it and send it to the “Standard,” marked “S.P.C.A. Juvenile League.” A good friend lias given a present for the little girl or boy who writes the best letter. If you are not a Leaguer and you want to become ono and go in for tho competition, send your subscription (Is Gd) with your letter, and a certificate and badge will be forwarded to you at once. All tho letters must be in by Friday, August 5, and tire winning letter will bo published on Friday, August 12.

JUST FOR FUN. First Farmer: “The Government ordered mo to brand all mv livestock.” • Second Farmer (not verv experienced): “Yes, and me; but I had an awful lot of trouble branding the bees.” „ * * * * *

The tourist was much impressed by the respectful attention shown to a caller at tho local store in a small Canadian town, and he said so to the proprietor. , “Well,” said tho storekeeper, ‘lie s ono of our early settlers.”

“B ut he’s a very young man u. an early settler here, observed i to “l' S mean, lio pays his bills the li: of every month,” was the reply.^ * * * A negro woman called regularly : a bank to draw her weekly pay. \ she could neither read nor write ,1 used to make an X on the leceip. Then one day she made a circle. “Wliat’s the matter, Liza. don’t you make an X as usual? as! ed the cashier. “Well, sar, replied Liza, all don got married yesterday, and change ma name.’