THE COMMON ROUND

Otago Daily Times, Issue 18763, 17 January 1923, Page 2

THE COMMON ROUND

By Watfaeeb. “ The Germans were the last people who ought to talk of brutality.’’ Mr Ronald M ‘Neill's incisive reminder is timely. A growth of pro-Gorman sentimentality would be a preposterous phenomenon. France may be acting inexpediently, but no true Briton can have the slightest sympathy with the nation which is being treated to an infinitesimal taste of its own gruel. “My heart bleeds for Louvain.” said the arch-hypocrite in 1914. Our hearts will not bleed for the mortified amour propre of Westphalian communities, which have experienced nothing of war's devastation ; nor need we be ashamed of being plated or tickled by Berlin’s precious mourning. The pity is that the occasion for humiliation was not brought more closely home to the German capital in 1918. “ You could shako a pound of lead out of ‘Bobs’’’: so Rudyard Kipling, applying the X-rays of realistic imagination to the small frame of a national hero, assured us long ago. A retired English surgeon, bent on revealing grim mysteries with which he is no longer directly concerned, tells its that our of some post-operation patients if might be possible to shake a choice assort mont of sponges, surgical knive, bottles of iodoform, stethoscopes, clinical thermometers, bandages, and what not. Perhaps there is a spado of exaggeration in my version of the inventory; but, as the Archbishop of York (au authority on the subject) recently remarked, life would not Ire worth living without exaggeration (or words more or loss to that effect). The still practising surgeons are up in arms against this unscrupulous breach of trade-union confidence. That at least is the way in which the anti-rued, woidd put the matter. The anli-nieds—the folk who say scornfully, with Tennyson’s Northern Farmer (Lincolnshire dialect), ‘‘Doctors, they knaws nowt" — are a numerous class, ana the fairy-tales about surgical blunders and oversights are “nuts” to them.

Anyhow, if surgeons sometimes leave unconsidered trifles in a patient’s inside, conversely they have been known to retrieve portable property and hand it over to the rightful owner, with or without deduction. For instance, there was tho army surgeon who discovered and recovered a purse which had been shot into a soldier. "Hero is your purse,” ho said, complacently to tho convalescent warrior; “it contains two pounds.” “Thanks, doctor; I think you’ve done tho job at a very reasonable figure.” “What do you mean?” “Well —there was three quid in that purse.”

No conclusive results are noticeable as yet, but I live in hope: hope, that is, of being able to send tho suggestive Monsieur Cone an authentic testimonial which shall make the disgruntled scepticism of American specialists seem a small thing. One daylast week, in my attic in Gaub street, “at the sun’s hour of morning song,” I was gripped by sudden pangs,—exquisite pangs, as they are sometimes humorously styled,— pangs which, with a layman’s assurance, I diagnosed as being asociated with lumbago. I couldn't stand up and couldn’t sit down, and tho idea of lacing my bools was preposterous. (There is a picture of me, or of my plight, in somebody’s pictorial pills advertisement.) Even in my agony I thought of a quaint saying of a sufferer from a move serious malady : “There’s such a deal of pain attached to this appendicitis" (with surprised emphasis on "pain,l’ as though pain were tho Inst symptom 'tp be expected). I thought, too, of the bishop’s appeal ..when ho burnt his mouth with tho boiling soup: "Would some non-clerical friend make a few remarks suitable to the occasion?” I made some remarks, eminently suitable and faultlessly non-clerical; and (plague on that graceless prelate!) tho torture immediately became more—exquisite.

Then a flash of happy inspiration, and I thought of something else. In a trice (whatever a trice may be) I was audibly declaring. “Ca passe, ca passe, ca passe." As “ca" did not “passe" ut once, as hope had hinted that it might, I tried the other prescription, and iaced my boots, excruciatingly, to the tune of "1 am getting better every, every second—and. in every way.” That was some days ago, and I am still performing the sacrosanct ritual, still repeating the optimistic formula. No. not optimism, but sheer unblushing dogmatism, is, I take it, the heart of the secret. Not “i hope," or "1 will,” but ‘T am." Thosn detestable twinges are merely such stuff us dreams are made on. 01 course the system takes time —Lime and faith. Poor human nature being what it is, faith languishes now and then, and one remembers the predicament of Ingram Bywater, flid. sceptical Oxford classicist, who mused plaintively—- " Yes, I was both vaccinated and baptised, but neither ‘took.’ ” By tho way, in relation to M. Couo’s visit to the United States, one reads that “he is understood to have been asked to help them to convince themselves that every day and in every way they are getting drier and drier.”

A Labour representative, as Macaulay’s schoolboy knows, is not necessarily a working man (in the restricted sense of the term). He may bo almost, if not quite, a bloated capitalist. An English Labour M.P., who was also a K.C., has just died, and the parliamentary party includes other wearers of the silk gown. During the election campaign a lady dressed in the height of fashion, and evidently engaged in canvassing, approaches a seedy individual. Loafer; “ 'Taint no good yer cornin' to mo for a vote. I’m agin the ’ole bloomin’ lot—Tories an’ Liberals. They’re all the same! ‘Blood-suckers’ I call ’em. I’m for Labour, I am !” Canvasser: ‘‘So glad! I'm the wife of the Labour candidate—Sir Algernon Eyewash, you know.”

Here is a representation of another point of view—feminine and according to personal knowledge : Voter (to Canvasser): “Are you for the working man?’’ Canvasser (cautiously): ‘T—l’m certainly not against him.” Voter: “Well, I am. Mo ’usband’s ono of ’em.”

Tho “agony” column of The Times recently contained an appeal of such poignant intensity, addressed to “the whole world,” that I am humanely impelled to do my bit towards helping its circulation. In the whole world is there ono largehearted person who will assist a young man linancially to realise his Life’s ambition? Gifted with an exceptional Bass Voice, ho wishes to complete his training and so become ono of tho Greatest of Singers.—Oh ! some understanding soul please write Box X. 404, The 'limes, E.C.4. At first ono is inclined to suspect a hoax, but hoaxers do not pay between two and three pounds for their tun, Tho Times rate for “personal” ads is something cruel. Xo, it is a genuine case of hectic “artistic” temperament, and (who knows?) young Bass Voice may have spent his money cannily. Some understanding, or at least inquisitive, soul will probably have written to Box X. 404. Good luck—and perhaps a shade more modesty—lo tho Greatest cf Singers in posse.

Yet more “jake,” and then, I tliink, an armistice.

Dear “Wayfarer,’’—ln your notes of yesterday 1 noticed you were wondering over the derivation of the word “jnko,” as used by returned soldiers, and nowadays, by nearly every one else. Well, how’s this ?

A common expression among the boys at one time, was, as you remarked, “set,’’ I don’t know where that expression came from, and in any case, it doesn’t matter here. From “set” came various expressions such as “sot in a craok” and “set like a jelly.” From this latter came ‘•set like JeUicoc” (the Admiral’s name was in the air. so to speak, at the time). From that came ‘‘sot like Jakealoo,” ami the whole expression thou became contracted to “.Take.’’

1 admit that from “Jellicoo’’ to “Jakcaloo’ seems a far cry, but it isn’t so far after all to men who would say “going butcher's hook," or oven “going butchers'’ instead of "going crook," moaning “getting angry.” Anyhow, I can distinctly remember the expression.-, sot, forth above —I’ve used (hem myself hundreds of limes, and I’m quilo sure that this explanation is the one von were looking for. —Yours faithfully.' / 89.

As was said about something else, faith is necessary. Why should I _hae mu clonls about the Jolliconian origin of “jake?” Ca passe. Am I not getting better everyday ?

The course of the M.C.C. v. Otago match was rather humdrum, and no particular comment, seems necessary: but cricket is in the local atmosphere for the nonce, and a picking from Punch may he pertinent.

At the Scarborough cricket festival, Yorkshire, Ist innings :$37 (Macaulay 67); A. Still took 6 wicketo fox 115 seconds