THE COMMON ROUND

Otago Daily Times, Issue 23864, 19 July 1939, Page 2

THE COMMON ROUND

By Wayfarer There are two Winnies in the British Empire (if we except Whinny the mare, to whom both the others have a vague resemblance). The first is, of course, Winnie-the-Pooh, coupled with the names of Mr A. A. Milne, the late Sir J. M. Barrie, Mr Walter de la Mare (on occasion), and a host of children’s hour radio orators. The other—and taking him by and large, as bricklayer, soothsayer and polo player, the more versatile and entertaining—is the Rt. Hon. Winston Leonard Spencer (“Winnie”) Churchill, P.C., C.H., M.P., etc., and Umbrella-Breaker-in-Chief to his Majesty’s Parliament.

‘Tis said, and we approve it, that he will soon be offered an occasional chair at No. 10 Downing street, and a couch within reach of the red morocco despatch box. ’Tis said that Mr Chamberlain withholds his transports at such an addition to the Cabinet. At that we cannot wonder overmuch, for Mr Churchill has not gone out of his way to ingratiate himself with the peace-purveying Prime Minister, “ that undertaker from Birmingham.” For instance:

Mr Malcolm MacDonald had occasion to remark in the course of a speech. “ I cannot remember the time when I was not told stories about Bethlehem, where the Prince of Peace was born.” Mr Churchill turned to his neighbour. “ I thought.” he said, “it was Birmingham.’

There is no more competent living exponent of the way how not to win friends but to influence people.

A more blithesome spirit is manifested in another anecdote: Once in the days when Mah Jongg was the rage in England he attended a performance of Shaw s “ Saint Joan,” in which Dame Sybil Thorndike said; “West wind, west wind, west wind.” The Kt. Hon. Winston Churchill, sitting in the front row of the stalls, exploded; “ Pong! ”

He does not, we are informed, suffer boredom silently, nor relatives witli imperturbable respect (unless that relative be Marlborough): At a recent dinner party at Lady Cunard’s, Mr Churchill entered into an argument with his cousin, the Marquis of Londonderry. “ Haven’t you read my last book? ” Lord Londonderry asked, hoping to clinch his argument. “ No,” said Mr Churchill. “ I only read for pleasure or profit.” Yet we have seen him struggling through, with infinite good humour, and, we doubt not, a modicum of good sense, the quite interminable Government of India Bill, and we are prepared to hear him, whether with profit or pleasure is immaterial, so long as he is entertaining, on any subject that he selects. For words of wisdom in the counsels of nations may be as the corn in the fields, but words of wit, like the pearl in the oyster, are to be treasured.

From a correspondent we are favoured with a full definitio: of the various States of grace and disgrace to which man is subject (or is like to be subject, or would like to be subject) in this ismatic world we are endeavouring to live in. Quotha: Socialism: You have two cows. You give one to your neighbour. Communism: You have two cows. You give both to the Government. They give you the milk. Fascism: You have two cows. You keep the cows, give the milk to the Government. The Government sells it back to you. Nazism: You have two cows. The Government shoots vou and takes both cows. New Dealism: The Government shoots one cow, milks the other, and pours the milk down the sewer. Capitalism: You sell one cow and buy bull. is but one omission, that we may include to make the list complete, Savagism: The cows take the blooming lot! And from another contributor a touching tale, source unspecified, about a faithful hound: Smith had a most intelligent retriever. One night Smith’s house caught fire. All was instant confusion. Old Smith and his wife ran for the children and bundled them out of the house But in the hurry one child was left behind. Up jumped the dog. rushed into the house, and soon reappeared with the missing child. Everyone was now saved, but the old dog dashed through the flames again. What had he gone for? No one knew. Then the noble animal appeared again. His eyes were smarting from the smoke. His shaggy coat was scorched. And in his mouth he carried the fire insurance. wrapped in a damp towel

If any of our insurance friends want a little recreation, let them try to under-write that ona.

And herewith, by special request, a problem for members of the Burns Club: A wealthy tourist was stricken

with illness while visiting Aberdeen. He consulted a local specialist, who diagnosed his condition as anaemic, and prescribed a blood transfusion. A worthy Aberdonian volun ;eered his services as donor, the operation was duly performed, and the patient recovered. Grateful for the relief, he sent to the specialist and to vne donor a cheque for lOOgns apiece. Some time later he became af-

flicted again, and, remembering the success of the treatment, returned to Aberdeen. Again a blood transfusion was given. Once more the patient was pleased, and sent the doctor and the same donor a cheque for 50gn? each.

After a time he was indisposed once again. He flew post haste to Aberdeen, and the same specialist attended him, the same donor gave his blood. The patient was soon fit and well once more. He thanked doctor and blbod-donor, and returned home to await their account for their services.

Question: Why? Readers who sufficiently ponder this problem will, no doubt have realised without prompting from us that the insidious introduction into the veins of a generous Sassenach of good Scottish bluid must have its effect

This reminds us of the tale of the Social Security subscriber who complained to his doctor that he was feeling seedy, and thought he could do with an overhaul: but how much would it cost? “ Why, my dear fellow,” said the doctor, “ 111 examine you thoroughly for ten guineas.” “ Hight-o, doctor,” said the seedy one, “ and if you can find it I’ll give you half.”

“ Kiss Seals Reunion.” We’re afraid it is not ihe sort of gettogether that would appeal to us.