MY WIRELESS

Otago Witness, Issue 3868, 1 May 1928, Page 77

MY WIRELESS

By

Carlson E. Holmes.

(Special for the Otago Witness.) Some time ago, I bought a five-valve Getanywhere radio set—an unholy collection of dials, batteries, switches, wires, rheostats, wavelengths, intakes, outlets, thermostats, gridleaks, sparkplugs, speed ometers, vertebrae, solometers, washers, back-pedalling brakes, terminals and radiators. It was, so the dinky little book of rules said, “ the culminating point of radio construction : a set that will delight and please.” It cost me some thirty pounds in good coin of the realm. The man who wrote that booklet was either an unmitigated liar or the world’s greatest humorist. Full of pride, I took the Getanywhere home. Full of the pleasure that comes of building things, 1 assembled it according to No. 18 of the 32 blue prints that accompanied the set. I soldered up 23 bits, twisted 83 more, tightened 47 bolts, screwed up 13 screws and adjusted nine dials. I then installed the batteries —also according to the blue prints—cut, out a radio programme from the paper (optimist that- I was) —placed a pair of ’phones on my ears —and started seriously on that business they call “ listening in.” I twirled the nine dials, asked the family to please “ sh-h-h,” and nothing happened ! Out came blue print No. 12. Apparently I was at fault-. I had, in the ignorance that characterises all beginners, connected the batteries to the wrong oojah. However, even Marconi has made a few mistakes since he started fiddling with radio. The batteries placed according to plan, I again twisted the dials, and—wow 1 Ten thousand tom-cats in their wildest mood were music compared to the din that hit me. *’ Oscillation,” I said knowingly. Again I tried, and again the tomcats. Only, the second time, they were accompanied by a ship’s whistle and various syrens. Now, I am a patient man, slow to anger and slow to condemn. I gave that wireless set every chance; but it ignored gentle persuasion. Something had to be done. Something was done. Jenkins, who lives next door to me, is one of those smart people. You know the kind. They always grow the largest cabbages and father the ugliest babies. Ever since Jenkins sold me some sweet pea seeds that turned out to be dahlias, I had fostered a secret dislike for the man. Therefore, I was not likely to let an opportunity go by. Oh, no! After I had tinkered with the Getanywhere for some weeks, I hailed Jenkins one. Sabbath morning while he was admiring his vegetable marrows. “ Morning Jenkins.” “ U’io!” “ You haven't gone in for ladio, old chap ?’ ’ Not as yet. Of course, I’m going to get one for the boy—later on.” Jenkins’s son was a crafty little devil of twelve—all red hair and pimples. Now’, isn’t that funny,” I beamed. “ I’m thinking of selling my Getanywhere.” Are you? Is it any good? ” “ Wonderful! It pulls in Australia like as if it was next door. And America—louder than you want it.’’ A crafty look came into Jenkins’s eye. What did you pay for it?” “ Thirty pounds.’’ “ I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll give you three-ten. It s for the boy. I, personally don’t want it.” “ Three-ten! I’ll take it, just to be neighbourly’. But you’ve got a bargain Jenkins.” ' " ’ The next three weeks, I assiduously dodged Jenkins and his son. Then, one day, I came face to face with his young hopeful. I smiled in a fatherly way. Well, sonny, how’s the . wireless?” A grin came from amid the pimples and red hair. . “ Stunner h By jove she’s a beaut. Have to quiten down Australian stations.’Funny thing, mister, you had two wires crossed Course, I fixed that.” And now • that I have made a gift of £>d( to Jenkins and* his son, is it any won. der that wireless is a forbidden topic in my "home ? ■. -