In the Rest of Humour

Otago Witness, Issue 4048, 13 October 1931, Page 5

In the Rest of Humour

(Copyright.—For the Otago Witness.)

IF ONLY WE HAD THE RADIO SOONER.

By

STEPHEN LEACOCK.

The scene is laid in the castle of Count Guesshard de Discard, of Normandy, one of the companions of William the Conqueror. It takes place in the “ bower ” of Lady Angela de Discard, a stone room with open slots for windows, rather inferior to a first-class cow stable. There arc tapestries blowing against the walls, sheepskin rugs on the floor and wooden stools. But in one corner of the room there stands a radio receiving apparatus, and on the wall is a telephone. In the bower are Lady Angela de Discard and her daughetr Margaret of the Rubber Neck.

Lady Angela speaks: I wonder when we shall have news from England and hear whether Cousin William has killed Cousin Harold.

Lady Margaret of the Rubber Neck: By my halidaine, madam, I think there ought to be something on the radio this morning. Papa said that Cousin William and Cousin Harold had both agreed to get the broadcast on as early in the day as possible. Lady Angela: Is it so, by heaven! Then, I pray you. by God's grace, turn on the radio.

(Lady Margaret of the Rubber Neck goes to the radio and starts turning the dials. There ensues a strange sound as of someone singing and wailing, and the music of a harp.) Lady Angela: Heaven’s grace. Lady Margaret: I’m afraid, mama, it is one of those Welsh bards. I think he is singing the sorrows of his country, I must have got Plynlimmon or Anglesea by mistake. Lady Angela: Heavens! Shut him off. I thought that Cousin Harold promised'to have all the Welsh bards killed. I know that Cousin William, just as soon as he has killed Cousin Harold, means to kill the bards. Do try again. I am getting so interested to know whether your father gets killed or not. (Lady Margaret tries again. There is this time a wild and confused rush of sound. She shuts off the radio at once.) Lady Angela: Odds Bones! What’s that ? Lady Margaret: I’in sorry, mama; I think it wag a Scottish concert. I’m afraid I really don’t know from what station the battle is to come. You see, Cousin William and Cousin Harold were to select the ground after the landing. Lady Angela: Then, for the love of Moses, call up on the telephone and And out.. Lady Margaret: I’m so sorry, mama. So help me. I never thought of it. (Lady Margaret of the Rubber Neck goes to the telephone. As she talks, the answering voice of the operator can be heard, rather faintly in the room.) Hello! (Hello!) Is that the Central? (In truth, it is!)

Wilt thou kindly impart information touching a matter on which I am most anxious to receive intelligence?

(In certain truth I will an so be it is something of which this office hath any cognizance.) You will certainly put me under a deep recognaissance. (Speak on, then.) I will. (Do.) That will I. (What is it?) It is this. I am most curious to know if any broadcast or general exfusion of intelligence is yet received of the expedition of Duke William of Normandy. (Truly, indeed, yes, by heaven, certainly. Even now the exfusion is about to come over the radio.) (Lady Margaret with a few words, not more than a hundred, of hasty thank-, hangs up the telephone and again turns to the radio. This time a clear voice with a twen-tieth-century accent is heard beginning to announce): Announced: Good morning, folks! Gee! You’re lucky to be on the air this morning . . .

Lady Angela: Tune him a little more I don't get him.

Lady Margaret (fumbling with the radio) : It’s because it’s an announcer. I heard Father Anselm say that the announcers are born a thousand years ahead of their time, though how that can be I know not. In any case it is agreed, they say, that the Saxons are to have the broadcasting rights, and Cousin William is to have the moving pictures. Now, wait a minute —— Heaven’s grace, that’s that Welsh bard again.

Lady Angela: Silence him. Lady Margaret: There, now, I’ve got it.

(The radio begins to talk again. The voice that speaks is as of the twentieth century like the voice of one “ announcing” a football game.) Announcer: Now, folks, this i s Senlac Hill, and we’re going to put a real battle on the air for you, and it’s going to he some battle. The principals are Harold. King of England—lift your helmet, Harold —and William the Dook, or as some call him, the Duck, of Normandy. Both the boys arc much of a size, both trained down to weight, and each has got with him as nice a little bunch of knights and archers as you’d see cast of Pittsburg. Umpires are: for Harold, the Reverend Allbald of the Soft Head, Archbishop of Canterbury; for William, Odo the Ten-Shot, Bishop of Bayeux. Side lines, Shorty Sigismund and Count Felix Marie du Pate de Foie Gras. Referee, King Swatitoff of Sweden, ex-Champion of Scandinavian League. Battle called at exactly 10 a.m. They’re off. The Norman boys make a rush for the hill. Harold’s centre forwards shoot arrows at them. William leads a rush at the right stuff. Attaboy, William! That’s the stuff! Harold’s boys block the rush. Two Norman knights ruled off for interference. William hurls his mace. Forward pass. Ten years’ penalty. Quarter time. (The radio stops a minute.)

Lady Margaret: How terrifically ex citing! Do you think we are winning? Lady Angela: It’s very hard to tell. I’ve often heard your father say that in the first quarter of a battle they don’t really get warmed up. (The radio starts.)

Announcer: Battle of Senlac. Second quarter. Change of ground. Duke William has won the west end. The Normans make a rush against the left centre. Hand-to-hand scrimmage with Harold's front line. Many’ knights unhorsed and out of the game. Several men hurt on both sides. Count Guesshard de Discard receives a crack on the bean with a

mace. Lady 7 Margaret: Oh, mama, papa got one on the bean. Lady Angela (laughing) : He certainly did. I can just see your papa’s face when someone landed him one! Lady Margaret : What happens to you, mama, if papa gets knocked out? Lady Angela: I believe that Cousin William has promised to give ine to one of his knights. I don’t think it’s settled yet who gets me. They generally raffle, you know. But stop, we’re missing the battle! (The radio continues.) Announcer: Second half of the game. Both sides rested up during half time. | Duke William attacks the centre. Man I hurt. Battle stops, substitute replaces. Battle continues. William’s entire cavairy rides at the hill. Harold’s boys heaving rocks. Swatitoff, the referee, knocked down by the cavalry. Umpires whistle. General inelec. Battle degen erating into a fight. William’s men ride off apparently in full fight. Norman boys retreating everywhere. Harold’s men rushing down hill at them. Battle all in Saxons’ favour. The noble Harold driving the foul Normans off the field. Listen, folks, and . . . (At this moment something goes wrong with the radio. It sinks to a mere murmuring of squeaks.) Ladv Angela: The ungodly 7 radio is off! (Lady Margaret tries in vain to fix the radio. It won’t work. While she works at it a long time passes. It is not till she has sent for a Norman carpenter with a sledge-hammer and a crowbar that the radio works again. J When it does it is late in the afternoon. I Then at last it speaks . . .) I Announcer: Battle all over. The foul Saxon. Harold, lies dead across the fifty-yard line with his whole centre -crimmage dead round him. Spectators leaving in all directions in great haste. I he noble William is everywhere victorious. Norman crowd invading the club house. Number of injured and dead knights being piled up at the side of the field. Among the dead are Count Roger the Sardine, Count Felix Marie de Pate de Foie Gras, the Seneschal Pilaffe de Volatile. and Count Guesshard de Discard . . . Lady Margaret: Ah, do you Jiear that, mama? Odd’s life, papa's killed. That must have been that smack on the bean. I had a notion that papa would get it, hadn’t you? Lady Angela (picking up a little steel mirror and adjusting her cap) : Oh, 1 was sure of it. A juggler prophesied it to me last Whitsuntide. I wonder which of the knights Cousin William will give me to . . .