For the Man on the Land

Pahiatua Herald, Volume XLIII, Issue 13074, 7 October 1935, Page 3

For the Man on the Land

By “THE FARM HAND."

ADVICE TO A YOUNG FARMER.

BY A SUCCESSFUL. MAN.

And that is as it ought to be. Saint Peter tells us that when he became a man he ceased to be a child; and there is nothing much more annoying than to see a grown-up man making a row over trifles that would not worry a wee flapper from the Kindergarten. The years should bring breadth of

mind; and even the man who worries about the minor scandals of life will find that the less notice he takes of them the less notice the public will take. If some wicked person starts a rumour that you were seen walking under the trees in the moonlight, you will find that it will die down much quicker if you just say, “Me! I wish I had been,” than if you rush away down to the nearest town and start are cowardly things, and the harder the City, he came to the conclusion that Uncle must be rather lonely in the evenings. He did not realise that Barney’s old briar had just about come to the point where it could answer him back. So he rigged up a short-wave battery set on the old bach, explained how it worked, and in due time departed for the City well pleased that he had done something to lighten the hardships of the struggling pioneer. Old Barney gradually forgot how to work the thing and finally put it on one station and left it there, simply switching the battery on when he hadn’t anything else to do. The battery slowly ran down and it had got to the point where it could just about be heard when the terrible rumour started.

A new-chum farm-hand was going along the road past the bach one night, when he heard to his surprise a woman’s voice softly speaking and laughing in Old Barney’s hut. Not being observant enough to notice the wireless mast he jumped to the conclusion they do “at ’ome” and rushed off to the place where he worked. Arrived there he burst into the house all out of breath with the startling news that Old Barney Wheeler was entertaining a lady friend in his bach. The Boss told him to be quiet and get to bed, but the rumour had started. By dinner-time next day it was an accredited fact. The men of the district looked doubtful, and the ladies of the Guild said they were surprised. They hadn’t expected it of Mr Wheeler! Such a nice man they had thought him—but there—it just showed you never can tell.

Barney thought it a wonderful joke. He said, “Yes, she had thought him a nice man, and she had promised to come again too! He was going to invite her up pretty soon, but he wasn’t saying when, because he didn’t want any of the local husbands dropping in on him. ” And whenever he met any of the ladies he would wrinkle his hard old face in a great effort to look guilty, and generally have to jam his pipe hard into his mouth to keep from laughing. And for a week after-wards instead of lying on his bunk with his feet in the air as he had been doing on the fatal night, he worked those dials half the evening trying to find a lady’s voice again. But it was a fatal mistake, and cost him his great joke. Instead of denying the rumour he had admitted it, and it died an early and peaceful death.

As you become older try and avoid the mistake of talking about what you did when you were a young fellow. You may become monotonous. It does not matter if you had to milk 25 cows by hand and put in 8 hours in the saw-mill at the same time. The fellow you are talking to does not have to do that, and you will get small sympathy from him. And when the boys are breaking in the colt and he pitches them off as fast as they get aboard, don’t stand looking on and keep saying, “By Jingo I wish I was 30 years younger.—l’d soon take that out of his hide!” You are not 30 years younger and can therefore safely say it. You would look very weak if old Jenkins happened to come up and remind you of the time you had to walk to work be-

Selow we continue o series of articles from an entertaining little booklet entitled “Advice To A Young Farmer,” written by A Successful Man whose pen-name is “Aitchell.” It is a refreshingly humorous sketch dealing lightly with New Zealand conditions. All characters in this story are, of course, imaginary.

cause you couldn’t catch the old pony. Don’t get a settled grouch on some particular subject. If you think, for instance, that the factory-manager is trying to diddle you on the over-run, don’t watch for every chance to trot out your figures. Nobody wants to listen to it all over again, and you have got to accept it anyway, and if you don’t like it you should have been a factory manager yourself. And when you find that you cannot take your milß to the factory in the old dray and decide to buy a light lorry, don’t get excited and start throwing things at the cat if you find that you have got to pay out three months’ income for a heavy-traffic licence. That’s nothing. You are still allowed to drive around a little so make the best of that while it lasts. In a statement issued recently, the Minister for Restriction of Transport gave some indication of what conditions are likely to be in the near future . Legislation is foreshadowed, the Minister said, to bring about regulations to prohibit the motorist from raising any dust on the roads. This is thought sufficient as a first step. The effect of such regulations would of course be, that you could not use the toads at all—at least not in dry weather. ' The local bodies would therefore be saved all maintenance costs, and men at present engaged by the Counties could be placed on the unemployed list. The roads are the public property and citizens cannot be absolutely prohibited from using them, but the object is, the Minister said, to make restrictions worse restricted and so limit the users of the roads. A plan had been under consideration to introduce a system of trained clerks for the assistance of motorists . It had been realised, the Minister said, that the number of signs on the roadside had increased so greatly that the ordinary man could hardly watch them all and still keep his car on the road. So it had been more or less decided to train a number of clerks whose duty it would be to sit alongside the motorist and point out to him on the way the various signs that stood all along the road. It would also devolve upon them to see that such signs were obeyed. These clerks would rank as Assistant Drivers and if they showed sufficient aptitude, and could get a peep at the examination papers, might even become drivers themselves—for by that time the holder of a driving-licence would be a very important person indeed. Take the ordinary motorist going on a quiet pleasure trip, and the clerk beside him giving his reminders all the way:— “Twenty-mile restriction here sir ...you are doing twenty-one... Fourth-class road here sir, does not affect you...for the trucks.... Vehicle approaching from the rear sir, keep well to the left.... Speed-trap from here on six’ (That is the Inspector’s car over there).... School just ahead sir, look out fox' the childi’en breaking all the windows. Rumours —the little ones are thoughtless—will chase you. You want to be like old Barney Wheeler. Old Barney’s nephew came to stay with him once and being from you l'un from them the faster they dash out into the road you know. . . One can imagine that after about 50 miles of this sort of thing the motorist would get about fed up, and would take his eyes from the approaching traffic long enough to yell at the clerk:—

“Foi* Heaven’s sake shut up Tiixikins! Shut up! Dammit—l’d sooner get out and run behind!” “Very soi'ry sir,” the clerk l-eplies, “But this is my job. I’ve got to do this—the Minister said. And if you don’t exercise due care —40 mile limit here sir, but you can’t pass that truck till he mends his puncture—overtaking prohibited on this 30 miles. . . (Vehicle unattended there—must make a note of that). . .Think one of your cylinders is developing a knock

sir... Level-crossing here sir, sound your horn—there might be a train .coming. . .Heavens! Fellow ahead there courting with one arm and driving with the other—must put a stop to that....” Just a glimpse of future motoring, but the effect is obvious. Who would go on a motor honeymoon to Rotorua with a trained clerk listening in all the way. Still, the old world keeps turning round, and if it ever stops, well, komate. In the meantime there’s the turnips and the maize to be put in and if you are not at the factory by nine in the morning the manager will kick up a dust, and so good-night. CHAPTER XIX. The Farm That Jack Bought. ’J'HIS is the farm that Jack bought. These are the trees that grow on the farm that Jack bought. This is the house that stands in the trees that grow on the farm that Jack bought. This is the mortgage, .a thousand pounds, That lies on the house, its lawn and grounds, And cumbers the house that stands in the trees that grow on the farm that Jack bought. These are the folks that live on the farm that Jack bought. This is the baby that cries at night, And this is the daughter with smile so bright, And this is the son with the pillionbike, That three of the neighbouring flappers like As it burns the wind to the gates that lead, To the house that’s standing amongst the trees, that grow on the farm that Jack bought.

These are the cattle that graze on the farm that Jack bought. These are the milkers, eighty and two, Providing the people, a task to do, That live in the house that stands in the trees that grow on the farm that Jack bought.

And these are the calves, they feed each day, And these are the pigs, that drink the whey, And this is the water the windmill brings, As the vane in the breeze so often swings, And these are the horses that work the land, At the touch of the farmer’s guiding hand, As the days go passing by. These are the cow-bails, six in a row, And this is the pump, that still must go, To handle the cows, the eighty and two, Providing the people, a task to do, That live in the house with so many pounds On its windows and porch, its lawns and grounds That’s standing amongst the trees that grow, on the farm that Jack has boxjght. This is the wife that cares for the house that Jack bought. This is the kitchen where still she toils, And this is the kettle she daily boils, And this the alarm-clock, calling her out, When day is beginning to shine about, To work for the family and all the men. Till day is beginning to fade again, And the house is silent, and slumber sees, And stands so still by the whisp’ring ti'ees, That watching wait, till the dawning dim. And the upward thi'ust of the golden rim, And the sun and the day, come hand in hand. To waken the folks on the farming land. And this is the Cockey all forlorn, That whistles the dog each night and morn, Trying to pay, ten thousand pounds, That cumbers the farm, its house and gi'ounds. And the shed with its six bails all a-row, And the pump that never must fail to go, Providing the people, a task to do. In milking the eighty cows and two, Hoping along from day to day, That paying a fair and honest way, Will keep them living at least in ease, In the house that’s standing amongst the trees. On the farm that Jack some day will try, To own in the long, sweet bye and bye. [ The End ]