UNEMPLOYMENT.

Southland Times, Issue 20225, 9 July 1927, Page 3

UNEMPLOYMENT.

Io the Editor. Sir, —Some time ago you wrote an editorial on the above subject, and you painted a very nice “picture,” indeed it was so sentimentally pretty that poor old Jean fumbled about in her pocket to see if she could find something to drop into your collection plate, but alas the pocket was empty, but she done what she could, and she dropped a tear that nearly drowned our little kitten laying on the fender. Now, Sir, there’s another “picture,” which seems to be always turned “towards the wall,” and as you have endeavoured to immortalise the poor, crying, cringing, milk sops, the culls and weeds of our nation, who are crying for bread in a land abundant, I on the other “picture” will endeavour to paint “Old Strawberry” who if given a chance, will bring in her bag full twice a day, and make everybody rich, happy and contented. Sir, Let me tell you this. It is not the unemployed that pay for the full page advertisements in the Southland Times. It is not the unemployed that makes it possible for your cosy job and your twenty quid a week. It is not the unemployed that makes it possible for you to have a comfortable couch to lay on, and enables you to lay there until the sun burns a hole in the blankets, before you roll out in the morning. It’s not the unemployed that makes it possible for your nice bathroom, and when you pop in in the morning you find the water not too hot, and not too cold “just nice” and when you have done your toilet, you walk into a nice breakfast room heavily carpeted, and Bridget has seen to it that the room is not too hot, and not too cold “just nice.” And after you have satisfied the inner man with a rasher of Hichon’s bacon you touch a button and John brings round your Studebaker sedan to the warm side of the house. You pop in and you drive down through streets that are already nicely aired with the morning sun. You arrive at your editorial quarters and you find the room is not too hot, and too cold, “just nice.” You then fumble for your fountain pen and write to Slim Jim telling him how to cull out his herd, and breed from the best, dig a hole in the ground and bury the culls that they are only a drag on the rest of the producers and he would be better off without them. Now, Sir, by this time Old Jean with her gammy leg has hobbled across the swamp with a bit of lunch for Jim, a billy of tea a few biscuits and a little encouragement. She finds Jim in the ditch standing up to his ankles in water cutting his way through a network of manuka roots. She notices that he is wet up to the bend, she also notices little red spots oozing out of the cracks in Jim’s hands. Jean: That east wind has a very sharp edge this morning, Jim. Jim: Yes, Jean, she’s hollow ground, and cuts to the marrow. Jean: Aren’t you cold all wet like that? Jim: Well, it makes me groan a bit when I hop in in the morning, but I carry on it’s not too hot, it’s not too cold “just nice.” After Jim has munched up his biscuits and has a drink out of the billy, Jean hands him the Southland Times. He opens up the editorial columns and reads. How very fortunate he is to be employed and it behoves him to help those not so fortunately placed. Lucky Jim. Then suddenly the air was filled with sulphur and brimstone, and poor old Jean with her gammy leg hobbles across the swamp. A correct “picture” Mr Editor, frame it.—l am, etc., SLIM JIM. P.S. A reminder. The optimist of midsummer has become the beggar in midwinter.—S.J. [lf the picture of “Old Strawberry” is as big an exaggeration as the picture of the editor, “Slim Jim’s” comparison while amusing is of little value.—Ed. S.T.]