“NOT GENUINE.”

Southland Times, Issue 20671, 18 December 1928, Page 3

“NOT GENUINE.”

To the Editor. Replying to “Cockatoo’s” letter in Saturday’s Times I may say that I have been deceived. I, in common with others who are interested in your correspondence columns, had understood that your correspondent 4< Cockatoo” was one of the thousands of struggling farmers in this country and if my memory serves me right, he told us so in one of his letters. Vtju may judge our surprise when we read that he has never cut manuka, dug a ditch, driven a team or built a stack. Sir, it beats my understanding that a man can make that known and write to you over the nom de plume of “Cockatoo.” Therefore, when all things are taken into consideration it is not surprising that after laying a charge at the flapper’s doors viz., that they were “ignorant voters” and when “Susan Lee” and I took up the defence he has not been the “bit of stuff” when the onus was put on him to support his charge. The point I make is that “Cockatoo” laid the charge. “Susan Lee” and I took up the defence and as a manly man he is honour bound to defend when the onus is on him. His answer is this: “I have no time and less inclination to enter into a warfare of ‘word quibbling’ with ‘Slim Jim’ or any other newspaper scribe.” A Devonshire man told me once that the proof of the pudding was the eating on’t. “Susan Lee” and I “backed up” what we said; “Cockatoo” “backed down” and tried to insinuate that I was not a genuine farmer. Whether I was or not didn’t matter. Your correspondent makes a boast about his jvorldly experience and that my hands are as white and as soft as his own. I told you before, Mr Editor, that 1 had been more than once round the world, and that I had dug the dusty diamonds from the bowels of the earth, and gone ahead and sliced on the dark and deep blue ocean. Yes, and made a home in a hole in the bush, and cut my way through the manuka roots in the swamps of Southland. Strike me pink, Mr Editor, I can strike matches on my palm! Sir, I may tell your correspondent “Cockatoo” that I am one of those sheepish-look-ing individuals that “Susan Lee” writes about and that he wouldn’t pick me in a century. “Splodge” had a go; “Milksop” tried hard; “The Goliath of Gore” would like to know; the Pep Bhoys have done their best to find out, so has John Willie; and indeed in a certain quarter the cloud of suspicion hangs very low over your head, Mr Editor, that you are this nortorious character “Slim Jim.” Words like these run in my mind—in Baroness Orczy’s book “The Scarlet Pimpernal” she writes: “They hunt him here and hunt him there, etc the elusive scarlet pimpernal.” It tempts me to copy and say of “Slim Jim”—He’s tall; he’s short; he’s stout; he’s broad; he’s thin ; he’s slim; the elusive “Slim Jim.” In concluding my epistle I may tell “Cockatoo” that everyone of my letters costs me a penny and that I have your assurance that my identity will not be made known until I’m dead —then he can dance on the sod.—l am, etc., SLIM JIM.