Shaun’s Patch

Southland Times, Issue 21101, 5 June 1930, Page 6

Shaun’s Patch

A little nonsense now and then la relished by th© wisest men. j —Hudibmx.

From the reports it would seem that Porter’s most serious offence in the eyes of the British team was that he went for Spong before Murray had given him the ball. He didn't tackle Spong before he got the ball or he would have been penalised, which brings me to the point that the N.Z. Rugby Union should instruct the Magpies in the Tests not to move in the direction of any opposing player until he has the ball safely tucked against his pinny and has run ten yards. * * If the teams have to stay, on the field at the to’ suck lemons, I do hope the bandsmen will be supplied with blinkers. *** * . . That sort of thing is enough to give players the pip. 'Reds not ready for uprisings in Vladivostok. If people are down trodden long enough they will uprise. » * * * MODERN PROVERBS. Half a loaf is’ better than no holiday. * » *,.-■» A sculptor in the Old Country fashioned a loaf of bread out of stone for a bakery exhibition. I suppose someone asked him for bread. * * ’ lilt is stated that the American movie producers are offering a big prize for an original scenario. They’ve got tired of the ■ one they’ve been using for the last ten years. * * * * ' A student named Potts at King’s College shot his tutor dead. Hence, the lyre is plucked thus: Potts shot Teacher on the spot. Hot —what? The shot the tutor got! What rot! The teacher got a pot shot. * * « * I wonder if that, King’s College business was due to too much homework. » * ® * Perhaps this explains why "my son has been enquiring about. machine-guns. * * * ♦ Land bored: Most farmers. * » » ■ * High colour: The price of rouge goes up. *** * ■ THOSE DAUGHTERS. She was only a daughter of the regiment, but she was good company. * ■» ♦ » R.I.P. Silence reigns, Everything is quiet; The pig’s asleep And dreams within its sty, it Makes no sound, No dread its joy is shakin’, No thought that soon It may be panned as bacon. The dogs are dumb And slumber in the dark, The motor-cars Have all gone to the park; ■ ‘Tis still as death, That comes with silent feet; Distiller’s still Is still along the street. I settle down To take my needed rest — My bed is soft — O sleep, thou welcome guest, Be with me now — Our lullaby the moan The last from him Wlio played that saxophone.