London Gossip

Southland Times, Issue 21178, 3 September 1930, Page 12

London Gossip

(From Our Correspondent). Mayfair, July 7. Whatever the fate of Englishmen in sport, and they have been walloped recently in golf, cricket and tennis, English women are giving the world a lead in the air. Amy Johnson and Winifred Brown—two good plain English names —will stand among the great records of our achievements. Amy Johnson for her solo flight to Australia and Winifred Brown as the first woman to win the King’s Cup, in competition with the finest pilots of the air. She averaged 102 miles an hour over a 750 mile course round England. Flying aspirants may take heart, however. You can now learn to fly on the kitchen table. The Shell-Mex company has invented a device whereby you may overcome the first perils in the safety and privacy of your home. All the controls and contrivances which compel obedience from a ’plane are fitted under the table on which you sit, and on a fifteen inch plane, which responds to your controls, you see what results from each movement. And so you become air conscious, but not air sick. This is a system of flight without fear. Coming back to earth, the latest theory is that weeds can best be killed by kindness. People who own lawns, and know each blade of grass by name—they are so few—may cheer up. The most frequent result of a day’s weeding of the lawn, is rheumatism in the knees. They may soon shed tears of joy over the demise of the daisy and the dandelion. Weed killers do more damage to the grass as a rule, and digging out a family of dandelions with a pickle fork is sadly over-rated as a Saturday pastime. The new method of destruction discovered by Professor Deatrick is to put a pinch of fertilizer on the crown of every weed, and let it gorge itself to death. It will absorb too much, get indigestion and die of agricultural apoplexy induced by overeating. A pound of sulphate of ammonia is sufficient for an average London lawn, or in more familiar terms, the spread of a double sheet. Try it. Garden pests too, have been receiving attention, and a new and more thrilling death has been designed by a Tunbridge engineer. He electrocutes them. With a battery’ on his back, a ground wire and such things, he walks the garden path, toying with fork lightening. At the touch of his magic wand, a special copper rod, charged with a regulated voltage, caterpillars groan, aphis collapse, blights die the death. The curse falls from the cabbage, the codlin shrivels in the heart of the apple, the rose sheds the attacking mass of blight. The electric current is sent

through the leaves and stems, destroying everything except the plant itself. The electrocution of the garden pest may solve one of our fruitgrowers’ problems.

With summer in full blast, once again all the cranks and theorists and dress reformers are upon us. That men are in need of dress reform requires no new evidence. It is the over-enthusiast who kills a cause. When London City men emulate the Boy Scout and appear at director’s meetings in open shirts and shorts, then truly will you hear the laughter of the lions in Trafalgar Square. There is a time and a place for all things. One young man who tried it in the City, heard his luncheon order repeated through the grill: "Cold beef for Greta Garbo. And a flower porter at Covent Garden mistook him for “a perishin' nimp.”

The Sunbathers are out in force, and with the relaxing of opposition, they have shed yet another garment—in some cases the last. But a riot of the righteous checked the spread of this Continental idea, and there were some hearty smacks on the sunburn by the upholders of public decency. A too whole-hearted participation in the craze will bring about more restricting, legislation. England still mercifully insists on some recognition of the conventions. The mixed group at the Welsh Harp at Hendon were roughly handled last week. This week the women stayed at home. Moderation is quite as admirable as sun-rays, but the battle of lhe slip goes on.

I have just heard a moaning go down the stairs. The young man was sunbathing yesterday. The little Irish parlour maid put her head round my door. "There’s more powder on his floor than they used at Waterloo—but it’s the coolin’ . powder.” Sunbathing has lost one violent convert. Nature has a way wid her. Two well-known engineering firms have just entered into a working arrangement which will have far-reaching effects. These are Messrs Rushton and Hornsby Ltd., who hold the ordinary shares in Ransomes, Sims and Jefferies Ltd, and Messrs R. A. Lister and Co. Ltd. The works of the two firms cover over 400 acres, and their combined assets are estimated at over £6,000,000. At home and abroad they employ about 12,000 people. Under the arrangement Listers will concentrate on engines up to 25 h.p. in which they are the largest British manufacturers, and Rushton and Hornsby will continue to make oil and gas engines. But a new light, high-speed, cold-starting diesel engine of between 25 h.p. and 100 h.p. will be produced jointly by the two firms.

The Baby'Austin has grown a big brother. The new model, which is the same price will accommodate four adults, who do not average more than nine stone each, and have more space for your legs. It also has a sliding sunshine roof. The Empire Marketing Board has sponsored an ambitious film, which I saw last night. It was to have been called. "The King’s Pudding,” but this was changed to "One Family.” Staged with much pomp, and an audience weighted with celebrities, official and otherwise, one could only feel what a pity it was to have such wonderful ingredients but such a poor recipe. It had great facilities afforded, entre to Buckingham Palace, the first time consent has ever been granted. The story is weak to begin with and lacks imagination and artistry. A small boy reads that the King’s Christmas pudding is to be made of Empire producc. Ho goes to sleep in school and dreams that he is commissioned by the King to go to each part, of the Lmpire to gather the necessary ingredients. The idea was to show each part of the Empire, and a glimpse of its produce and how it is grown and prepared. The idea was excellent, the ingredients admirable, but the pudding when complete, was dough. A stampede of wild cattle as the sole idea of dairying in New Zealand, will scarcely conimend itself to the Dominion. However, it is worth seeing for the views of the Palace.