AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A PENCIL

Southland Times, Issue 23141, 6 March 1937, Page 22

AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A PENCIL

—PRIZE—

I once lived in Europe and was part of a red cedar tree which was cut down, taken to a mill and sawn up into planks. These planks were then sawn up into slats about seven inches long and two inches wide. The slats were tied up in bundles and taken away to a factory. They were then put through a machine and shaped and grooved ready for the lead or graphite. . From where I lay stacked up with many other pieces of cedar, I could see girls and men making the graphite mixture. This looked like black dough. Great lumps of this dough were put into a machine which pressed the mixture through a plate perforated with small holes. The graphite looked like curly worms as it came out through the plate. Girls were there to pick it up, cut it, straighten it out, and put it on trays for baking in a large oven. When baked hard enough, it was laid on a grooved slat, covered with another slat, and all were glued together and put in a press. I was part of one of these slats, and how glad I was when they took me out of that awful press and separated me from the other pencils. I was now a real lead pencil, and I was taken with lots of other pencils and passed through another machine which took off all my rough' edges, and I came out from it smooth and tidy. Would you believe it, I had six sides. A hexagon shape, I think it is called. < * Next I was painted such a nice glossy red colour, and when the paint was dry, a man took me and stamped a lot of gold letters on me. This was the maker’s name and at one end he put some big letters, “H. 8. These letters were to let people know just what sort of pencil I was, and I believe “H.B ” means’ a good medium writing or drawing pencil. Next I was packed together with eleven other pencils, in a prettily coloured box, sealed up, and stacked away with lots of other boxes in a big heap. It was very dark in that box, and I remember I was in it for a long time. During that time we were moved about, so I knew I was going somewhere, and I would probably soon see daylight again. I was right, for I was taken out of the box and given to a little boy. I then knew I had been in a shop. The boy put me in a very bulging pocket which was filled with some marbles, a long piece of string, walnut shells, and an apple core. I was very pleased when he took me out of his pocket, and put me in the groove of a desk in a very nice school-room. Just as I was beginning to feel sleepy, I heard a bell ringing, ding! dong! Then the once very quiet school-room was filled with the noisy clatter of children’s feet. I felt myself being lifted, and a cruel pen-knife began to cut the end of me, until the graphite had a good point. That was not all, for I was used to write on some white paper which had sticky finger-prints all over it. I judged that I had been in the school-room two hours, when suddenly another bell filled the air with its notes. The children were dismissed, and I was put in a bag which was slung so carelessly about that I soon fell out into a heap of rubbish. I was not there long, for a butcher boy who was cycling past spied me, and picked me up with his greasy fingers. When we arrived at the shop’where he was working, he put me on the counter, but I was knocked and I fell off on to the floor. .1 stayed there for some time, until the butcher boy gave the floor a sweep. He was in such a hurry, that he did not notice .me, and I once more found myself out in the street. Soon a young man came along; and seeing me, said as he picked me up: “This is a lucky find. It is a good pencil for me to draw with.” He carefully put me in his pocket. I next found myself in an artist’s studio where, on the wall, hung some very attractive pictures. Just as I was beginning to enjoy the pictures, the young artist took me up and began to draw a portrait of a very pretty Spanish lady. He took care of me, and I drew many pictures, but after I was sharpened many times I soon found myself only about an inch long. Being of no further use to the artist, he threw me up on a shelf, and here I am to this day, safe from use. —Prize of 2/- to Cousin Jacqueline Reid (11), 107 Lewis street.

—PRIZE—

Oh dear! Here I am, lying in the dirt. I expect that the next time that little boy wants me, he won’t be able to find me. Never mind, I’ll forget being neglected, and think of all the interesting things that have happened to me. The wooden part of me first saw the light of day in a great pine forest in Canada. How we grew and grew, until one day a bushman came and felled the tree to which I belonged. Many logs were then thrown into the river, and away we sailed to a saw mill, where, after much pain, we were sent in thin strips to England in a big boat. In a pencil factory, hundreds of us were made into pencils. The inside of me is made of lead. It came from a lead mine in Wales. I only wish lead was stronger, for the little boy who owns me is always breaking the point, and soon I expect I shall be cut all away. Then there won’t be anything left of poor me. , ■

—Prize of 1/- to Cousin Charlie Gordon (9), South Hillend R.D., Winton.