From The Watch Tower

Sun (Auckland), Volume II, Issue 444, 28 August 1928, Page 8

From The Watch Tower

By

“THE LOOK-OUT MAN.”

THE LOST CHORD Last night the L.O.M. endeavoured to tune in to a station which, he thought, was relaying the ceremony of signing the Peace Pact. He succeeded only in hearing the children’s session. Throwing down the headphones he summoned the Muse to his assistance: Seated last night at the wireless, I xoas weary and angry, too, As I sought 6AK, some miles away, As a wireless fan will (10. Through a crackle of faint, faint static , / said, “Now. A hit or a tniss.” And as P twisted the dials to the figures, l HEard a NOISE LiKE THIS. I sat and cursed that station, 'Which faded so far away, And I waited to hear the message, Of the Peace Pact from 6AK , But instead came the children’s hour And 2 iiffle began to floiv. As I heard Uncle Bill remarking ; “A leTTer from DEar LITTLE J QE !” I hope that the wireless experts Will find in the years to come , Some method to concjner the fading, And hoio to keep static dumb : And I hope that I at the dials May hear Uncle William’s fine. Rich voice , announcing from 6AK, AS EVEN AS THIS LINE. THE STRAIGHT TIP An interesting item on the expenditure side of the balance-sheet shown by the N.Z. Cricket, Ltd., in connection with the English tour of 1927 is £478 for tips. Of course, we know that tipsters’ charges at Epsom and Goodwood are fairly high, but we thought that the New Zealand team was too busy playing cricket to attend many race meetings. K.O. TO POCKET “Parting is such sweet sorrow,” and Tom Heeney for one fully realises it. Before leaving for the west to sail for New Zealand Heeney had a battle with Uncle Sam, who demanded £3,000 income-tax on the. money earned since his arrival in America. Tom Tailed to sidestep the blow, for the demand was for cash or a bond for £4,000. He gave the' revenue men a bond. FREE ADVICE A clever Boston doctor who is very popular at social occasions discovered that at such time his lady patients are not above obtaining gratuitous medical advice from him, chuckles Edward W. Bok in “Perhaps I Am.” On one occasion when the doctor cheerfully greeted a certain lady at a musicale with an inquiry as to how she was, she answered: “Quite well, doctor, only, as you see from my red nose, I have a dreadful cold.” “So sorry,” answered the physician, on the alert for the next move. “Now, doctor, I know you are not supposed to practise when you are out socially, but would you just tell me, in a word, what is the best thing for a cold such as mine?” “Surely,” cheerfully answered the physician, as he started to move away. “I should recommend a handkerchief, madam, and if you find one is not enough, I would try two.”

ALE AND ARTY Mr. William Walker, of Nottingham, recently celebrated his 106th birthday by eating five meals in the day at one of which roast pork was the piece de resistance. His beverage was Nottingham ales. In common with several other centenarians Mr. Walker accounts for his longevity by the fact that he has never been ill. “The diseases people die of these days were not invented when I was young,” he says, “and I have never bothered to learn even the names of them since.” MASCULINE WOMEN —/ Colonel Fitz-Wallah (at Maungakiekie): “I hate these modern girls. Look at that creature over there! Fancy her parents letting her go about in plus fours and an Eton crop. Bah!” Stranger: “That, sir, is my daughter.” Colonel: “Oh—er, sorry! I didn’t know you were her father.” Stranger: “I’m not. I’m her mother.” AGNES. OF AUCKLANDf New Zealand’s film industry is beginning to issue its infant cries. Enthusiastic pioneers have been promoting interest in their ventures throughout the Dominion, but they do not show intense originality in the choice of titles. Recently the censor played one of his pranks and banned the title- “Hamilton Husbands.” But hot on the trail of “Hamilton Husbands” comes a dashing wench named “Winfred of Wanganui.” It is a community film. Tam w.orth, New South Wales, recently completed one of the same genre—“ Tilly of Tamworth.” This habit will have to be stopped. Imagine our hoardings—the art gallery of th Q people—bearing representations of “Ponpv of Poverty Bay,” and “Bertha of Bluff.” Dreadful thought!