IN Town Watch Tower

Sun (Auckland), Volume III, Issue 664, 16 May 1929, Page 8

IN Town Watch Tower

By ‘

“THE LOOK-OUT MAN.”

II AM E SICK The sentry of the Scots Guards who disappeared from Buckingham Palace early on the morning of May 1 returned to the home of his parents at Inverness at the week-end. He was apprehended and brought to London (cable). I mind the lioose, yon hut an’ ben, the hoose where I was horn; Hoo ma he’rt for it heat warmly i’ the breakin ’ o’ the morn . . . The oatcakes an ’ the haggis that ma mither used to make — The thocht o’ them, beset me like a thirst 1 couldna’ slake. I mind the time, I mind the time I reached ma weel lo’ed hame, 1100 ma mither said, ( T’m brawly, and yer faitlier is the same; But why hac yc dropped in to pay this unexpected ca’f Does the King nae longer need ycT What’s the meanin’ o’ it a’?” I mind the time . 7 mind the time they came, to Inverncss 3 Hoo I had to leave ma parritch an’ a girdle scone, nae less; Hoo ma ain folk wept wi’ sorrow (Ay, their tears fell like the snare) Losli me! but homesick sentries maun never run awa* l KIPYARD RUDLING. BEEF OR BEER A former resident of Samoa calls attention to a statement by Mr. R. W. Tate, S.M., that two native villages in the Islands played a cricket match for 100 kegs of beer. The former resident, who evidently entertains poignant memories of the drought imposed on Samoa since New Zealand took over the niandate, points out that kegs of beer there are rarer than gold nuggets. He suggests that the “Ashes" in the match concerned were more probably 100 kegs of beef. The match must have been hardly worth playing. 0 0 0 FLOODS DOMINATE About the only events which can make the Breakwater and Inner Harbour men of Hawke's Bay, mentioned yesterday submerge their interests to a common cause are floods and Ranfurly Shield matches. The Ranfurly Shield has gone (it was au revoir , they hope but not "good-bye," but floods remain; Three rivers run into Hawke’s Bay within a few miles of each other, and when rain swells their currents the Tutaekuri, Ngaruroro, and Tuki Tuki, the last better known as the "Tookytook,” spread over the flat country until their waters merge. The result is havoc. In other circumstances the rivers are so unobtrusive as to be almost negligible, and the most conspicuous thing about them is the rolling syllables of their Maori names, which cannot in every case be investigated with delicacy.

THE LIMIT The feat of drinking twelve pints of ale while the clock strikes twelve is one often attempted by practised drinkers but rarely achieved, though legend credits a particularly capacious gentleman on the West Coast (where the hard drinkers live) with ability to perform it at will. As far as this deponent is concerned, he has seen any number of promising looking candidates break down ignominiously on the tenth or eleventh pint. However, a greater feat still was attempted recently in Harmony Grove, California, bv one Henry van Steenberger, who sat, on a. bet, before ten gallons of wine. True to the implied tradition of Harmony drove he quaffed, guzzled, bibbed, choked down more, sipped, strained, swallowed hard, until only half a pint remained after three nights and two days of drinking “at one sitting.” Then Bibber van Steenberger lost his bet. He fell over dead. ... MISSED CHANCE An earlier reference to fortunes and the manner of their foundation brings to mind real estate as a means of piling up wealth for future generations. In the early sixties a North of England man who came to Auckland bought up nearly all one side of Queen Street, or as much as he could lay hands on. He was a far-sighted man, but the typhoid epidemic that swept Auckland shortly afterwards carried off him and most of his family. The weathered tombstone telling the sad story is in the Grafton cemetery. Two children alone were left, and they were forced to sell what would otherwise have formed the basis of a respectable fortune. Several titled families in England, among them those of Halsbury and Tollemache, made profitable investments in New Zealand land, from which they drew returns until quite recently. But in Dunedin there is an old citizen with a sad tale. He was offered one side of the Octagon many years ago for £5. Willing to buy, he could rustle up only £4 10s. The vendor would not reduce his price, and a golden opportunity slipped by,