BILLY BOYS’ WORKSHOP

Taranaki Daily News, 27 January 1934, Page 19 (Supplement)

BILLY BOYS’ WORKSHOP

A USEFUL LITTLE SHELF. For the back of the shelf A, cut a piece of three-eighths-inch wood 14in. long and 4in. wide. Plane this on both sides, mark the curved outline on one end with a pencil, and then transfer the shape to the other end by means- of a piece of tracing paper. Cut round the outline with a fretsaw, and Smooth the edges with glasspaper. Cut the ledge B ISin. long and 4in. wide, and round the front comers. After planing both sides, fix . it to the back with four screws at the points indicated. Now make the two supporting brackets from pieces of wood 4Jin. long and Slins. wide. Mark the outline- of one bracket C, and after cutting it out and finishing the edges with glasspaper, place it on the other piece of wood and mark

■out the shape for the second bracket. Cut this out and finish it in the same, way, making sure that the top and back edges of both brackets are at right angles to each other.\ , Fix each bracket to the back with three screws, and to the shelf with one screw, as indicated in diagrams A and B. To complete the shelf, glue and nail in the centre of the back-a diamondshaped wooden ornament about 3in. long and IJin. wide, ahd give the whole a coat of cellulose -paint in any desired colour. ■•••>■ ■ ' '. / • The Hut Carpenter. STORY OF AN OLD FELT HAT. (Sent by Merle Druce.) “Did you wear this funny old hat at the war, Dad ?” Bob Walden smiled at his father, and marched around the room, wearing a battered old khaki hat, with a bunch of emu feathers at the. side. About all you could see of ’• Bob’s‘face was the smile 1 Dad’s, military hat, of course, was miles too big for a nine-year-old head. It was the eve of Armistice Day, and Bob’s father was .thinking of far off days, before Bob was bom, when thousands of Australians left their homes and their homeland, to play their part in the Great War. ' '.. The old felt hat was like a magic wand, opening a window in memory. “I’ll tell you a story, Bob. See, there’s a hole through the crown of my old hat. I nearly stopped the bullet that made it, son! “We'were, out on. patrol, in Sinai. Hidden behind a thorny bush on a sandhill—my mates and I. I raised my head for a look around, when—a Turkish bullet whined over. My head was down in a flash, B.ob; but that bullet had clipped through my hat. And the old felt went spinning down’ the slope. I crawled after it. A blazing day, and I couldn’t go hatless. Now, here’s the wonderful part of the story. My hat was lying against a bush in the hollow, and when picking it up, I noticed something shining like brass. Thought it was a shell case, and dug round it a bit with my hands. And what do you think I found ?” “A pot full of gold, Dad,” said Bob, excitedly. “Guess again, son,” laughed father. “No, Bob, it wasn’t a pot, but a beautiful bowl of silver and brass, with quaint figures and scrolls on its sides. It was half-full of queer old coins—some of copper, others silver. I carried the bowl and the coins back to camp, and when I got the chance sent them home to mother.” “Where are they now, Dad?” asked Bob. “There’s the bow.l on the mantelpiece,” his father replied. “The coins ? Well, they were all rare and ancient. I sold them to a dealer for nearly a hundred pounds. So you see, Bob, it was a lucky day for your father when a Turkish sniper’s bullet, drilled a hole through the old felt hat.” ‘ LONG-LOST BIRD HOME AGAIN. A pigeon has come back to its old loft in Gateshead after an absence of seven years. Everyone knows that a bird’s homing instinct is a wonderful thing, but few would imagine that it would bring a bird to a building last seen seven years previously. Messrs Clark and Sons, of Saltwell, sent this pigeon to take part in a race from the North of France in 1926, and after its release it did not reappear. The owners imagined it had fallen a victim to a gun or a hawk, but now it has turned up wearing the leg ring it wore in 1926. In the course of all thefee years it must have been a prisoner; perhaps some pigeon fancier kept it to breed from, or some child kept it as a pet, and then, when it was getting old, the gaoler relented. “You shall end your days at home,” he said, and opened the door. We must not be sentimental, yet we cannot help thinking that the bird had been home-sick. How else should the homing instinct be so strong after seven years ? It is pleasant to think that the traveller is where he wanted to be at last,