ASHWICK FLAT.

Timaru Herald, Volume CXXXIV, Issue 18822, 10 March 1931, Page 6

ASHWICK FLAT.

OCCASIONAL NOTES. (From Our Own Correspondent.) “Good evening, everybody. It has been a bright, sunny day to day. The morning was calm, but during the afternoon a fresh breeze blew in from the north-east, and so laden was it with the smell of the sea that one instinctively reached for the rod and line and laid the tin-opener handy. Sardines for supper.” Topsy-Turvy World. If we could interpret the rustle of the leaves, what messages would that wind tell us. It could tell us of distant lands and peoples each striving in the way that seems best to them to govern and direct the lives of people. And yet as one reads your columns and learns of the troubles by which the world is beset, one wonders if our civilisation has outgrown the ability of the minds of men to direct and to solve the problems of the day. One wonders if this Esquimaux, seated beside the hole in the ice, with his spear handy waiting for the head of a walrus to appear, that he may provide his week’s rations, is not happier than us with our manifold wants and ambitions. He knows that a polar bear is seated on a block of snow waiting an opportunity to account for the whole outfit, but this he fears not, for it is a foe which he knows how to deal with. I wonder will our walrus turn up before March 31st, or will the polar bear account for our outfit. We can but think that this bear, of the commercial world, is having a big say now.

Plight of the Kangaroo. Yesterday the wind was from the north-west, and the bank of cloud over the hills indicated the moisture that had been picked up across the Tasman, and left behind as the wind topped the mountains. I wonder what else that wind had brought from a distant land. We know that a few years ago it brought us red sand (you would expect it to be red), and w-hat has it brought us to-day? Was it a mirage, or did I see an objfect thrown into relief by the setting sun? I marvelled, for it looked to me like a kangaroo that the west wind had brought in—a weird object indeed, for his body was inflated to double its natural size, and yet on its face was a hungry look. As it moved you could hear the paper rustle. A kea was purchased on a rock close by, and | on his beak was a meditative look as he sized up the new arrival. Soon with a loud squeak he flew away, convinced that there was no kidney fat there. And in the warm breath of that wind it seemed to tell me of a land where the stress of the times hung heavy, and where the minds of men were divided as to what course to pursue. The mill that grinds out our destiny grinds slowly, and many will suffer in the process, but times may prove that it leads to a brighter and better future Radio to Speed the Plough. Up and down, up and down, up and down—or, as the case may be, round and round, round and round, round and round—thinking the thoughts he thought yesterday, thinking the thoughts he will think to-morrow, turning the furrow, the basis of the farmers’ work is monotonous, yes, very. On the airship, on the train, in the car, they hear the wireless. They don’t want it—they can buy their own amusement, but who thinks of the humble ploughman, up and down, up and down? Now, I would alter all this, and the ploughman should have his wireless. I would lengthen the leading horse’s haimes to the extent of 8 to 10 feet for my front aerial hole, and I would erect a like one on the plough, a light wire to connect the two. To take up the slack that would result in turning corners, I would have a pulley arrangement on the pole at the plough, with a weight at the end of the wire—say a petrol tin with a stone in it. I would take care that the seat of the plough was not just under the petro* tin with the stone in it, for in case the leading horses should stop suddenly the descent of the petrol tin might bring the ploughman’s loud speaker into action in an item for which the Broadcasting Company could hardly be held responsible.

Music at Milking Time.

Then there is the matter of the cowshed. We know that if cows are sung or whistled to during milking, they give more and better milk, but the farmer is faced with the difficulty that it is almost impossible to get good milkers who are also good singers. Ido not suggest the wireless here, for the reason that it would be most inconvenient for the cows to be doing a jazz when they should be at attention also there are occasionally items broadcasted that might have a deteterious effect upon the milk and cream. So a gramaphone or an organ such as was used at the merry-go-round at the Dunedin Exhibition could be installed with pleasure to all.