SPINDRIFT.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 17012, 10 April 1923, Page 6

SPINDRIFT.

Readers are invited to send in original topical paragraphs or verses for the column, which is a daily feature of the “ Star.” Accepted contributions should be cut out by the writers and forwarded to the Editor, who will remit the amounts payable. DANGEROUS NONSENSE. From a clear sky came the wain ing, And its awful portent lighted On the terror-stricken faces Of a shuddering world affrighted. “Haste to cover! Oh, ye spoilers Of the ancient Pharaoh’s tomb! For Sir Conan’s on the warpath And he’s soaked in darkest gloom. He can call up ghostly spirits, Lots of fairy photographs. Some malignant superstitions For to guard the cenotaphs. But the gay old world just jazzes "With its old accustomed wiles. “Dangerous nonsense,” says Sir Rider— And net a man but smiles. SPORT. Yesterday I went to a wedding. I missed the entrance of the bride ; X do not know what she was like ; I do not know what she was wearing. I was all mixed up with the bride’s friends, a lonely outcast in an alien tribe. George said weddings were great sport. I’m doubtful. I could see George amongst the friends of the bridegroom. I couldn’t see anybody else. I couldn’t see the bride, or the bridegroom, or the boot man, or the bride’s mother, or anybody important- But I could see a great crowd of the friends cf the bride. It must be an awful thing to marry a bride with so many friends. 'Think of the cruets and the sugar basins ! All these friends wore new dresses. I suppose there were fortynew dresses in the church. I wore the pants I bought in 1920. As the drama proceeded, the crowd seemed to grow more intense. I couldn’t see anything, except a yellow thing bobbing about in the distance. I saw, 1 the Great Easter ran. At least I saw the red cap of the jockey pass very swiftly between two people’s heads. This yellow thing was like that. . . Miles away I saw some of the bride’s friends craning their necks. There was a lot of whispering, and the jockey cap began to w&ggle violently. Something began to move on the far horizon. It was the bride and bridegroom. The organ pealed, and the crowd all shuffled and threw things. The pair walked down the aisle; I retrieved my hat and shoved with the multitude- . . In tho open air little groups of people stood around and discussed each other, while the hired taxis decorated with white streamers chuffed off to the photographers. Then somebody came and closed the church doors—and that was that. George said weddings were great sport. I don’t think. “ BORN UNLUCKY.” Little Bertha. Who waits at the table where I rush my light lunch, knows nothing of “magic,” “malign influence” or “mediums.” She will tell you, nevertheless, that she was “born unlucky.” Her fatalism is intense- She whispered to me the other day that she had broken a milk jug during the morning. “That means, - ’ she said, “ that I’ll break another two things before the week’s out. It always goes in threes.” I suggested she should break something of little value and get it over. “ It’s no good,” she replied. “ T tried that once before and it didn’t work. All T got- was the sack. No. These things hare to •be done unexpected.” From odd scraps of conversation I’ve had with Bertha it seems that theie s something uncanny in the way misfortune lies in wait- for that girl ing the salt once accounted for her losing a theatre pass; and this in spite of the fact that she had thrown a pinch over her left shoulder. Seeing the new moon through glass caused her to overlook the fact that there was a .banana skin on the footpath. After she was about again she said she would never go near a window again until the moon was at full and quite sate. To-day she was a little more doleful than usual when she handed over my plate of sandwiches. “ T knew something would happen when I put the boots on the table this morning. Its always a bad sign-” She nodded at the pianola. “It won’t play,” she said, gloomily. “ But don’t say you ve been unluckv with the pianola > 1 commenced. “Oh no, it s not that. Pure accident this time. Tbe lightning on Sunday night fused the wires or something and the manager says it will cost five pounds to repair. Me being unlucky But there. I enjov music with my meals; but that oianola was like lobster to a. dyspeptic. I’m glad Bertha was “ born unlucky.

A recent paragraph in a big London dailv to the effect; that ten tons of dead dogs and cats were collected every week to be made into fowl-food, caused much comment! Rumbling through the city As the eve grew late Wont the “Black Maria” With her precious freight.! Down the darkened byways, Where the light was dim. All her loud wheels chanting Doggie’s requiem ! High aud dry inside her. Jogging all the while. Cats and dogs and such-like Made a goodly pile! Fat and thin and ugly— Black and brown and grey As the old “ Maria ” Rumbled on her way! . Corpses by the dozen — Pets and outcasts too; To the fair fowl-factory To bo made a- stew. As the cart went bumping Over cats and dogs. Other corpses joined them From the London fogs. Till at last the journey Ended with a jerk. Handles started turning. Factories to work! In wont little Fido. With the multitudeOut came little packets Labelled “ Chiokenfood ” ! Pussy-tails and whiskers Jumbled roughly in ; Then the little chickens. Chirping from within , Never let your pussy Roam around and beg. Lest next week you eat her In a scrambled egg! “ Other aeroplanes will be capable of darting down and destroying warships with torpedoes tucked tinder their wings,” says a cable from London. This will teach warships not to lie sprouting wings. SIXBAl).