BY THE WAY.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 19268, 3 January 1931, Page 6

BY THE WAY.

SOME COLLECTIONS AND REFLECTIONS. (By One of the Boys.) Oh, well, we’ve had a good summer—this year. « « Amy Johnson’s ’plane will be suitable for a woman pilot. It is to be fitted for skis. « M « Amy Johnson’s route to China is via the great Gobi Desert. Not a bad route to Gobi. *.* $5 The only time you’ll see a Scotsman throwing anything away is when he is curling. One of the Wellington bowlers put an end to Roberts’s fine innings. It was Crook. K « « Talking about Amy Johnson, did you hear that conundrum about: What did Amy Johnson, when she arrived at Sydney, buy a packet a safety pins for? The answer is: Fourpence. The Christchurch Beautifying Association will be fancying itself. The president, Mr Dudley Dobson, has been made a knight and the secretary is already a Marshall. a a a Listening to a gramophone the other evening, I heard two well-executed tinkly, modern tunes. The operator said casually, by way of springing a surprise, “These melodies are played by Don Bradman.” And they were. What a fellow for records! A somewhat nervous lady was about to take a short flip in an aeroplane—her first. As she essayed to climb into the cockpit she gulped and said to the pilot, “Is this—er—flight likely to be at all dangerous?” “What!” exclaimed the man, aghast, "dangerous? For five bob?” An actress and her husband went to Switzerland for the winter sports. They arrived at their destination late at night. In the morning the husband rose,, drew back the curtains, and looking at the mighty panorama of snowclad peaks and dark forests, he said, “Well, what do you think of that view?” “Oh,” said the lady casually, “it will make quite a decent back-cloth for me.” j.j Bowling is one of the games where a man can play, and if he feels like a refresher there is usually someone who has a locker and in the locker a bottle. It is a game that does not take much athletic ability, and a man can still play a good game even if he has drunk to the New Year several times. If he sees two jacks, he just fires in between them. The report in the paper of the big tournaments held in Christchurch says there “were some very fine heads seen.” Yes, and there were some very fine heads next morning. After standing many attacks from without, the Labour Mayor is now threatened from within. One crowd want Sullivaq to stand and another Mrs M’Combs. Well, why not a lady Mayor? Her name is Elizabeth, and England’s greatest Queen was one. Where are our Drakes and Raleighs? The only trouble is presiding at the Returned Soldiers* annual banquet. Some of the stories and songs used to make even Mr Archer blush till he got used to them. «*• •'» A story from Addington yesterday: Captain Wrack stood on the bridge of the “Plavwave” with Admiral Bingen. Great Nelson had achieved a Great Triumph, and had passed on to the Happy Land. Suddenly came the cry, “Stand By to Scuttle the ship”. Down in the cabin the Captain and Admiral Metford last time. “Have a drink, sir. Things look pretty Black, Wattle you have?” All at once a burst of Quickfire struck the ship like a Nor’-Wester, and she dived down among the Kelp, taking officers and men to El Direct. The “bustle,” an old-time dress arrangement that made a lady’s dress stick out behind, is to be reintroduced into Christchurch in a month or two’stime. The fashion has been a success in London, and is supposed to give great dignity to ladies walking. The skirt sticks out so far behind that the movement of the legs is hidden and women seem to glide along like clockwork figures. The “bustle” used to be made of a small pillow stuffed * with wadding and tied round the waist, the cushion part hanging down over that part of the human anatomy that we sit upon. Some ladies used to use a rolled up wad of newspaper, and thereby hangs a tale. One boy blew up a paper bag and covered it with paper till it looked like his mother’s bustle. It was Sunday morning, and his mother attended St Michael’s Church. It was at the time when Mr Averill (now Archbishop Averill) was vicar. She walked into church and sat down, and that sacred edifice and staid, respectable congregation was startled by a loud report. When the good lady got'home, her son made for the great open spaces. “I went out to Brighton yesterday,” said Ham last night, “and I viewed the number of bathing beauties clad in pyjamas with the greatest displeasure.”

“I’m neutral," I told him. “It all depends on the girl that is inside them.”

“That’s not the point. This is a big question.” Ham raised his voice and his eyes got fierce. “It is a matter of when it is going to stop. Here we have women taking men’s jobs and playing his games, but the limit is when she starts wearing his clothes. Pyjamas are the sacred rights of man. For women, the nightie; for men, pyjamas. Any alteration is likely to cause the disintegration of the Empire and upset the family life of the people. It nearly upset mine. I was staying with my wife at a West Coast hotel, and you know how it is. Just a couple of bathrooms for the whole hotel. Well, I hung round my door and saw a pyjama figure emerge and another pyjama figure go in, so I said to myself I won’t get done again. I’ll wait till that chap is nearly finished and I’ll get him to let me in before he comes out. I went to the door and gave three taps, and evidently that must have been a code, for I heard steps and the door was unsnibbed and I hopped in. Well, the shock I got nearly turned my hair white. There was a girl trying to wave me out and cover herself with a towel both at once. I stood on my dignity. ‘How dare you wear pyjamas unless you are a man?’ I demanded. Of course the trouble started when my wife heard about it.”