MILKING TO MUSIC

Wanganui Chronicle, Volume LXXXIII, Issue 19766, 14 February 1927, Page 9

MILKING TO MUSIC

A PHANTASY. GRAMOPHONE IN COWYARD. I Following Canadian experiments, a dairy farmer at Auxerre installed a gramophone in his cowshed and milked his cows to the sound of music. The output increased 20 per cent. Later, he milked the cows a second time to melodics. Each cow responded with an additional pint.—Cable message. The following effusion, under the signature of S.G.S., appeared in a recent copy of the “Harbour,” published in Australia:— “Goin’ to sleep in tall day!” yelled Dad. “It’s after 3 o’clock, and not a crimson cow milked.” Dave yawned, rubbed his eyes, grabbed the portable gramophone, and shuffled down to the cowshed. Half asleep, he bailed up Strawberry Queen, and put a record on the machine. As the strains of “Annie Laurie” wheezed forth, Strawberry gUv e a convulsive shudder that nearly upset the bucket, and flicked Dave in the eye with her tail. Hastily Dave made good his error, and soon a steady stream of milk made a pleasing obligato to the accompaniment of the ‘ ‘ Honolulu Blues. ’ ’ The aristocratic Mangold 22nd of Woop Woop came next, and with Tosti’s said “Good-bye” to an extra half a pint. Pride of Bungaloo stood with a pensive look in heir eye|3 as she listened to “Knee-deep in Daisies,” and forgot to wake from her pleasant reverie until a second bucket had to be requisitioned. Scotch Lassie, a Red-polled Angus, yielded a handsome tribute to a “TJament ” by Piper M'Tavish, but was quite outdone by the enthusiastic response of Nora 18th of Killarney to “The Wearin’ o’ the Green.” A skittish youngster was showing her appreciation of a catch Charleston tune when she gave a convulsive shudder and went on strike. Dave scratched his head and wasted five minutes before he discovered that the tempo was too fast. Queen Belss, a venerable lady with old-fashioned tastes, nearly had an apoplectic fit in her endeavours to last out to the finale of the “Blue Danube,” while a wall-eyed virage deliberately carried out a “go-slow” policy in order to savour to the full uplifting strains of “Solidarity,” as expressed by the “Dirty Lenin” Trio. A celebrated prima donna might have been flattered had she known that her rendering of a famoufs aria had enabled Dave, per medium of Lady Highbrow Xll, to claim the individual yield record of the district by a full six ounces. When Little Angel was removed after an overdose of the “Bedouin Love Song,” an analysis of the bucket’s contents showed that they were already 5 per cent, clotted cream, but this desirable result was balanced by the striking dilution of the yield of Soulful Sal, whose sympathetic heart had been deeply touched by the pathetic story of the “Minstrel Boy.” A world wide difference of opinion as to the relative merits of two famous violinists was definitely decided when Dave, with the help of Lady Loo, proved that one was superior to the other by nearly half a pint. Suddenly Dad up at home heard sounds of strife and anguish in the cowshed. Rushing down, he discovered an overturned bucket. Dlave nursing a large lump on his forehead, and Fussy Fan still quivering with the aftermath of strong emotion. “What the devil happened?” roared Dlad. Dave felt his forehead tenderly, “The blarsted gramophone spring bust,” he said, “and I reckoned I’d sing instead.”