Madcap’s Duck Hunt

Wanganui Chronicle, Volume 73, Issue 424, 15 November 1930, Page 19 (Supplement)

Madcap’s Duck Hunt

PART 111. That was the second time I had taken a short cut to find that in both cases the name was not justified. I do think if father pigs have to serve terms of imprisonment, that responsible Heads of Houses, and such, should be compelled to warn unsuspecting mostly citybred mortals like myself and not allow us to scramble over prison walls (in this case "spiked fence") in utter innocence. A gay "madcap" in fragments adorning a pig’s prison yard, might be a pleasing sight to the pig, but it wouldn’t be to me, and he might not be content with tearing me to pieces and strewing me round about. He might gather up the pieces and take them along to help make up his bed. He looks quite capable of it any how. Unwillingly I gave him one chance. I took care never to give him another, and having got out of his particular puddock with a whole skin, well, that is mostly, I continued on my uninterrupted way to the bridge, and such a bridge. I nearly died from heart failure as I looked at it. High up above the stream from bank to bank it hung. A spidery-webbed sort of structure, made out of bits of fencing wire mostly, with a few bits of boards pushed in here or tied on there to make the walking on part more solid, just in case some of us were not born wire-walkers. Wires were used for handrails, connected at intervals to the main structure by rough battens, which gave the bridge the appearance of being shockingly fenced on both sides, and its "looks" were not the worst part of it, as I found when I pounded on to it, in my sprint across country from the "pig prison." The housekeeper had called it a swing bridge, and there was no', doube about the "swing," but I called it many other things before I got to the other end, at least I did when I got time to, but mostly I was so busy trying to keep myself on the bridge that I hadn’t time for other things, only inside my head. You would have one foot on the floor of the bridge (or should I say, deck?) I think deck will be best. Well, you have one foot on the deck, and if you are wise you will take care, no matter what else happens, that you keep at least one foot there all the time. You’ll be safer that way if nothing else. Having got one foot planted firmly on the deck, you proceed to put the other foot there also, and you do, but long before you expect too, for the deck comes up to meet it Then you lift the back foot, hitch it a bit forward and go to put it on the deck, ahead of the last placed foot and mindful of its experience you lower the raised foot down gently expecting the "deck" to meet you halt way, and the deck chooses at that moment to be down the other way, so the foot not being met comes down with a thud, landing ever so much further down than it expected. The result of this up and down business being to stand you nearly on your head, turn you over on to your back and bring you perpendicular with your feet on top, which position, though quaint, maybe is not very dignified. 1 know, because I was walking on my hands, with my feet up, not so long ago, and my Uncle's precious old dog happened to come on the scene. He got such a shock he has never liked me since, and whenever he saw me after he fled and eyed me from behind a post or whatever he could find, until he could make out for sure, which end up I was, even then he was never too sure about me, or I about him, as he nearly took a piece out of me one day when I got close enough to nearly touch him. In your bathing togs at beaches it’s quite all right to

come along feet in the air, but on people's front, lawns in every-day togs it evidently wasn t so, I think it wouldn't bo all right on an undulating bridge either, especially in broad daylight. To save yourself from getting into undignified positions you clutch desperately at a handrail, and instead of it bracing itself against your weight as it should, flies out with you, almost precipitating you into the stream 20 or 30 feet below, which behaviour on its part, scares you so much that you fling yourself the other way and grab with lightning speed, the opposite handrail (or wire to be precise) to find it not a bit more reliable than the first one. The results of this up, down and sideway business was to give you a kind of seasickness, mixed with a ehurned-up inside, and a pair of very groggy legs, and they didn’t go at all well together. However, there was one good thing about that bridge. It had an ending and after more ups and downs than I care to remember, I managed to reach it. I didn't wait to thank it for its services in helping me across the stream, because just at the moment I had to keep my mouth shut, to prevent the escape of things more solid than words, and though my feet were once more on something less elusive than a swing’bridge, I was having quite a job to keep myself erect. After awhile the giddiness passed, and I was once more in full cry after the ducks. Along a couple of chains of a public road I raced, round some dusty wayside bushes, squeezed through a convenient gap in a makeshift fence, into a neighbour's paddock, and tore on over the grassy sward, headed straight for the sleeping ducks. What the housekeeper was doing all this time I didn’t know, because I couldn't see her for an intervening hillock, but having come into view of the place where I left her I found she was still there, only she was no longer standing up, but sitting down mu<’> the same as the ducks were, though I don’t think she was quite asleep, for her nose was not buried to her eyes under her wing that I could see, but she did seem to be nodding. The ducks found out I was coming, and before I could get near enough to stop them, into the water they went again, and floating to mid-stream halted. So here we were, the housekeeper on one bank, I on the other, the ducks in between, not one scrap better off than we were before. We shooed and shooed, threw sticks, mud and bad words at them (at least I did), but not a bit of effect did it have. They just sat there hardly moving, only when they used their feet to keep themselves from drifting too near either of us, or going down stream. There was a woeful shortage of suitable killing materials, but at last I came across a rare find, or so I thought, a heap of bones of some long since defunct animal, a sheep probably, and picking up some of the handiest-looking pieces I made my way to the water’s edge, and proceeded to bombard those provoking ducks, but without much success, until at last more by good luck than good aim, I landed a fair-sized bone right into their midst. Fluttering, diving, quacking and swimming, some went up stream, the rest going down. Leaving tho down stream ones to their own devices in the meantime we took off after the up-stream lot, the housekeeper on her side, I on mine, and really the way that housekeeper went surprised me, and I don't doubt, herself, too. Discarding her floppy headgear and the empty basket, she took a handful of her clothes in each hand lifting her skirts up to enable her to run better, and run she did, and the faster she ran the more her arms worked, and a usually very modest pair of legs, striding out for all they were worth. Anyway she headed the ducks on her side before I was half-way along on my side, as I came to grief when I tried to jump an innocent-lookfng little bit of a creek that ran into the main stream. Whether I miscalculated the distance or the width of my skirt, or whether I was paying more attention to the Housekeeper than I should, I know not, but what ever the cause the result was to find most of myself flat at the bottom of the creek with only my head out, and no breath left in me to say even one naughty little word, which was bad, but not nearly the worst (To be Continued).

“YL’KA LALLY DREAM GIRL,” Bennett’s Siding.—Well, well, and so here you are. I have often wondered and wondered whatever could have become of you of late. Many thanks, dear, for the letter. It is lovely to hear from you again, isn’t it? The initials are not. correct, dear.—Wendy. “YO( LOO,” Putiki. —1 am so pleased, my dear, that you and “Y’oo Loo's Alate” both have been made so happy by entering into our merry midst. That’s fine, indeed. No, 1 did not go away for tho holiday. What a splendid week-end you spent with your friend. It was kind of him to invite you both, wasn't it? Now, 1 wonder what brought the frown to “White Forget-me-not’s” brow? That is, 1 know, most unusual. Oh, 1 say, but what a jolly joke. 1 wonder who the ite is who thinks you have changed colour? I’ll publish the explanation for the Adoption of your pen-names, dear. Write again, soon, won’t you.' —\\ endy.

“A FAIRY IN THE WOOD,” Puto rino.—Well, dear, that’s lovely! 1 think planting flowers fine. When they grow up 1 am sure they will look ever so nice. You will be able to go and admire their gorgeous beauty and inhale their sweet fragrance, surely a fitting reward for your labour. Yes, dear, I am still managing to escape that wretched old fellow, Mr ’Flu Germ. 1 hope he does not catch me, either, for 1 want to enjoy the extra sunshine that our friend old Father Time has so generously given to us. The evenings are lovely and long now, aren’t they ! —W endy. “MERRY AROII A,” Omata, R.D.— How pleased I am to have your welcome letter this week. Well, we have had quite a lot of rain, but of late our Weather Clerk has been a little kindlier. What a nuisance the rain has been to daddy, though. Never mind, I am sure our Weather Clerk will soon send some lovely days and then the shearing operations will be able to be begun. How splendid! Fancy your sister’s and your own birthday being on the same date. I do hope you will both spend a happy time and receive many lovely presents. Give your little sister a big hug and a squeeze for me, won’t you?—Wendy.

‘<POPPY PINK,” St. John's Hill.— Oh, but how wonderfully happy I am, dear, to have your long-looked-for letter this Lctterland Day. I had quite despaired- of ever hearing from .you again. I am so pleased you have persuaded your two chums to join our merry band. I must now forgive you, must I? How good of the Father to give you a holiday. So you all went to Castlecliff. I, too, went for a swim, and I like you, found it much too cold. Yes, I attended the pantomime and did enjoy it ever so much. “Mrs Sinbad” was a scream, wasn’t she? Never mind. dear. I think it lovely of you to think of sending me some flowers. —Wendy.