“Polly” Talks

Wanganui Chronicle, Volume 74, Issue 192, 15 August 1931, Page 16 (Supplement)

“Polly” Talks

"MERCI.** : My Dear Wendyites,— I Much do I wonder will you little girls and j boys understand me ? For you see I am only I a talking bird, a mimic, one that picks up people’s remarks and says them . without thought of meaning, or fitness ,or intention of being impolite. Are any of you Wendyites like that? I know one "man” who is. When I say to him, as nicely as I can, "Cobbler, cobbler mend my shoe,” he just replies, "Go on!” and when I tell him, "I’m coming back at half-past two,” his answer is just the same, “Go on.” Not much else can this “man parrot” say, but the "go on!” About me it is most strange. A boat was loading fruit at a tropical port and the ship’s captain found an egg among it with a chipJn its shell. He took it to the Frenchman cook in the ’ galley. j "Jacques, just look at this egg; T believe there is a bird inside; see that chip and feel! it is warm ! Certainly it was exposed to the 1 Jacques was much interested, and in due | time he helped me, a parrot, out of the shell. I was very happy in the galley. All the sailormen were so kind to me, and I tried to learn from them, hut I lijted best the talk of Jacques, perhaps because he used it when he petted and fondled me. Every morning the captain would come to see that the cookhouse was dean and shining, and Jacques taught me that during his visit of inspection I must stand straight up on my perch and be perfectly silent until the "Old Man” spoke to me. and then I was to “speak up” quick and lively, “Aye, aye. Sir.” Sometimes the commander seemed to paymore attention to me than he did to the pots and pans, when Jacques would salute the captain, and bowing very low. say, "Merci! Merci 1” for “thanks.” One day. at an unusual hour, the captain brought a lady passenger to the galley. Cook wan absent, hut I knew to hop upon my perch and be silent until spoken to. “Where is Jacques? Poll-parrot,” asked the "Old Man.” “Aye. Aye, Sir.” “What does Jacques say when I leave?” "Merci! Merci!” "Aye, aye, Sir,” The visitor clapped her hands with glee and bid me speak to her for she was going to buy me and take me for her own "Pretty Polly.” This was sad news, so I slumped down upon my perch and feigned sleep. She bid me wake up, ruffled my feathers, jabbed me with her finger, but when she tried to open my eye, why, I nipped her finger hard and screamed at her in Jacques’ grandest voice to that most annoying cabin boy. "Be gone, thou idle one!” “Remove thyself, thou greetdy one.” “You do me. feed up.” And then I ceased, but she still persisted, "More, Pretty Polly,” so I winked one eye at her. and tucked my head beneath my wing. She seemed pleased instead of angry, and as Jacques was not Xhere to do the honour. I called after them, an they departed, “Merci! Next day we left the ship and started upon a tour, for my new owner was a celebrated actress. Her name was Portia. She called me her mascot and even took me to the theatres with her. The people would sit very still and quiet while she talked to them in a play called "The Merchant of Venice.” One part of it I learned to speak because it was about “Merci,” and made me think of Jacques, who shed a tear at our parting and for whom I was so very homesick. Dear Wendies. I know that Jacques’ “Merci” and "Portia’s” be not the same thing at all. His way always so cheery and polite, but it was short. Ker’s was longer and wide-packed theatres sit so still, you could hear “the pin drop”; so to them it must have been one great big lively, lovely thing this "Mercy” that was Portia’s. She said it in a deep, deep voice, which made it sound so very grand, and she did not hurry over it. But I mimic Portia for you Wendyites, and say "Mercy” for my piece. The quality of Mercy is not strained. It droppeth like the gentle rain from heaven Upon the place beneath. It is twice blessed, It blesses Him who givetb, And Him who takes. It is mightiest in the mightiest. It becomes the throned monarch, better than his crown. It is an attribute to God, Himself. We do pray for Mercy, i And that same prayer doth teach us all. To render Merrv unto Mercy.”

That is the “talk” of Mercy, Wendyites, but if you had heard Portia she would have made you “think” as well as “talk,” and then you would “love” Mercy. Poor Portia! She catch plague and die, so now I see Jacques and his "Merci,” and some day I shall find him. "Merci 1 Merci’’’—From “POLLY THE PARROT,”