SANDY’S CORNER

Wanganui Chronicle, Volume 89, Issue 271, 16 November 1945, Page 4

SANDY’S CORNER

Congratulations “Our Miss Gibbs.” Each time we saw the play—-w e went three times—we always wanted to be a “Dude!” WANTED: AN ESCALATOR. Dear “Sandy”: Would you please use your influence to get the city fathers to install an escalator for us old people to get to the library. That would be better than bunks for Pressmen and blankets for staff during long council meetings. Yours “Granny.” We are lighting for something even better than an escalator—for the day when motor-cars will be as cheap as bicycles and you will be able to ride right to the library door with your own means of conveyance.—“S.” WIND-UP AGAIN! We had the wind-up again yesterday, a sort of feeling that crept over us back in 1935, when the All Blacks got dished a few times in England. “Kiwis” won by only one point, when they were doing so much to cheer us up—victory after victory. We got carried away with the news, as we have been completely carried away with the political talk of the day: “There’ll never be another slump!” We had the feeling there would never be another All Black loss, but we're not so sure now, no, not. so sure. Winning by only one point wasn’t so encouraging, but we are confident enough la holieve that the boys were only fooling. STILL NO BUGLER.

Our earlier statement that buglers are like moas, extinct, still goes uncontradicted. There is r.o bugler for the returned servicemen's golf tourney next Saturday. What a pity it is. We think a replica of a really good bugler should be obtained by the museum author.ties and arrayed in suitable uniform, just to remind old soldiers that the Army once did rely upon such an instrument as a bugle. As for to-morow, it is perhaps fortunate for the feathered denizens of spring, who make the wattles of Belmont. their home, that there is no bugler. It has always seemed a bit over Ihe odds to us. White golf balls crashing through trees and shrubs, scaring the very devil out of birds, and then plaintive notes of bugles •sounding, glorious notes from the pipes, as though saying to the birds, some of them broken of wing and limb: “Sorry thrushes; you know how it is with golf; you can’t be certain. We didn’t mean any harm. We hope you’ll forgive us!”