SANDY'S CORNER

Wanganui Chronicle, 26 December 1947, Page 4

SANDY'S CORNER

GOSSIPS IDLE. There was a meeting of the Gonville and Castlecliff branches of the New Zealand Industrial Union of Telephone Gossipers on Christmas Eve. It was to consider what action should bo taken as the result a fire in an undergrund cable which in effect isolated Gonville and Castlecliff and "prevented many members from persuing their daily duties," this being tantamount to a “shut out” from gossip. The Press was not admitted to the meeting, but Gert Gonville, who is secretary of the Gonville branch, said that if the gossipers did not get justice they would even march on Parliament. It would depend on how things went today what would happen. Asked what action the union could take, Gert said that as a last resort the gosspiers would strike, and they knew they had Wanganui East, Aramoho, Durie Hill, Poverty Flat, Kaitoke, and most of the rural areas behind them. St. John’s was doubtful, but the majority of branches in New Zealand would support direct action after the taking of a ballot. “And if we gossipers stop gossiping what will happen to their telephones then?" asked Gert. "Mr. Hackett can put that in his pipe and smoke It." SOMETHING WRONG. Bulls, that place known to such as Winston Churchill, a place that made headlines in the world press when a bank was robbed there, is without a doctor and without a dental clinic. It looks like getting the clinic, but its hope of getting a doctor, at the moment, is dim. Still, you never know. We have heard of a doctor who camped at a beach in a tent until his house was build. Bulls, which can make the finest butter in the world, must not be allowed to lag. Doctor wanted who will camp in a tent -.iil the housing shortage grows dim. PRESENTS, THE JOY OF It is not the gif' itself that matters, it is the spirit in which it is given. In that spirit many a parcel was opened yesterday morning, even before that, and bright faces scanned the lines written within to let the recipient know from whom it had been sent. With all the goodwill in the world we went out out on Christmas Eve t» meet our fellowmen in the festive spirit of the year. We toasted many of them, they toasted us (jn more than milk), and all the glory of the day was enjoyed. We hadn’t a care in the world as we boarded the outward bound Gonville and Castlecliff 6.5 p.m., running a bit late, as though the drivers had stopped here and there to shake hands. When we got home, and drifted under the bright crepe paper Mum had managed to buy, we felt that Christmas was wonderful—its atmosphere of goodwill, of gifts. Alas, we went through to the front hall and there, reposing on Mum's family heirloom occasional table was the mail—a few hours late! Wc say alas, because of one letter, foolscap size envelope, with "On His Majesty’s Service" on top. This was no Christmas card; we knew that instinctively; but it had to do with a gift, just the same. It was a reminder from the boys (and girls) who dwell on work days in that semi-golden building at the corner of Trafalgar Place. It was a formally worded letter telling us that before March 31 we must make a "gift" to the Land and Income Tax Department. so that the text Wally Nash preaches may survive—“ From those that hath shall be taken away to give to those who have not." We'd like to find the cow who thought of sending such a note to us—way down among the “S's” on Christmas Eve! Seeing that the demand came from Trafalgar Place we too!: a leaf from Nelson's book; we clapped a hand across our eyes; “We cannot see it. Mum,” we said, “we cannot see it.*’ Mum: But if I know my way about you'll pay it, whether you see it or you don’t!” We will!