MANY A LAUGH

Waihi Daily Telegraph, Volume XXXI, Issue 8836, 23 October 1942, Page 3

MANY A LAUGH

RIGHT IN TARGET AREA MONTHS OF EXCITEMENT FAITH IN THE SLIT TRENCHES I For several exciting months I have lived in a target area—a square mile of land at an advanced operational base in Australia which has had thousands of pounds of Japanese bombs poured on to it. Bombs have fallen all around us. In.one raid my favourite slit trench was plumb in the middle of two sticks of bombs (writes John Binning in the Sydney Morning Herald). But we have great faith in our slit trenches. Nations spend millions of pounds in perfecting the bomber and in making bigger and more beautiful bombs. But with a pick and shovel, a couple of hours’ toil and a modicum of luck, you can outwit the devil of science.

You might imagine that life in a target area is a foretaste of hell, but it isn’t. I have heard more real laughter in one hour here than I have in a whole week of Sydney leave. We have a lot to laugh about. Take all our pets, for example—our fowls, dogs, cats, wallabies, and one parrot. They are always a problem when the sirens scream the alert. We have

trained the dogs to look after themselves. As soon as the hooter goes, they sneak for their own favourite slit trenches and don’t show a nose above ground till the all clear is sounded.

B—, formerly on the staff of a Sydney bank, makes a dive for Churchill, his baby wallaby, which he is rearing on milk fed through a fountain-pen tube. Pet wallabies, by the way, have been awfully bed for our fountain-pens. Churchill is probably asleep in one of B —’s woollen shirts under his bed. B— grabs Churchill, tucks him inside the shirt There the little chap remains, withhe is wearing and runs for his gun. out a kick, until the raid is over.

We Have Four Cats We have four cats—a mother and three kittens, and their presence in the target area is a mystery. We were passing a sli ttrench one day when we heard an unusual whimpering. And there they were—a grey mother, an auburn son and two black daughters. We have never seen the father, but we often hope he was no coward who abandoned his family to the bombs. In a raid, the cat family remain quietly in their own slit trench.

The fowls are more difficult. They live in the bush in wire-netting enclosures. In a raid they are left to carry them to NGa2-. kacodz kflifi the mercy of fat. At first, we tried to carry them to slit trenches, but if you ever try to carry u row! tnw ■» slit trench, you would never try again.. They are stubborn old women. The roar and .blast of bombs does not affect their laying capacity. We keep records which tend to show that bombing, steps-up egg production! The parrot is an old sailor and iemains above ground in his cage in a raid. He mumbles a lot and sometimes we think he is bomb-happy, but at least he is not losing weight. Naturally, we make ourselves as comfortable as we can—as comfortable as the rigid necessities of camouflage will allow us. Open-Air Shave Recently, an American gu<: corporal joined our community. He had arrived from a southern city and his shaving gear consisted of an elaborate electric razor.

“Don” is a lawyer from Buffalo, with a head crammed with ideas. His close friend is an American communications sergeant. Together they fitted a transformer to a lamp post on a main road skirting the target area, thus breaking down electric power to a voltage suitable for Don’s razor. Every morning, Don connects his razor to the transformer and shaves j on the i-oad!

When they first saw him shaving truck drivers were startled. Now, Don is joined each morning by others who want a quick shave.. We all have a post-war picture oi every lamp-post in Sydney fitted with a transformer for shaving. It would help solve the early morning problem. You could shave, for example, while waiting for your -bus. We find Rodgeys, from Kentucky, a reservoir of unconscious humoui. He was reared and grew to manhood in the Kentucky hills. He' calls his -boots “cement shippers” and says he is a bit of a hill-billy. “Kentucky’s the place,” Rodgers tells us. “Man, "that’s where you see some straight sl’ooting. If you get tangled up in a family feud, well boy, you’re lucky to come out alive. There s real war in Kentucky and I had to leave it to come to this durned thing. Rodgers likes strong coffee, stuff you can stand a spoon in. We used to drink his brew to keep him company. Now we prefer to sleep at and Australians united in one family, live happily in the target area. We share our food an our thoughts. We did not have tc get to know each other. ; I guess we just “clicked.