THE PASSING SHOW

Waikato Times, Volume 127, Issue 21218, 14 September 1940, Page 11 (Supplement)

THE PASSING SHOW

(By “Free Lance.”)

German measles in the camps. Fifth column ? “ Your daughter tells me that your wife is having her voice cultivated.” “ Did she tell you that the rest of us were growing wild?” French Minister of Industrial Production and Labour: “We are poorer than Job. We haven’t even a dungheap on which to sleep.” The Nazis leave nothing to chance. * * * * The Hamilton company of the National Military Reserve has already celebrated its first anniversary—a year’s parades at full strength. Other companies in the Dominion are still looking for volunteers. Some in Christchurch received uniforms but have not yet turned up for a parade. More sang-froid in Britain:— “ I saw one house with all the windows blown out like teeth. The household still sat in the front room eating their dinner. I put my head through the window frame. The old man at the top of the table said : ‘ A bit public, but the fresh air is nice’.” Among the slogans devised by the Town Clerk of Napier, Mr F. R. Watters, in connection with the waste salvage campaign were : “ Save your aluminium pots to put the lid on Hitler.” “ It’s wicked to waste even waste.” “ Out of the frying-pan into the sky,” and “ Let your pert cook Hitler’s goose.” When the Thames minesweepers go out on their dangerous errand, the men assemble and the skipper asks : “ Are we all here ? ” The crew answer : “ Yes, in God’s care. Amen.” The second question follows: “ What, then, are we afraid of ? ” And all answer :“ We are afraid of nothing.” A bevy of magpies nesting in trees on the Havelock North golf links resents the approach of human beings. Recently war was declared. A dive bomber swooped to the attack, giving a fright to a girl player. Four or five times it zoomed down, but like a good parashot she swung her club lustily and the enemy headed for home. * * + * From Hitler’s speech in the Reichstag on July 19—“ My Final Appeal to Reason”:— “ I dislike the war because it is keeping me away from my work. It almost causes me pain to think that I should have been selected by fate to deal the final blow to the structure [the British Empire], which already has been set tottering.” Try our R.A.F. pills—guaranteed to ease pain. Spitfire Pepper also stocked. “ Submarine Death,” our horned mine, is invaluable for more advanced cases of war pain.

COMMENT AND CRITICISM

If money is the root of all evil, our virtue is unimpeachable.

“ Have you noticed the typing error in the clause ? ” asked Mr A. L. Monteath, workers’ representative on the Arbitration Court at New Plymouth the other day referring to suggestions for a Taranaki award. The clause said : “ Employees shall be entitled to one dull working-week’s holiday on full pay.”—Taranaki Newspaper. An additional joke, this time on the newspaper, is that the workers’ representative spells his name Monteith. * * * • The photographer is a paradox. He is forever taking the negative, despite which he has the burden of proof. He may not be much of a humorist; but he always manages to get a smile from his patrons. He is ever ready to enlarge on any subject, yet he fears to expose his views to the light of common day. He plans every action with deliberation and then he falls back on snap judgment at the crucial moment. The male youth of Hamilton Is wondering why so many flowers of a particular variety were handed out by the buttonhole sellers in last week’s Plunket appeal. The thing seems to have begun when a young man who was held up by the charmers asked, “What sort of flower do you think would suit me ? ” The eloquent reply was to hand him a pansy, and thereafter quite a number of young men was seen wearing this flower. People in Britain seek vantage points from which to view Mr battles. Book seats now; Grand air raid. See the Dogfights. Even the Guns Bark. Baling Out Exhibition. Nazi Stars In Tip and Run act. See the Bombs cleverly avoid women and children. Special Contest: Race Back to Germany. The Government doesn’t have to publish a booklet about producer gas plants. We know all about them, having been visited by one only recently. It was cleaned out in our presence and we admired its innards. We did not admire it so much when we stubbed our toe on the big lump of clinker it left with us, while walking across the lawn at night, and possibly we admired it still less when our lawnmower fouled the numerous pieces of fuel it had disgorged. Still, we thought it a good idea and decided we might have one if we had a car.