THE PASSING SHOW.

Auckland Star, Volume LIX, Issue 226, 24 September 1928, Page 6

THE PASSING SHOW.

S.O.S.

(By THE MAN ABOUT TOWN.)

Many people are in the dark as to the origin of the universal 5.0.5., usually supposed to mean "Save our souls.” On the

authority of the deputyinspector of wireless telegraphy at the London

post office. S.O.S. (three dots, three dashes, three dots), sent as one signal —that is, without the usual space between letters —was adopted internationally at the suggestion of England for the wireless distress signal for ships. It was suggested as a suitable signal because it is distinct and easy to read. In the early days of maritime radio-telegraphy tho recognised distress signal was C.Q.D., meaning "Come quickly, danger.” As radio stations aboard vessels increased it was found the signals C.Q.D. and C.Q., meaning “All stations,” often got mixed, causing some confusion, and the need for another distress call was experienced. At a Radio-Telegraphic Convention it was decided to utilise the letters “5.0.5.,” which are the easiest letters of the Morse code to transmit. Thus the recognised distress call for radio-telegraphy was established, and as broadcasting came along the similar group came to be used for urgent messages for relatives, etc.

THE MATUTINAL CACKLE.

Many apparently incurable cases of Redness (in Russia and Australia) have been cured by the judicious application of a good sinecure

to the affected person. Bolshevism of a pronounced type has yielded

to the soothing treatment of a fine, fat billet, but there is a newer cure for obliquity of social vision. Mr. P. Hedworth Foulkes, an ardent breeder of hens, returned from Canada mentioning that the pursuit of the poultry industry is not only a highlypaying proposition but an incomparable soother of bitterness. He came across a man in Canada, who, having led a henless life, got married and started a fowl farm. Before he became, addicted to the gathering of eggs he was a black Bolshevik, hating his fellow man and woman with intensity. In his pre-hen days he would much rather throw an aged egg than gather a fresh one, but, from being one of the most ferocious of citizens, he became one of the mildest, loving his wife and his neighbour as himself, and soothing the paths of humanity with “best fresh” in large quantities. The gentleman recommends for that sour feeling a poultry farm. He believes that no man can possibly be Red and grow hens. Nobody could think of murder while the Black Orpingtons cackled their glad matin and enriched the earth with eggs. If you have a grouch on humanity, keep hens. If you hate your fellow man get married and rear fowls. It is the universal panacea for ill-temper. If we all keep fowls and grow eggs no doubt we shall stave off that threatened war in the Pacific.

“AIR-MINDED?”

Wonder if the gentlemen of the wings in New Zealand are going the right way to make people air-minded? How many lolks in Auck-

land caught a glimpse of “Smithy,” his pals and the Wliv

planes? Why dodge the main streets to beat the populace, who consider that these airmen are lions of the hour and want badly to give them a whoop? It might be said that Auckland almost escaped being in the itinerary at all. The reason given for cutting out a few minutes’ flight over the city was that there might not have been enough petrol left to take the ’planes south. It makes one wonder what the N.Z.A.F. would have done if anything of a warlike nature had detained them in the upper blue firing nasty things at them and preventing them from partaking of mineral refreshment at the nearest bowser. The intelligent branch was evidently not doing much in the wireless line this morning. The commander-in-chief of the British Air Forces arrived in full fig, uniform, ribbons and all. Staff likewise with ’em all on. These rather notable folks who are evidently come to make us think air, dream air and fly in the air were received by officers in mufti, who evidently felt that this is a secret service matter not to be revealed to the proletariat.

MAGPIE CHATTER.

“Oh, dad!” she said as she put her Friday purchases on the .kitchen table, “I saw some darling little magpies in a shop in town. I’m

going to take a cage in and buy some!” ‘ What!”

he exclaimed. “Magpies? Haven’t we got six children and auntie, a couple of dozen Muscovy ducks, a pen of Black Orpingtons, a score of White Leghorns, with a rooster that never tops crowing, a few bellowing cows, a loud speaker radio and hawkers every day ?” “But, dad,” said the wife, “they’ll make the place seem so much like Home. You remember in the Old Country—.” And George says they’re down for at least six magpies, and it made M.A.T. think of magpies he has known and the tame Australian one who tried to peck his benefactor’s eye out, and, being trained in the English language, called him wicked names, sang ribald songs on the stockyard fence, rolled hen’s eggs into inaccessible places and stole like a brigand. But the pied crow (as he really is) stars the bush with black and white and sings lovely liquid ditties to the glowing morn. The Australian magpie reached the Wellington Province many years ago, and he will probably reach us ere Ion". After all, he is not so depredatory as the introduced minah, who clatters like'an army of plumbers killing snails on tin roofs to wake the sleeper within, or the blackbird and thrush who are a sore trial to fruit growers. Sentiment is expensive, and, as George says, “Every bally bird we introduce to make New Zealand look like Home, breeds like the dickens and eats you out of house and home. Look at the rabbits and the blackberries!”

THE INVITATION.

The French Minister of the Interior has possibly had his own seen to ere this, and it is feared the medical men’s report will be

"rave. M. Sarraut cheers us up by mentioning that

a war in the Pacific is on the cards and that the last affair is merely a skirmish to what his prophesied hell will be. What the unprophetic soul wants to know is why do statesmen and other terrorists burst into advice to the Eastern nations as to the best means of eating us up before breakfast some morning? What Sarraut’s outburst really says is: “We’ve got the wind-up frightfully. We are a mere handful of people with lashings of good land. Come and cut our throats and take the land.” The “most formidable conflict the world has ever known” may be a bit of undigested cheese, or an overstrained liver, or too much pate de fois gras. Even if we are bound to have our throats cut in the near future, why tell the potential cutters how to do it and when?

SONG.

Give a man a horse he can ride. Give a man a boat he can sail; And his rank and wealth, his strength and health. On sea nor shore shall fail. Give a man a pipe he can smoke. Give a man a book he can read : And his home is bright with calm delight, Though the room be poor indeed. Give a man a girl he can love. As I. O my love, love thee ; And his heart is great with the pulse of fate At home, on land, on sea. —James Thomson. CHAOTICS. No, it certainly isn’t quite fair, but • J.W.D.” says Nhcahcataacharihcantaa Achanachachitriachatan is a small village in the Scottish Hivblands. A simpler one: Aaocrbatnd.