UNCLE TOM’S CABIN

Bay of Plenty Beacon, Volume 10, Issue 21, 6 September 1946, Page 5

UNCLE TOM’S CABIN

NATIONALIST’S SECRET WEAPON

KEYPOINT CONDUCTING CAMPAIGN

“I will arise and go now. And go to Innesfree, And a small cabin build there Of clay and wattles made.”

“That’s what we want; we want a little cabin,” said the local leader of the National Party jumping rather excitedly, and knocking his disguise askew. “We’ll do like this man who wrote this poetry in this book. We’ll build a little wooden cabin for our headquarters, and we’ll, put it right slap in the middle of the brick area at one end of the Strand. Then we can really start campaigning for this coming election.” He beamed on the rest of the small political gathering, which had met that night ?n a dingy cellar to discuss the election. (Little did he realise that the large picture of a tall handsome knight in armour hanging on the far wall was none other than a Beacon representative in a gilded frame; hence this story, another in our series of famous expose articles). “Yes,” repeated the Chairman, peeping furtively out the window, to see that no Labourite was hovering in the vicinity. “We’ll build a little cabin and from it conduct a sweeping campaign.” “Yippee” chorused the gathering tossing aside a copy of the Southern Cross which they had been studying. “That’s what we’ll do, we’ll do that all right, by gum we will.”

And that is the story of events leading up to the sudden mysterious appearance of a little green cabin which now stands complacently on the village green opposite the Rock, silently awaiting the terrible battle for supremacy which will shortly be staged. Endeavouring to obtain a crosssection of opinion on the ‘mystery’ before the actual story ‘broke’, the Beacon interviewed a number of prominent businessmen on the subject. ‘ “I think it’s the work of the Chamber of Commerce,” said one idly tossing a cigar butt in our direction. “I think that worthy body is endeavouring to give our town an historical atmosphere, and has erected a facsimile of Uncle Tom’s Cabin. It should be a great attraction to tourists, particularly if drinks are served there after hours. I suggest it be called Uncle Tom’s Roadhouse.”

“It’s a publicity stunt organised by the publishers of the popular song hit and motion picture “Cabin In The Sky,” declared another who dropped in to withdraw his advertising as the result of our last expose article. “It’s the start of «the Borough Council’s new transit housing scheme,” stated another authoritatively, scratching his ear with a toothpick. “Every Tuesday night a truck goes through to Tauranga and filches a hut from their scheme over there, but this is the first one that’s arrived here. Somebody pinched the last two as the truck went through Te Puke each time.”

It was solely through these wild rumours which were rife in the Metropolis that the Beacon decided to publish the actual facts accounting for the presence of -.the little ’ut. Ever of service to the community, the Beacon has once again stepped to the fore. And meanwhile, what /'are the supporters of Labour doing to combat this secret weapon shortly to be unleashed by the National Party (not to be confused with Birthday Party). We have been keeping a steady watch on the cabin and report the following incidents:— Monday: 1 a.m. A strange figure in false whiskers and spectacles with Labour Party badge clipped to braces arrived on scene, peered through window, then chalked ‘Vote Labour’ on the wall. 1.5 a.m. An irate Nationalist jumped out of his limousine and erased writing on wall. 3 a.m. Two passing Labourites (undoubtedly) flung stones on roof. Tuesday: 11 p.m. A strange figure (masked) borrowed our only box of matches, tried unsuccessfully to set fire to cabin, and went away without returning matches.

1 a.m. Strange figure (masked) came back and returned matches. (Very decent). 1.30 a.m. Drunk planted two bottles of beer under cabin. 1.35 a.m. Police removed bottles. 1.40 a.m. Drunk returned. Very wrath. Punched watcher on nose and departed. 2 a.m. Unidentified figure reciting ‘The British Working Man’ to himself approached, dug small hole under building and planted timebomb. Departed whistling ‘We Are Boys Of Old Brigade.'

2.30 a.m. Went home.

Friday has arrived. The bomb has not yet exploded. It is probably set for election day. But in the meantime, the members of the National Party are proceeding apace with their campaign, and in a short time, with the ’elp of their little ’ut will undoubtedly be winning votes right and left. FLASH: A final bulletin declares that in a last minute appeal for votes, local members of the Party will re-enact portions from the heart-tugging drama ‘Uncle Tom’s Cabin,’ using their headquarters as a natural setting. Labour supporters only are asked to attend the opening performance. In this manner, it is hoped that no National supporters will be lost. But this cabin may figure more prominently even yet. Who knows? (We do; we know everything).