THE "GOOD ENDEAVOUR" LEAGUE

Bay of Plenty Beacon, Volume 10, Issue 59, 6 December 1946, Page 6

THE "GOOD ENDEAVOUR" LEAGUE

What ho, what ho, ma hearties. Well, I certainly had a tough week last week with the election. You wouldn’t think it would effect me I suppose, but you would be surprised at what I have had to put up with. First Mr Sullivan came over and persuaded me to vote National. Then Mr Boord came over and delivered me an address and persuaded me to vote Labour. Then the Editor came over and in the end I decided to vote for him. But that wasn’t all! After they had all had their turn, Butch took up the cudgets, and spent Monday night, Tuesday, Tuesday night, and half of Wednesday, trying to get me to vote for him. It was all so confusing that I didn’t know what to do at all. Finally when the man came over with the voting papers, I crossed out all the names and put in my own, so don’t be surprised if you hear of me in Parliament before long sailors. Butch claims that everybody is all wrong. He says that if he could only be elected, he would set everything right. The first thing he would do would be to declare free speech for parrots, and a weekly issue of candy also. When I told him that he didn’t even get a vote, let alone have anybody vote for him, he was very indignant. He kept drawing attention to his age (he is 77 next July) and stating that he probably knew all about everything far better than anyone euse. (Actually Butch is nearly 77 years old, but as parrots go, he is still quite young). Well sailors, the election, as I say, has worn me out, and I am still recuperating. I think I will write the rest of the column, and then have forty winks. Cheerio for this week. P.T.W. LAST WEEK S COMPETITION What with the page not being printed, or being printed too late, we seem to have become all mixed up in our competitions. However, I have one ticket to award this week, and that goes to Jean Tressider. Congratulations lassie, you may collect it from the Beacon Office. This ticket, by the way, was for the Best Jokes competition. NEXT WEEK S COMPETITION NAME QUIZ 1. Name a book written by the late H. G. Wells. 2. Name a river beginning with ‘M’. 3. Name a New Zealand harbour beginning with ‘W’. 4. Name the present Prime Minister of England. 5. Name the battle where Napoleon was defeated. 6. Name a State in the U.S.A. beginning with ‘T’. 7. Name the make of a motor car beginning with ‘F\ 8. Name the house in which an Eskimo lives. 9. Name the ocean surrounding the South Pole. 10. Name the man who first realised the possibilities of steam power. There you are sailors, and I think it’s stiffer than any other one we’ve had. Actually it’s only the questions which are hard;, the answers are quite easy. Well, see how many you can solve. P.T.W.

JOKES Sergeant: “What’s the first thing to do before cleaning your rifle?” Recruit: “Have a look at the number.” Sergeant: “Have a look at the number! What for?” Recruit: “To make sure your not cleaning another bloke’s rifle.” $ $ # * Well! Well! Old Lady: “Where did those large rocks come from?” Tired Guide: “They were bought down by the glaciers.” Old Lady: “But where are the glaciers?” Tired Guide: “They’ve gone back for more rocks.” * * # V So Silly Customer: “Three mousetraps please.” Shopkeeper: “Yes. Will you take them with you?” Customer: “Of course. Do you expect me to send the mice to the shop?”

FOR YOUNG READERS ONLY

Aboard for the Goodwill Cruise

- PETER THE. WHALER - 0/WHALE .ISLAND

Making It Clear

Customer (to busy, waiter) : “You’re rather smart, aren’t you, in clearing the table before customers leave?”

Waiter:- “Orders, Sir. So many people seem to look upon spoons and forks as medicines—to be taken after meals.” Four points—J. Wylde. * * # # Father: “Son, fetch the old horse.” Son: “Why the old one father?” Father: “My motto is Wear out the old things first’.” Son: “Then you fetch the horse, father.” * * * * Keeper to Boss: “There was a man nosing round the goat trough a while ago Sir.” Boss: “Did you throw him out?” Keeper: “Oh, no, Sir, the goat saw to that.” Jean Tressider.

HE WON’T DO IT AGAIN Rover had a habit of visiting certain houses, where folk would give him tit-bits to eat. These snacks seemed much sweeter than the food, he got at home. Rover was a beautiful creature, a brown spaniel, with a shaggy coat as soft as silk. Twice weekly, on Tuesdays and Saturdays, Rover called so regularly that we might have set our clocks by his visits. He made himself at home, and mother, who was generally frightened of dogs, became very fond of him. Of course that meant some lovely snacks for Rover and he was such a well-behaved dog that what I’m about to relate seems almost unbelievable. One Saturday, mother, attending to the preparation of dinner, was busy in the living-room arranging the table. Rover, prompt to time, pushed the door open with his nose and entered the kitchen. He sniffed at the succulent smell of a roast which mother had just taken from the oven and placed on the table. Rover looked round, then—would you believe it? —raised himself and leaned against the table with his front paws and with a furtive look, gently lifted the meat from the dish. Fie did not rush out of the door with it; oh, no! When mother came through to the kitchen to cut up the roast for the table, he was calmly squatted on the rug, already'half through the joint. Mother shrieked, “Oh, you bad dog!” Rover, sensing something wrong, slunk out of the door with his tail and head drooping ever so low. But Tuesday came, and Rover presented himself as usual for his bi-weekly tit-bit. Mother was prepared for him. “Go away you bad dog!” she said. Rover lifted his lovely eyes as though to say, “What’s it all about?” but, seeing her angry look, he sadly slunk away. So for several weeks Rover was kept outside the door; but still he paid his visits on Tuesdays and Saturdays, only to be turned away. Then, one happy day, his perseverance was rewarded; mother, on the pleas of the rest of the family, decided to forgive Rover, and allow him to come in. You can imagine his joy, when she said, “Come along, Rover!” In he came, with dancing eyes, and his tail wagging vigorously, jumping with sheer delight, frisking about till he had contacted every member of the family, and was once more established in favour.

A DANGEROUS HABIT The fault-finding habit is a bad one. It is easily acquired and not readily broken. We live in an imperfect world. Everything is flawed and defective. Institutions all blunder and fall short of the ideal. Persons are all erring creatures, and their faults give us offence, but one should not pay too much attention to the faults of others or to the defects of the world in which he lives. He may become a chronic faultfinder, and in that case he will become grumbler. If he is not careful, he will degenerate into a growler. If he growls long enough, he will become a cynic, of no account either to himself or to anyone else. He is a nuisance and a stumbling block.