BIG BROTHER BILL and the BAIRNS

Evening Star, Issue 22448, 19 September 1936, Page 6

BIG BROTHER BILL and the BAIRNS

NOT FOR OURSELVES ALONE Winners of competitions published August 22, are:—Tinder 10; Marjory Jones (no address), (sever, eve, several, Vera, ever, rally, all, ally. Over 10: Harry Johnson, 6 Scott street, St. Hilda", Dunedin 5.2. (George ArHss, Warner Baxter, John Boles, Ronald Colman, Jackie Cooper, Joan Crawford, Clark Gable, Greta Garbo, Lilian Harvey, Jack Hulbcrt, Ramon Novarro). Congratulations. THE COMPETITIONS Big Brother Bill has a now kind of competition this week, which he hopes all will try. You know the parlour game called “ Putting the tail on the donkey?” Well, here is a puzzle that can. bo called “ GIVING THE ANIMAL AN EYE.” Follow the directions and send your attempts to Big Brother Bill .c/o the ‘ Evening Star r newspaper, Stuart street, Dunedin. ‘Mark your envelopes “ Competition.” " PUTTING THE ELEPHANT’S EYE IN THE RIGHT PLACE. (Under, 10 years: Prize one shilling.) Can you put the elephant’s eye in the right place? The bairn doing it the best will' receive the prize.

PUTTING THE RHINOCEROS’S . EYE IN THE RIGHT PLACE. (Over 10 years: Prize one shilling and ’ ‘ sixpence.) Here is the head of a rhinoceros, which, as you know, belongs to the pig tribe. Can you put its eye in the right place? There is a prize for the one. who does it the best.

A PUCE FOR BIRD LOVERS If you wish to join the Bird Lovers’ Club, fill in the printed pledge, and send it, together with a shilling postal note or stamps, to Big Brother Bill, care ‘ Evening Star,’ Stuart street, Dunedin, C.l. Mark the envelope “ Bird Club.” PLEDGE. —“ I promise to care for wild birds, especially New Zealand native birds, to feed them in winter and to protect them at all times. I promise also „to protect our native trees and bush, and at no time to assist in their damage or destruction, since they are the natural homo of our native birds.” NAME ; Full Postal address PARERA—THE GREY DUCK’S STORY. (Continued.) Wo have been inhabiting a small bush-environed lagoon. At night we left to feast in our accustomed swamp. Before dawn we left for homo, and after our usual mad flight round the water we swished down. Hullo 1 There are other ducks on the water. Wo were not to know they wore decoys. A thousand ripples broke the water as we alighted. Quack! Quack! Life was indeed pleasant. Then suddenly from the bush around us leapt livid streaks of flame. How those “sportsmen” did shoot! Wo were up and away in a twinkling—of course, we grey ducks were ever quick

off the water, and it doesn’t pay'to linger, yet a dozen or more of our number lay limp upon the water. For ap hour ,we flew high and far, heading for, a great lake of which we knew. Flocks of ducks upon the water enticed ns downward—we even heard them quacking. Just as we alighted, the guns started again. Go where we would, we could not escape the guns on that fatal day. On lake and lagoon, marsh, bushfringed river, willow-banked pond, and scrub-choked creek they waited for us, their fierce dogs driving us from the friendly shelter, where, with wildlybeating wings, and striving for altitude, we were shot down ; unless wounded, we grey ducks seldom dive to escape the guns. The days that follow are bad, but pleasant in comparison with the dreaded ‘‘ first.” For then everyone who can handle a gun, indeed many who can’t, go out for a shot. A long term of protection would be a tremendous help to us. Still, your true sportsman—who, by the way, does not fire into our ranks when we are close-packed on the water —knows that unless vigilant watch is kept, unscrupulous people would hunt us just the same. We da not mind the sportsmen so much. He hunts us fairly and does not shoot us when we refuse to 1 leave our helpless young at his mercy. Yes, we grey ducks have a pretty lively time of it,one way and another; but wo do not mind if we are given a fair chance for our lives. Once we know that the hated shooting season is over, don’t we enjoy ourselves! For then we are free to come and go as we please. We will fly right past you humans and never wink an eye. True, there is always some one with a gun ready to shoot us if he gets the chance. We, however, are prepared to risk that. Indeed, all we ask for is—fair play! THE POSTIE’S BAC Beaumont, September 8, 1936. Dear Big Brother Bill, —I have not written to you for a long time, so I think I will now. I like hearing about the Bird Lovers’ Club. During the recent snowstorm 1 ■ put out some food for the birds, and dozens came around. Waxeyes, sparrows, thrushes, blackbirds, pipits, and a pair of grey warblers came to feed. I have a lovely collection of birds’ eggs, but I save only two of each type. Among the most precious are Dottrels, riflemans, pied stilts, sparrowhawks, and fantails. A friend of mine says there _ are such birds as bullfinches. He pointed them out to me, and they were like greybreasted “chaffies.” Their nests were more roughly built, and their eggs about twice as big as chaffinches, with the same coloration. Do you know if these birds are bullfinches or just freak “ chaffies ”? The brightest egg in my collection is the grey warbler’s, with its pink spots. The fantail’s have cream and yellow spots, and the tomtit’s purplish brown. Dottrels’ eggs are greeny-brown, with dark splotches, and rifleman’s are pure white and very small. Red-poll’s eggs are also small, and vary in colour, most being groen-ish-grey, with dark red spots. Greenfinches’ eggs are seldom twice alike, some are covered in spots, some are bare, some are bluey, some are grey, and so on. Waxeyes’ eggs are long, narrow ovals of a delicate blue tinge. Sparrowhawks’ eggs are a splotched red, and are about as big as brown hawks’, which are white. Pigeons’ eggs are narrow, and smaller than hawks, white. Budgerigars’ eggs are also white. Grey ducks’ eggs are greenish, and seagulls’ are big, brown, and splotched. I have found only one nest of eggs this year—a blackbird’s! Everybody, I hope, knows all about .thrushes’, sparrows’, etc. What are bellbirds’ eggs like, please?—John Child. [Thank you for your letter, John Child. What an interesting collection of eggs you must have. Brother Bill is glad to note that you do not destroy the nest, or take more than two eggs. He is sending you a coloured picture of the more common birds’ eggs that will answer your questions. Your name is in the Honour Square because of the interesting letter that you wrote. Write to Brother Bill and say how you like the egg pictures.] Clinton, South Otago. Dear Big Brother Bill, —I am writing to tell you about my holidays. I spent a week of my holidays in Dunedin, and I saw some beautiful sights. On Sunday it did rain, did it not? Outside the window I could see a forlorn grey sky, which I think made everyone unhappy. The rain patters loudly and more quickly on the loof, and each blade of grass springs up as a sparkling drop of water falls from the end of the blade on to the ground. Then the rain drops from the branches of trees on to the ground far below, where a little pool is formed. Then on Friday it bqgan to snow. Oh, how I love the snow! The trees were half bare till the snow “ painted ” their branches with feathery flakes. The roofs of houses were white instead of red. But how funny one feels with snow on one’s coat; it seems as though one is pulling a ton truck of coal along. It is the fun that children like, and with snow they can have it. I, being a child, enjoy it very much. Well, Big Brother Bill, I hope I have not written too much, have I? Cheerio. Kindest regards to all the bairns and yourself.—l am, yours truly, Ettie Hansen. [Thank you for your letter, Ettie Hansen. Your name is in the honour square for neat writing. Snow is very much nicer than rain, of course, especially when it melts away quickly without leaving all that nasty slush that finds the small holes in everybody’s footwear. Dili you make a snow man ? Lots of the bairns had good fun doing this, and snowballing, too. Brother Bill agrees with you about the loveliness of the snow. You must be an observant person to notice all those things about the rain. They are all true, too. Write again soon.]

36 Queen’s Drive, Musselburgh, , • Dunedin, S.ih September S, J93G. ; Dear Brother Bill, —As it is a long time since 1 lust wrote to yon, I thought I would write now. When my sister came home from her holidays she brought with her . a. budgerigar, which was little more than a month old. When it arrived home we began to teach it to talk, and it can now say, “ Pretty Joey. Joey, Joey, Joey. "Hullo, Joey, Goodnight, Joey. Goodmorning, Joey.” ft would be a prize bird if it did not lose its tail feathers every time it grew them. It is mostly green in colour, but has some black feathers with yellow on the tips, while some of its head is yellow. My uncle breeds them, and he has won several prizes in different shows. I went to your community sing, which I enjoyed very much. I am sending in some riddles, \ours truly, Yvonne Stcmpa. [Thank you for your letter, Yvonne gtexnpa Brother Bill will be very pleased if, next time, you write on one side of the paper only. Budgerigars are lovely birds both to look at and listen to. Strangely, Brother Bill had just been hearing, before he read

your letter, that a budgerigar, which is kept alone, will learn to talk better oven than a parrot; Thank you for the riddles, Yvonne. They will bo very useful. Write again soon.] 1 Mardale street, Roslyn, Dunedin, N.W. 2. August 15, 193 G. Dear Big Brother Bill, —May I join your happy family? I am in Standard IV. at St. Mary’s Convent. lam entering for this week’s competition for the over-tens, and I am enclosing it in this note. We have a dog, which we named Paddy. We have a cat and two canaries. Puss often looks at them with longing eyes, but he never touches them. Well, I will close now, as it is getting near bed time.—l remain, yours sincerely, Margaret Jenkins. [Thank you for your letter, Margaret Jenkins. Brother Bill is glad to welcome you to the family. It would be a good idea to teach Paddy to act as policeman to Puss about the canaries. Brother Bill has a half-grown Tom named Digger, and he would be pleased to make close acquaintance with Goldie, the canary. But he receives a smart tap on the nose when his hunger brings him too close to the cage. Now he is content to sit on the window sill and watch Goldie hanging in the window. Write again soon.] 57 Royal Terrace, Dunedin C2, September 13, 1930. Dear Big Brother Bill, —How are you? I am entering for this week’s competition for the over-tens. Each morning wo put crumbs out for the birds, and when a blackbird comes the small birds fly away. Hoping you are quite well, —I remain, yours truly, Ron White. [Thank you for your small letter, Ron White. Brother Bill is quite well, thank you, and hopes that you arc the same. Did you know that the blackbird is the alarm clock for all the birds? He gives the alarm when it is time to watch out for enemies. But the thrush is really the most trustworthy bud.

The blackbird will shout because of anything, but the thrush only gives the alarm when real danger comes near. Writ© again soon.] 18 Richmond street, South Dunedin, S.W.T, September 7, 1930. Dear Big Brother Bill,—l have not written to you for a long time. I enjoy your Sunday talk and reading your columns in the ‘ Evening Star ’ every Saturday. I am a member of the Bird Lovers’ "Club, and enjoy reading the forest and bird books. Wc have had a very nice holiday from schoool, and certainly enjoyed the play in the snow on Friday. How did you like the snow, Big Brother Bill? I will close now, with love to all tho uncles and aunts, not forgetting yourself,—From Pressly Peterson. [Thank you for your letter, Pressly Peterson. Brother Bill is glad to know that you like the column. Of course, Brother Bill enjoyed the snow. It was not very nice to walk about in, to be sure, but it was great fun for everybody. He is glad to know also that you enjoyed the holidays, it is a ease now of'full speed abend for the final school examinations, and then Christmas, with lots of good cheer for everybody. Write again soon.[

THE HONOUR SQUARE

John Child, Beaumont, is awarded five marks for an interesting letter. Ettie Hansen, Clinton, South Otago, is awarded five marks for neat writing.

A STITCH IN TIME Brightly coloured tepees of the Checkowav Indians dotted the rolling plains of the West. To the rear of the encampment loomed a great forest,

which served as a hunting grdund for the stalwart warriors of Red Dove, the chieftain. The Indians were restless, for each day the swarthy guard brought the same disturbing news that palefaces and their strange moving things were invading their territory to such an extent that they had pitched their camp at the entrance of the forest.

Red Dove’s eyes smouldered with fiery hate. How dare these unknown people claim the lands of his forefathers, which had been theirs so long? Yes, and they would shoot the game in his forest—his game. All these angry thoughts filled the irate chief’s mind, till he decided that these intruders should bo killed, wiped out completely. That evening just as tho first star twinkled on night’s velvet cloak, Red Dove and his followers had an earnest discussion about tho affair. At last it was pronounced that it should he a midnight attack and tho unwary white folk would be slaughtered in their slumber. While the Indians talked the settlers on the other side of the forest were preparing for sleep. A sentinel was placed in front of the camp to give the warning should anything happen No Indians had been seen all day, so there no worry on that account. Buck Grey, one of the party, noticed that the wheel on his wagon was loose, and knew if it broke down it would cause some trouble, especially if pursued by redskins. He felt tired, and consoled himself, saying he would rise early in the morning and attend to it, and, with that in his mind, retired. Buck Grey sat up with a start, it must be about midnight. Funny ho should wako up like this. Those thoughts flowed through his mind and lie decided he would go for a stroll and he would have a go at that wheel. Buck jumped from tho wagon, procured his tools, and proceeded to mend the hindrance. When he had finished he looked up and chuckled softly to himself. M’Ginty is having a quiet old snooze. A lot of good ho is for a sentinel. 1 don’t think! \Vaitl

Was that something moving in the bushes nearby? Yes, there was more of them. Those perky Indians were coing to give a night attack. Quickly he gave the alarm, and the fight began in grim earnest. Thick and fast the arrows fell, returned by a bail of bullets issuing from the rifles held m tho firm grip of the hardy pioneers. Buck, kneeling by tho wagons, paused to thank his lucky stars he had got up and mended the wheel. All at once that old proverb came to mm, “ A stitch in time saves nine.” Mine lives and more! How true the old saying had turned out to be. CHARIOT OR SHIP ? Legends of the sun are perhaps the most numerous and imaginative of ail stories in ancient mythology. Of course, sun worship was universal among tne ancients, and this brought in its tram a wealth of picturesque lore. We find sun gods throughout mythology. Sometimes these were very complicated beings, as in Indian mythology, where different aspects and powers or the sun were represented by various gods, particularly Brahma, Indra, and Vishnu; they were always very powerful, like the great Egyptian, Ra and very often the sun god was the handsomest and most attractive of all gods, like the Greek Apollo. The sun’s course, to ancient Greeks, meant that Apollo was driving Jus golden chariot across the skies, a very picturesque idea, which has given us one of the most picturesque legends—the story of Apollo’s son, Phaeton. Apollo once promised to grant Phaeton any boon he chose to crave, and Phaeton asked to drive the sun chariot. Apollo was. aghast, for he knew- that no one but himself could control the fiery steeds in their mad course, but he had promised, so he could not refuse, and Phaeton set out in high glee.

But in no time the horses were completely out of his control. They swooped downwards, leaving blazing rum m their trail, then they rose so tar upwards that the people on earth began freezing to death. Further disaster must have followed swiftly, but Jupitei, beholding the panic on earth, saw that the sun chariot was off its course, and hurled a thunderbolt, killing the young driver. This story was supposed to account for Africa’s vast dc - 's and the Ethiopians blackness —for neither the land nor the people’s skins could over recover from the havoc of Phaeton’s mad drive. The idea that the sun’s course was that of a chariot was widespread, but it had variations, particularly the idea of a ship sailing across an ocean. We find this in J ewisli legend, also in Egyptian, where the sun was Ha’s sailing ship. The rising and setting of the sun had varied picturesque explanatioi •, too. From Indian mythology comes a story that the sun god retired regularly with a fit of sulks into a cave, from which he was presently coaxed forth; also the idea that the darkness of night was caused by the sun god wrapping himself in a blanket for his night’s sleep. Another belief, widespread in countries where the sun set in the sea, was that a monster from the sea devoured the sun each night, but it rose immortal the next day, just as the immortal bird, the phoenix, was said to rise from its own ashes after it had been burnt. Various legends became associated with the rising and setting of the sun, one of them the legend of Sisyphus, a mythical King of Corinth. As a punishment for his wickedness Sisyphus was condemned to roll a great stone to the top of a hill, but as soon as he got it to the top it would promptly- roll •down again. This story was incorporated in sun lore, the stone reaching the summit, then go in" down again, representing sunrise and sunset. It would be an endless task to collect all the beliefs and legends surrounding the sun, but it is not to be wondered at that the ancients worshipped that golden glowing disc in tlio sky. It, indeed, seems to have the powers of a mighty god, its presence bestowing the blessings, of warmth and light, and its absence plunging the world into cold darkness.

MISS SALLY LUNN Have you ever realised that the good things you eat at tea-time have a tale to tell? Cakes and crumpets, muffins and mince pies, buns and biscuits, all haye their place in history or legend. Here are some of the queer things you can find out about them. Which is tho only biscuit that really is a biscuit ? A cracknel—it is the only one that is twice baked; that is bis coctum in Latin, from which the name comes. Have you heard about Miss Sally Lunn ? There really was a Sally Lunn ; she sold buns in Bath in the eighteenth century, and they were such good buns that somebody made up a song about her and named the buns after her. Why do we like mince pies? _ The spices and dried fruit in a mince pie appeal to our appetite because for our ancestors they had to take the place of green vegetables in the winter, and so they were eaten by everybody the whole winter through. What was rose-petal pastry? Instead of using ordinary water people used to make pastry with rose' water distilled from crushed rose petals. How old is a bun ? Those you oat are fresh from the baker’s, but some buns that have been made would be very stale by now, for they' were made in the time of the Ancient Greeks. Greeks, Romans, Saxons, and even the old-time races of Mexico and Peru made buns with crosses on top, just like our hotcross buns. “TOM, THE PIPER’S SOK” Young Thomas was the piper’s son, He could not pipe, but he could run 1 According to the tale, one day He stole a pig and ran away. No wonder, though, he made all haste, Tom, by the butcher boy, was chased. The dogs, too, all ran after him; His fate, when caught, was sad and grim. For we are told that he got beat, And then ran howling down the street; So if your name is Tom, or Joe, Or anything, don’t steal, you know. For it is certain if you do It is a thing that you will rue. Remember Tom, the Piper’s son, And buy your pig—or go with none. WEATHER FLOWER * f "Will this week-end be fine?” Here’s how you can make a flower that will answer your weather questions. You will need some white blotting paper, wire, green tissue paper, and a solution of cobalt, gum, and salt, which you can got from a chemist. Cut the blotting paper into three circles, three, two and a-half, and two inches I across. Then cut each circle to form a layer of (petals,.

Soak these in the solution and hang up to dry where they cannot stain anything. When dry, thread the layers on to the wire, making a little loop at one end of it, so that it doe§ not pull through the paper. Cover the wire with the green tissue paper and add some leaves, if you place this flower in a pot, the petals will turn purple when the weather is unsettled, blue when it is going to be dry, and pink when it is going to rain. TOHY ALTERS HIS TUNE A GOOD-HIGH! TALE Here it was at last! Joyce excitedly seized a box that had arrived from the dressmaker’s and pulled off the lid. Her eyes sparkled as they fell on the bHe silk frock among the folds of tissue paper. “Oh, isn’t it lovely!” she cried. Her brother Tony peered over her shoulder to see what she was so excited about. “ Are you going to wear that thing? ” he asked, disdain in his voice. Ho was used to seeing' his sister in plain frocks, the kind in which she could climb trees and join in games without worrying about spots. Joyce usually hated wearing her best clothes as much as 1m did; now here she was getting excited about this “ blue thing.” If it had been a hamper Tony might have understood! Girls were funny creatures! But this was a bridesmaid’s frock, and as Joyce had never been a bridesmaid before she felt it was an important event. At last the great day came, and Joyce, dressed in her pretty blue frock, set out for the. wedding in the car that had been sent for her. “ Glad I’m not coming,” Tony called through the window. “ You couldn’t do anything in a stuck-up frock like that except sit still!” Joyce took his teasing with her usual, smile, but it made her feel a little sad. Perhaps Tony wouldn’t want her to join in his games now; he’d think she was growing into something he didn’t want. . , The car was passing along a road by the side of a canal, and suddenly Joyce heard a shriek. A little girl had fallen into the water, •‘Stop!” cried Joyce, frantically hammering on the glass window of the car. ' , The chauffeur pulled the car up with a jerk. Joyce flew out and dashed down the steep bank; then, without a moment’s hesitation, she plunged into the water. • A few strong strokes and she had reached the struggling child. And at last, after a great effort, she managed to reach the bank. Some children who had been watching in terror now stretched out willing hands to help, and Joyce scrambled out with her burden. Not until she had given the children instructions to put tWir little sister into a warm bed did Joyce remember about the wedding and her pretty new frock. “ I can’t go in this! she gasped. “ I do look a sight! ’ Luckily there was time for her to go home and change her clothes; and as she was running out of the house again in her next best frock Tony met her. He gazed at her with admiring eyes. “I’ve heard all about it, Joyce!” ho exclaimed. “ I’m jolly proud of you I ” Praise indeed! Joyce felt so happy she wanted to hug somebody. !