THE POTATO PATCH.

Franklin Times, Volume 9, Issue 713, 10 March 1922, Page 5

THE POTATO PATCH.

PARK PATROLMAN PATTERSON.

At a recent meeting of the Borough Council, Councillor Patterson stated that “he had. frequently heard voices in the Roulston ..Park quite late at night.” To think of that! What are affairs coming to ? Should this sort of thing continue, we may expect, one of these evenings, to see Pukekohe Hill belch forth brimstone and fire and reduce Pukekohe to the condition of the Cities of -the Plain. Let the civic hoof be put down on these goings on. If any rural swain wishes ‘To sport with Amaryllis in the shade” he must learn that Roulston Park is not the sort of place to do it in. The question is how are we going to prevent it ? May I suggest, in order to keep back Strephon and Amaryllis from forcing an entrance, that we place at the park gates each evening, Councillor Patterson armed with a flaming sword. If the Borough finances won’t run a flaming sword, we might buy him a water pistol. I would warn the Councillor:, however, not to squirt the rustic lovers too violently otherwise he may cause Amaryllis to run like flamingoes andi peacocks in her cretonne and thus provoke Strephon to plant a bucolic fist in the aldermanic eye. AND BURNS. Zealously protective of his patron Saint —I mean, —poet, my dear old friend “A Scot,” writing “more in sorrow than in anger,” directs, in a late number of “The Times,” a diatribe against my critical faculty. I feel almost ashamed to mention the matter again, but will do so briefly, albeit a little wearily!. With regard to Burns, ithe position I took (and take) up may be summarised as follows:—•

1. I tell of a small-boyish “howler,, re the poet’s “immortality.”

2. Said “howler” would have been just as funny, if not more so, had it concerned St* Columbia, Dr Watts, John Knox, or any other celebrity whose life is popularly supposed to have been even more immaculate than that of Burns. 3. As the “howler” however referred to Scotland’s Brad, “A Scot” conceived ithe idea that it, “per se” reflected upon—er —shall we say—an attitude of life taken up 'by the poet.

4. The story did not necessarily do this, neither was it intended in any way as criticism, but “A Scot’’ knowing the Bard’s career so well impetuously read such into the anecdote and forced me, in defence, to mention certain ftraits of the poet as evidence by his own works and as recorded by his biographers. This is 4 I submit, a concise and judicial survey of the whole matter, and I contend that I leave the court “without a stain on my character,” and I think that a majority—a large majority —of those who peruse this Pat'ch/Nvill bear me out in my contention.

“GOOD-BYE, SCOTTY, I MUST LEAVE YOU!”

I am glad, however, .that “A Scot” and I have had this little controversy, if only on account of it having given me a new view point of the Caledonian mindt It is a matter of regret, however, that he considers it impossible to journeys further with me. His verdict has been given and I am sentenced to plough a lonely furrow without his genial company. Well, I must bear up against it as well as I am able. There is always the refreshing “dew’ ’ of “the low r er atmosphere” to fortify one on one’s journey, and it has the advantage of being recommended by “A Scot,”’ although one would have thought that a writer of his nationality would be much more partial to that distilled on the higher levels land euphemistically known as “mountain dew.” A NEW YEAR RESOLUTION. Having decided this Patch to be nothing but a Slough, my friend Mr Pliable (alias “A Scot”) proceeds therefore no further with me., Finding, at the outset of the journey, something which disagrees with him (or with which he cannot agree) he determines to return from whence he came. “And thus much concerning Pliable.” Resolved: That not on any pretext will the ghost of the late lamented Mr Burns be allowed to walk my Patch again this year .1 leave him at rest among his Rashes— I mean his ashes, and I will not resurrect him though a whole regiment of Scots beset me with dirks and Claymores. Meanwhile that statue still smiles blandly in the Auckland Domain, and in dour Dunedin another image of the Bard sPs in a characteristic attitude - face towards the pub!', and back turned to the kirk. A grave, in far Dumfries, holds the mortal clay, which were it articulate might exclaim :

Deep in the yellow earth what should I fear, Sour hate and shallow mirth cannot

come nere. Sugar no epitaph—fashion no ihyme I lived to love —and laugh—once on a time.

“DIGGER.”