THE COMMON ROUND

Otago Daily Times, Issue 24424, 9 October 1940, Page 2

THE COMMON ROUND

By Wayfarer

Our helpful correspondents have tills week been rallying around to assist old “ Wafe ” in the compilation of a column to suii all tastes, ages and varieties, passed by the censor as fit for universal exhibition. In the mood of the poets is a trifle from the Canadian press which is inspired by the 8.8. C. service; “ London is calling.” When London calls On the waiting world a silence falls; From Behring Sea to Magellan Strait, From Tokio, west to the Golden Gate. White man, black man, yellow man, brown. Sit listening in to London town. They may love that voice, they may i'ear or hate, But they know ner words are the words of fate. The voice of London is not, of course, that nicely-trimmed and exoticallyaccented voice which we hear from Daventry or O'.herwhere-in-England. The voice of London is deeper and warmer, older and more vigorous than that, just as the voice of Big Ben, which many feel is indeed the embodied spirit of London, is more profound and more thrilling when you stand in the shadows round Westminster to hear it than the reproduction of Big Ben’s chimes which we have over the air. But none can doubt that, whether Ox-ford-accented or canned, these shortwave messages that come to us are the echoes from a great and vita! unit in the world’s forces.

Then, with a glance backward into the time when another great war held our hopes and attention, we print a squib from a favourite collector of bits and pieces. This is copied from a postcard sent to New Zealand a quarter century ago by an Anzac in Flanders, and still not noticeably dated:

A QUIET GAME OF NAP “ I’ll go one,” said Austria, “ I'll go two,” ;said France. “ I’ll go three," said Russia, ” Now I’ve got the chance,” “ I'll go four,” said Germany,, "And wipe you off the map." But they all dropped dead When Britannia said, " Gor bnme, I'll go nap!" In this international game that transfixes our interest to-day a gambler’s chances have to be taken, but as in most chancy enterprises the man with the greatest resources usually comes out on top.

And talking of helpful correspondents, we welcome with especial enthusiasm one who solicits our assistance. in finding out the salary of the man next door: Dear “ Wayfarer,”—-A statement in your column last week suggesting that people’s incomes can be simply calculated, provided the amount they pay in tax is given, is puzzling me. May I test the mathematical genius of the member's cf the public referred to in your column by putting this simple question: Tax paid February, 1940 (including 15 per cent, war tax) was £l2' 10s sd. What was the taxpayer’s income for the year ended March 31, 1939? If they can answer this question correctly, without a great deal of other information being furnished, their formula would make a very* valuable contribution to a public accountant’s notes, and probably enable him to adopt “short cuts” in: checking up the assessments now being issued, and particularly where the basic rate i? calculated out to six decimal figures by the department’s officials. I’ll await your reply with interest.

Enquirer. Scarcely anything could be simpler. But our correspondent has omitted one important piece of information which Mr Nash threatened to make available in the Gazette—the name of the taxpayer. However, our genius for solving problems in elementary mathematics laughs at such trifles. We shall give him a name. Let 1 it be John William- Arnesby Williams-Gardenia.’

This Mr Williams-Gardenia whose private life we propose to lay bare is a poulterer—either a poulterer or a repairer of damaged big-ends in motor lorries, we forget which at the moment. He is aged 36, or possibly 54yrs 3mos, and bigamously married to a woman with blonde hair and occasional black eyes. He ihas innumerable children. In respect of each of these he claims £SO exemption, and being a prudent man he has insured heavily both his life and hi? wife; but he does not claim exemption for this. Owing to a shortage of poults or big-ends, whichever it is, his business suffered heavy losses last year, but he still managed to earn a fair living. His income, taking into account some £373 which he failed to declare, was £869 11s 10.00639 d. After making due deductions in respect of his wives, children’, and loss of poults, he was assessed for income tax for the year ended March 31, 1939, at £l2 10s Bd. If our inquirer wants more detailed information than this, we advise him to consult a private detective —or an accountant!

New Zealand has welcomed as Governor-General a number of good soldiers, and one very famous saner. The soldiers came in the piping days of peace, or were old soldiers; the sailor had his glories behind him. Now a great airman is to take his place in an interesting succession. This is ;in keeping with the age, for the R.A.F. is led only in seniority by the two other fighting arms. But more striking in this appointment is Sir Cyril Newall's immediate association with that force which to-day is guarding Great Britain’s shores. He, more than any other man, is responsible for the organisation which has made the Battle of Britain a Nazi nightmare instead of a Nazi dream come true. He comes to New Zealand direct from the front line, still youthful, still with his vast experience of flying and air warfare fresh in his mind. Our own stripling but lusty air forces will welcome him for more than his charm of manner. A precedent is made in this appointment which twice adorns the viceregal office.

What Dr Spooner started when his speech slipped in the presence of undergraduates is something that would make the angels weep or, laugh, according to their temperaments and their respect for English undefiled. We, who are nonangelical, could not resist that specimen recently transfixed in a tramcar dialogue by a long-eared reporter: “ I consider.” said the oracle. “ that the bucking of Bombingham Palace. ...” We can dare to express both a hope and a fear that this will revive a pleasant diversion for war-worn brain-pans. As a contribution we suggest to that fertile fraternity, anonymous but joyous, which originates such catch-phrases, the possibilities for spoonerising the Axis partners. “As Mutler said to Hissolini . . or, “I see that Hitler is meeting Bussolini at the Menner Pass or, “ Hanco is still playing coy with Fitter or ~.. . However, this is a seriously intentipned column, unversed in such frivolities. Let those born with a silver spoonerisms in their mouths produce them.