THE NATIONAL

Sun (Auckland), Volume I, Issue 128, 20 August 1927, Page 11

THE NATIONAL

Witji your kind permission, 1 will digress from boxing-lore. Missing the Grand National enabled me to meet a philosopher-ex-tnordinary, and, therefore, although I bad been “tipped” several different sure-winners of the main event. I now consider that the day was not entirely a loss. As I was going home at lunch-time, a mildly-astonished individual overtook me. As he came abreast, he for some obscure reason, for he w as quite a stranger, chose to confide to me the following particulars of his grievances, and of their offsetting compensations. His quaint philosophies having dispelled whatever gloom that there and then might have prevailed, shall be written here, and I trust that they may lighten also, the burdens of others. Abruptly he accosted me: “What do you think of that damned parson?” he demanded in jovial perplexity. My highly-favourable opinion of the clergy in general seemed, however, neither .relevant nor necessary, for without awaiting a reply, he launched this broadside: “I goes down to the Labour buroo, and what do I find? That the Reverend La-de-dah has commandeered a half o’ me blinkin’ wages—that’s what! ‘How could he do it?’ says >ou. Well, there you are! He advanced the money to bury me wife, and now he’s tryin’ to come on me fer She’s dead.” In any case it was gratifying to Know that the lady was not buried alive. ‘How much are your wages?” Nothin’, yet. the buroo ain’t found me a job.” But in any case the parson will ave to leave you enough to support your children.” ‘I ain’t got any children, but that T ln t to say I ain’t got other expenses. £°t a woman keepin’ house fer me everything square and above board, . e understand. I told her straight, I sajs: Well, now, there ’yare. I’ll give A man needs someto look after him and take care

of his house, and if ye suit me—well. I’ll blinkin’ well marry ye!’ That’s what I told her, and nothin’ could be fairer than that! She seems a decent sorta woman, and I ain’t one o’ them a s is hard to. get on with either. But the last one I had she went and drunk herself to death. You know what women are. Not that I’m a man to begrudge any woman her drop o’ beer. But my experience is that if you give a woman a couple o’ pints o’ beer she will want a whole beer-vat-full. I’m off the shikker myself, and there’s another thing! Somebody put the tale about that I was on the shikker. Cripes! They must think pubs are charity institutions! And me owin’ 17 weeks’ rent, besides 30 bob to the grocer He’s shut down on me now — the mingy cow! My landlord, though, he’s a decent enough bloke. He only charges me nine bob a week —it’s too much too. Still, I can’t kick about that—me bein’ 17 weeks behind in me rent. Still, he’ll be all right, he’ll get set —that is, if I can sell me phonograph for eight quid—providin’ I can borrow a few bob to get the mainspring fixed first. And me 30 odd double-sided records —not countin’ my special favourite, ‘The Volga Boatman,’ which I’ve very nearly wore out. But as I was sayin’, if I’d a had the woman I got now—years ago—l’d had pounds to-day. “Cripes! If I coulda sold me phonograph I’d be jake and been at the Grand National now!”

ERIN GO BRAGH

The editor lent me a record-hook. Therein, I discovered the assertion that Jim Flynn’s correct name is Andrew Haymes. This, I know to be contrary to fact. “Jim Flynn’s” name is Andrew Chiariglion. Still, the man is only human, and if that name is too burdensome, it seems a charitable thing to allow him to discard it. Speaking for myself, I would hotly resent such an epithet. If it were my name I would, if it were the only alternative, even call myself Blobbs, instead —and I would defy the world to produce one fair-minded man who would be so heartless as 10 say me nay.