MORE XMAS CRACKERS

Taranaki Daily News, 16 December 1921, Page 7 (Supplement)

MORE XMAS CRACKERS

PERSONAL AND OTHERWISE. JOINING THE BAND. - (By “Moturoa.”) “Do you know Bert Coyle?” Now, what a silly question to ask! Everybody knows the quiet, shreU'd, dapper little gentleman who handicaps for Taranaki and Egmont. Hasn’t he put some hard propositions on to us at times, too? Well, I’ll bet you 6 to 4 (and hang the sergeant!) that you never heard about the time he joined the band. This is how it happened. Bert’s dad was the John Hop in .the drowsy little hamlet of Bulls, and Bert was, at that time, a little, fair, rosycheeked, blue-eyed lightweight youth of mild and timid manners. It happened that the guardian of the peace was called. away on business (duck shooting, or trout fishing, or something of the sort)., and Bert was temporarily in charge of the “clink.” Now, ' they don’t often have occasion to arrest, anybody in Bulls, and Bert’s jo-b was usually an odds on sinecure. But that day. his luck was clean out!

Bert had just turned over page 1198 of the Family Herald (or the Sporting Tinies) when his placid, reading was rudely interrupted, and the peace and calm of the beautiful afternoon was broken by hoarse and discordant sounds •from the highway. A cart rattled up Bridge Street, and as it drew near two large, fierce looking men were seen to be struggling with one more br less recumbent on the bottom of the cart. The outfit came to a standstill outside the police station, and while the struggle continued above the-, shouts, and the swearing, and the clatter, and the dust, there came persistent calls for “the Police.”

Bert took a peep through the window, and was on the point of bolting for the wilds of Parawanui when the large, fierce men espied him, and called him out. “Who’s in charge of this joint?” inquired one. “I am,” timidly, faltered Bert. “Then arrest this man,” they both thundered. “What’p he done?” asked Bert, sparring for time. “Done?” yelled one man, “he’s a raving lunatic, and as strong as an elephant. And he is threatening to kill everybody in Rangitikei!” At this stage the lunatic began to struggle frantically with his captors, and the whole trio fell out on to the road, with the maniac undermost. The fall temporarily stunned him. “What’s his graft,” inquired Bert,- who was now in a lather, “I mean, what’s he mad about?” “Religious mania,” replied one of the caiptors, and as if to illustrate the fact, the lunatic commenced to clap his hands, and stamp his feet, shouting, “Glory! Glory! Join the band!” “Righto,” said Bert, imitating the crank, “Join the band, boys.” Bert, with one wary eye cocked over his shoulder, led the way, clapping, and stamping, and shouting “Glory! Join the band!” for all he was worth. The lunatic followed, and the-others brought up the rear. Past the office they marched, and down the yard to the cells, which Bert entered followed by the lunatic, the others remaining outside. After the sixteenth lap round the cell, Bert made a sudden dive for the outer, and in a flash the door was slammed, and the bar swung across and bolted. Then Bert grew suddenly brave. “Join the band,” he mocked, through the little trap-door, “Join the band, and have as much fun as you like!” With- Some show of authority Bert cleared the crowd of sightseers from the yard, and then repaired to the Criterion, where far into the night he told (time-after time), to the admiring Natives, the wonderful story of how he (alone) captured the' wild man that had threatened to clean up the whole district. ; BILLY THE BEAR; “Bear stories” were popular last year, and there has been a persistent demand for more, both from “sports” personally acquainted with “The Bear,” and from others anxious to htear -more about the little fellow whose quaint manners and stock of funny sayings kept-hosts of us amused in days gone by. There was a time when Billy resented any refeience to “grizzlies,” but in later, years he rather rejoiced in the name of “TheBear.” It was ’way back in -1899, Catashore’s Taranaki Cup year, I think, that JBilly was taking a stroll in Pukekura Park., soothing his ruffled feelings after a bad. day at the races, and trying to sort out the winners for the second day, and he was accosted by a couple of young ladies, who innocently inquired, “Could you tell us where they keep the bear?” Billy exploded—almost; grew.red.jn the face, and swallowed about thirteen words that almost escaped. “Who the —Wfiat the—” Billy snorted, and the ladies -fell back in confusion, almost stumbling over a eou-ple of well known sports who were concealed behind, a punga. Then the sports owned up to sooling the innocent ladies on to Billy, and “The Bear” calmed down sufficiently to retire to the Imperial and “go to liquidation.” SPOTTING A RINGER. There were few better judges of a horse-flesh than “The Bear,” and once he clapped eyes on an . engine he never forgot it. It was owing to this faculty that, in his rambles around the meetings, he often spotted a “ringer”—they were not so strict in the bad, old days —and he often profited thereby. Naturally such a “hard head” had a lengthy string of punters following in his wake, and if he got the “straight griffin” about a horse it wasn’t likely to pay more than “evens.” At Feilding • one time a Hawke’s Bay trainer had a prad that looked a certainty for the big money, and “The Bear” (like many other punters) was bursting to find out if it was a “jigger.” As Billy was making his way across the saddling paddock, heading in the direction of the trainer, the latter “spotted” him first, and quickly thought of a plan to put “The Bear” crook. Pulling a fiver out of his pocket, he walked across to meet “The Bear,” and said, “You’re just the fellow I’m looking for. Billy. Don’t say a word, but just slip round and put this on Blanker,” mentioning another horse in the race. Billy fell for it like a lamb, and not only put the fiver on Blanker, but a score for himself; and then he put the whole course on to it. The race was run, and the Hawke’s Bay horse won easily, and . paid a nice price, with Blanker nowhere. Meeting the trainer after the ' race. “Th? Bear” screamed (in a voice like the wind sobbing through a hole in your hat), “Take me for a mug! You ought to be blanky well ashamed of yourself! Ther.e's ten thousand blanky mugs on this racecourse, and surely to goodness you could have sorted out* one from that crowd without robbing a poor, little beggar like me!”