SCOTCH! HOTCH! POTCH!

Digger (Invercargill RSA), Issue 28, 24 September 1920, Page 10

SCOTCH! HOTCH! POTCH!

Mayor Stead, presiding at a select i*eet. ing called to find ways and means of providing a set of brass band instruments for the Borstal Institution, remarked : "I was called upon some time ago to admonish one of the boys down there for whistling, I wonder what he will think when he learns that the man who objected to whistling is assisting a scheme to provide noise in the shape of a band." "Read the exquisite songs of Burns" Tennyson exclaimed. "In shape each of them Kas the p'erfec??6n of the berry, in light, the radiance of the dewdrop ; you - forget for its sake thqse stupid things his serious pieces!" Wadsworth praTses him even more vehemently t-han Tennyson has dorie — but ended "of course I refer to his serious efforts ; those foolish little amatory songs of his, one has to forget." Just further proof that .Burns is the universal poet_ There should soon be a rush for "seats" . in the Borstal. Governor Bathgate tells of football and cricket grounds in preparation, of tepid baths, night-school, games, reading room, etc., etc., and now the brass band movement. A far cry this from the days of the clanking fetter in Invercargill. The Borstal, no doubt, represents the most advanced thought in prison reform, but one cannot buf remem. ber that the old cry of Norman McLeod's starling "I can't get out" has a very apprapriate echo here. A warm advocate of the brass band proposal for the Borstal was that sweet old lady Mrs Baird. After the laboured angular utterances of prosecutor Macalister, her speech beautifully expressed in soft flowing periods and brimful of wise thoughts and sane kindness, drew forth spontaneous applause. Mr Editor, that iady could convert this old Groper to any. thing. This brass band motion is good and if it helps, as Mrs Baird put it — "to bring the boys back into tune with society" it will be worth while. Pass the hat and get this £200. Quite a lot has been written anent the wisdom of animals in general and nian's best friend, the horse, in particular. The latest contribution is vouched for by Mr B. G. Galloway, who was an eyewitneas of the whola affair. He - tells the story most graphically, but shorn of ail padding here it is. Place — Dee street on a warm rnorning. Time — the hour of the morning spot. A galloping horse, dressed only in its harness, making its way unerringly to the premises of a well-known grocer. Entering, it was accosted by the irate proprietor and owner, and a heated conversation ensued ending in the ejection of the would-be customer. Mr Galloway could not hear all that transpired but from the disjointed utterances carefully collected, much can be gathered : Cart — struek— Go slow — Too. hot — Rot Free Beer — No Rava only — Cracked — Sacked. Next please. Tell us a new riddle dad, said my young hopeful the other day; so 1 propounded : "It's white, it's brown, it some times jumps up but always goes down." Who can elucidate?