SUBURBAN WAR EFFORT

New Zealand Listener, Volume 3, Issue 62, 30 August 1940, Page 11

SUBURBAN WAR EFFORT

~ Written for " The Listener" by

JOHN R.

CAMERON

The Pig That Wouldn't Stay Put

HE appeal of Mr. Nash to produce more pig meat has not fallen on deaf ears. Last week, after a refreshing day of mauling tons of green rimu for eight hours, I arrived home to the glad sight of snow-white cloth and steaming dishes. The meal finished, I relaxed in the old armchair, and started on the news. Suddenly the wife said: "Mrs. Watts was here to-day-she said her sister-in-law wanted to sell some sucking pigs." After the Sydney had blown up an Italian cruiser I said, "Did she sell them?" and proceeded to dodge a few bombs on Alexandria at the top of the fourth column. The wife said, "No," but thought she would get one to eat the scraps. Our house was rich in scraps, but not the sort that pigs fatten on. I then joined in a nasty bit of business over Malta, and cursed the flies of Egypt The Pig Arrives Two nights later I fell over a sack by the back door, and a la Peter Dawson, asked who the blazes left that there. The crash brought a flood of light as the back door opened, also all the kids and the wife. She said, " That’s the pig." I felt better after tea — I always do -in fact nearly everybody does-even pigs. We brought the sack inside, and viewed the "dear little thing" in sections through a slit. The kids each had a cupful of wet pollard, and whenever a bit of pig showed through the slit, flop went four spoonfuls. He seemed a very nicely brought up pig, except for one thing, and that compelled me to shift him out into the fresh air. I laid the sack carefully where it had been before. Next morning we had no milk for breakfast, but a big white patch showed near the sack outside. There was a clean patch near the slit which showed that the pig was handy. I owed the milkman one, anyhow, for leaving the gate open. . All next day I was building a styementally; all that evening I was building it, actually. Four posts in the ground and battens nailed round. It was finished long after dark, and all hands gathered round while I emptied the sack. -_

He landed with a "whump" and squealed. The wind blew the light out. We went in to a late tea, and worked out the profit in bacon. Exit Pig In the morning I returned to the stye to have a look at the farm in daylight. The stye was there all right, but there was nothing in it, unless you could call a hammer and a saw and a capsized tin

of rusty nails something. A hole rooted in one corner gave me a clue, and after scanning the horizon like a black tracker, I followed down to the cabbage patch. Yes, he’d been there all right. I raised the alarm. We found him in the next street digging potatoes. There were several people having physical exercises with clothes props, fence battens, and spades. Our gang joined in and mangled the rest of the spuds before the pig fell in a rubbish hole and got nabbed. I brought it home. The kids held a leg each, while I jammed a lump of scoria and a rusty benzine tin into the hole. I had another wash and got to work an hour late. The boss said: "What's up?" and I said, "Oh, the wife was a bit crook." Once More Into the Breach When I got home that evening the wife didn’t say, "Are you tired?" or anything loving like that. She said: "You'll have to put more stones round that stye-the pig got out soon’s you went to work, and ate all Mrs, Smithers’ maize,

I didn’t say, " Yes, dear" or anything loving like that. I said, " Blast the pig!" All the same I went out to have a look. Then I came back and said, "Where’d you put it?" "Put What?" says she. "The pig," says I. "In the stye of course," says she. "Well he ain’t there now," says I. "Heavens," says she, and we started in pursuit. An hour later we found him in old Lupton’s garden. Old Lupton was looking for trouble, with a hoe. That cost me fifteen bob in cash, and about ten quid in humility. I dragged him home by the future ham, and put him in the hencoop, while I ran barbed wire round, and double banked that with a broken pram, a good step ladder, and the end of an old iron bedstead. Then a him in and went to I was just passing my plate _for another helping of boiled tice when a knock came to the door. All the kids went. They are very good like that. Then Jimmy came back and said: "Mr. Tait wants to know if you’d mind taking the pig out of his garden." I stopped with a spoonful of rice halfway. I put it down again. My appetite was gone. Final Exit | Old Tait rattled a dish, while his wife held a candle over her head. I crawled | up behind and grabbed at his leg among the flowers, and pulled up two gladioli. | The second time, I got a handful and one eyeful of dirt, but the third time the squealing could be heard a mile away. | The pig spent that night in the washhouse with the window nailed up, the | | . damper in, and the keyhole stuffed. The butcher offered us eight bob for it, and we parted. If that butcher had only known, he could have had it for nothing.