THOUSANDS ARE BORN EVERY MINUTE

New Zealand Listener, Volume 14, Issue 356, 18 April 1946, Page 10

THOUSANDS ARE BORN EVERY MINUTE

(Written for "The Listener" by

E.A.

M.

AST Saturday I was resting on the chesterfield and the 13-year-old was bustling about her own affairs when a solemn and protentous voice interrupted a radio programme to announce thet certain scientific experiments with radar, which were being earried on in several parts of the world, were being duplicated in New Zealand. In the course of experiments in other countries, the voice said, radar impulses had been sent to the moon and had actually returned to the point of departure. In New Zealand, however, results of a particularly startling nature had been achieved-no less, in fact, than the reception of sounds or signals actually originating from the moon itself! In order to let the public share in the thrill of this astounding phenomenon, a special broadcast would be made of one of these experiments, and it was expected that the scientists concerned would be able to present to the people

results that would astound them and that would make history. Now, being inquisitive by nature and conscientious by training — in other words, not wanting to miss anything, we made up our minds to be on the alert for further announcements. Even the 13-year-old was impressed, and anyone knows that 13 is the age of disillusionment "Stand By, Please" On Sunday a voice warned us to stand by for further announcements during the day. Results of great moment had been achieved, signals from the moon had definitely been received, and the public would be allowed to hear for themselves at a broadcast to be announced later. On Sunday evening I went to church. Arriving home late, after being detained. I found a note on the living-room table. "The radio test for radar," it said, "is going to be at five mins. to six, Monday morning. Daughter and I are getting up for it." Humph! I thought, I suppose that means me, too.

On Monday morning, if I remembe: aright, I was being chased by strange horned beings with pitchforks in thei: hands. They were closing in on me and all seemed to be lost when a loud insistent ringing woke me up. Ha, } thought, the message from the moon, but why on earth it has to be at five minutes to six, I don’t know. The air felt chilly It was still dark. I comforted myself with the thought that since the man of the house had promised to help a friend move that day we should have had to get up early anyway. Music on the Air The man of the house stirred, rose and*a few minutes later I heard the kettle being filled. Heaven forbid, 1 thought, that anything should happen in New Zealand without a cup of tea at one’s elbow. Not wishing fo be left out of things I heaved myself out of bed, threw a dressing gown round me, and

went into the living-room. The 13-year-old was already up. As she had developed a sniffy cold, her father had settled her on the chesterfield underneath an eiderdown. We turned the radio on. There was music on the air. "It’s five minutes to six," the man of the house announced, "They ought to be getting busy." I poured myself a cup of tea, sat down and waited. (continued on next page)

(continued from previous page) A familiar voice interrupted the musical programme. I racked my brains to remember where I had heard the voice before. I should have known. But at the moment all I could remember was that it seemed to have a slight Australian accent and reminded me of the man who conducted the " Diggers’"" hour on Sunday afternoons. The Small Box This voice introduced us to Professor May of the Mount Olive Observatory, who was going to conduct the->-momen-tous experiment of contacting the moon by radar and receiving from it signals in return. After some preliminary fussing, the worthy pair finally got down to business with the £25,000 worth of machinery, which they assured us was

contained in a very small box. The switch was pulled, or the knob was turned, or whatever was necessary was done to start the works moving. A medley of squeaks and groans and scratches assailed our ears. "Dear me," remarked the 13-year-old bitterly, "how very interesting!" "You wait," her father warned her. "This is something to be remembered!" It was. The worthy professor and his compére became wildly excited. Nothing so momentous had happened, it appeared, since the explosion of ‘the first atomic bomb. There were, it seemed, definite indications of return messages originating on the moon itself! What could be more intriguing? Visions of strange beings grouped, like ourselves, round weird instruments intent on establishing communication with creatures on the other side of the universe ran through our minds. This was experience indeed! And if there was an uncomfortable thought of Orson Welles and his broadcast of an invasion from Mars passing

through our minds at the same time, we pushed it ruthlessly from us. Ha, we thought, this will be something to talk about! Blanket Coverage The professor now announced that he would proceed to screen out the extraneous sounds in the record being made, so that all and sundry could hear clearly the sounds originating from the moon. "Quick," the professor gasped, "a sheet or blanket, or something, Mr. Wrathall!" Ah, we thought, so that’s who it is. Jerry Jackson’s boy-friend. Some sixth sense told us we had better be careful. Mr. Wrathall, however, was all solicitude. He rushed, so we were led to believe, into the adjoining room and brought out a piece of canvas that had been covering some machinery. /

The professor urged everyone to procure blankets or sheets without delay. It would be necessary, it seemed, to drape the blanket over the radio and over the listeners’ heads so that all unwanted noises- well, anyway, it was necessary. "Quick, fetch a blanket," said the man of the house. We rushed into the nearest bedroom. There was no time to search the linen-closet. We grabbed two blankets off the bed and rushed back into the sitting-room. "Quick," said the man of the house, "put them over the radio." We threw them over the radio. The 13-year-old hopped languidly off the chesterfield and we stuck our heads under the blankets. \ Confused Noises The record started playing again. There were sundry and confused noises. Then an insistent ta-ta-ta-ta-ta started. Ta-ta-ta-ta-ta. Ta-ta-ta-ta-ta. We listened intently. The noise changed. It became ha-ha-ha-ha-ha. "He-ha-ha-ha-ha. Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha, look at your calendar, look at your calendar, look at your calendar." We didn’t need to look. It was April 1. The man of the house started to laugh. "IT thought there was something phony about it," he said. "Gee," said the 13-year-old, disgustedly, "they were only fooling! Gee!" Well, I thought, it’s a good job I had to get up early, anyway, or I'd have been real mad!