A Battle with a Bee

Radio Record, Volume V, Issue 34, 4 March 1932, Page 3

A Battle with a Bee

Proves a real surprise and listeners enjoy a genuine thrill

. HERE was concern, deep and _ sincere, throughout New Zealand for a while on Monday evening last week when listeners thought that the popular announcer at 2YA had been the victim of a felonious attack as he sat at his

desk in front of the microphone. Such an attack on Mr. Drummond would be hard to explain, for he has now ceased to say "Go-o-o-o-d-night." Up till recently, there is reason to believe that he enjoyed (more or less) a precarious existence. Be that as it may and whether or not an assault on Mr. Drummond was justified, there seemed to be little doubt in the minds of listeners that he was being attacked to some purpose. They heard it! And surely they could believe their own ears! It was after the weather report had been read at 9 o’clock that the trouble began. ‘According to the published programme, the "Surprise

Item" came next. Mr. Drummond began to make an announcement, but he was interrupted by an intruder. . As they say in the classics, this was where the listeners sat up and took notice. "By holy smoke," they said, "Someone is killing our Mr. Drummond. Why don’t the police rush there?"

It was no wonder they were alarmed. This is the sort of thing that came from the loudspeaker and earphones in about 50,000 homes: 2YA Announcer: "Now we are to have . . . Oh, ‘pardon me, but I’m alone in the studio, and (here Mr. Drummond hesitated in an unusual way)-a strangelooking individual, wild-eyed and carrying what appears to be a sandbag, has just entered the studio door . -Excuse me a moment." The next thing to be heard was panting and heavy breathing-every indication of a grim, silent struggle with a madman. eo BUIWEEN gasps, a voice that was not Mr. Drummond’s said: "Now at last I’ve got you! There is only one way

to save myself, and that is to kill you. Yes-to kill you! You cannot expect mercy-you would have shown no mercy to me-or to others. Some people would call what I am about to do a crime, but you have tormented me too long. I cannot stand it any more. You cannot escape me now! My patience is exhausted, and I have no pity for you You tichly deserve your fate. There! There! there! You canriot escape me now! You will never torment me or anyone else again. Your time has come. My patience is exhausted, and I have ° pity for you. You richly deserve your fate. There! There! here! : Then there was a groan, heavy breathing and a thud, then silence. The strange voice went on, and the atmosphere was dramatic. Now: perhaps I shall have peace... Why, I feel quite faint. It’s the reaction, I suppose, after all I’ve gone through with him. But he’s dead now. I

can’t understand why he should have chosen me for a victim. I hac never seen him in my life before. I just came in at the door downstairs I saw him, of course, as I had to pass: him, and I thought he was a quees kind of creature to be hanging round the studios-but I’ve.seen some queer people here before, so I took no notice of him. I didn’t know him from Adam. I passed him, and then I heard him moving behind me. Something in the sound of his movements made me turn. And 1 felt afraid. Oh, I suppose I am a coward-but it wasn’t imagination. ‘He meant mischief, and more than mischief.

‘IT that moment, as 1 caught sight , of him through the corner of my eye, he did not look human-there was menace in his eyes. I had no time to consider whether I had been mistaken for someone else. All I was aware of was that I was afraid. Yes-afraid. Iam not ashamed

to admit it-why should I be? He had a weapon; I had nothing to defend myself with-only my bare hands. Unless you care to call a bag of tomatoes a weapon. His eyes were fixed on me and seemed to grow brighter as he suddenly attacked me. In the hallway there was little room to move. I avoided his attack and bolted through the swing doors. I might have eluded him, but I tripped on the carpet and fell heavily. He dashed in after me as the doors rocked on their hinges. There was no one about-only us to. It was no use shouting for help. 1 had to fight him alone. He attacked me again as I scrambled to my feet, but I ducked and dodged him. I took the stairs three at a time in my hurry to get away from him-but he seemed to fly up after me. When I reached the lounge I was only just ahead

of him. Here there was more room. But my nerve nearly tailed me as he attacked me more viciously than before. I raised my fist and struck a blow at him. For several minutes we fought. I avoided his attacks as best I could, and it was only by a tremendous effort that I kept my nerve. I wanted to run. I knew that once he had me cornered I should be helpless. Up to now I had given him no opportunity to use his weapon-although I knew he was only waiting until he could drive it into me. Desperately I looked about me. To run! Anywhere away from this dangerous beast! Then-Suddenly-fear left me. Anger surged up within me. It drove out my fear, Up to now he had taken the offensive, and I had been on the defensive. But now it was my turn. (Continued on page 12.),

A Battle With a Bee

(Continued from page 38.)

My anger grew, and it must have been reflected in my _ face. I had nothing in my hand, but. he must have sensed my change of mood: he must have guessed I was desperate and violently angry. For instead of me running away, he abruptly changed his tactics, and turned tail. Like a flash he darted into this room. "But my anger was so great that I was not satisfied to be rid of him. I wanted revenge. My blood was up. I determined to kill him. Yes, uncontrollable anger is a terrible thing, and I was seeing red. I set my teeth, and crept softly across the carpet, every sense alert for a sudden attack from him. "Slowly I pushed the door open wider, an inch at a time, expecting any moment to feel that sudden burning pain that would agonise me if his weapon struck home. But no. He evidently thought he had found sanctuary in this room. He was sitting on the edge of the table with his back to me. Slowly I crept nearer. He moved a little once, and I held my breath, while the perspiration ran down my temples. But he still sat there unsuspectingly. Nearer I crept -and nearer still-until I was within striking distance. Then, before he could move, I sprang upon him and crushed the very life out of him." The supposed murderer paused. Then collecting his wits, he resumed: "Now I feel calmer. My anger has evaporated now that the danger is over and his dead body lies before me. He will never attack me or anyone again -unless a bee has nine lives like a eat. By by jove! I’ve just remembered something I read years ago. ‘Bees can only sting in the daytime.’ I wonder if that’s true. Still, I don’t think I’ll risk it. I’ve been stung once and the memory is painful. And the bee might not know it wasn’t daytime! "By the way, where’s Mr. Announcer got to? Oh, there he is-under the sofa! Come out, sir, and resume your duties!" Announcer: You frightened the life out of me. If you tackle a bee like that, I shouldn’t like to be around when you get annoyed with a lion... And that is the end of our Surprise Item: "A Battle With a Bee," an original effort, presented by Mr. Victor S. Lloyd. Listeners Express Pleasure. "THIS original turn met with a splendid reception. The first indication of its success came over the telephone immediately afterward. So

realistic had the whole affair been that at least one listener had to be reassured that Mr. Drummond = was safe. A listener at Port Ahuriri wrote to the Announcer :-‘Please accept our most hearty congratulations upon your acting on Monday, 22nd instant. The acting was as that of a. professional actor. The sudden start, the thrilling expression, the lifelike soundings added to the surprising effect of the story. Dad jumped, Mum ran as though an earthquake was in _ progress. Ears were strained-silence reigned supreme. Only the groggy sound of your voice broke the silence. We were all fully convinced that it was the real thing until we heard your voice again. Then, you never saw a more surprised face than Dad’s. We are anxiously waiting for the next surprise evening."’-‘Listen." Another letter received by the Announcer was written by a young lady at Ashburton:-‘You are to be congratulated on your surprise item staged to-night; it was truly realistic down here. Imagine a huge house situated in spacious grounds with plenty of covering for a burglar, and a_ git sitting alone sewing with the _ radio switched on. You certannly took me in properly. I just didn’t know what to do, and even now I am all ‘hot and bothered.’ You did give me (as I presume you meant to) the desired thrill, not knowing previously about these surprise items. I looked over the studio in November last so was able to follow." Made Wartime Yarns Go Flat. HEN picture this quartet of worthies in an up-country town:"There were four of us yarning in the bar parlour of the hotel here and thought we’d tune in for the weather report from 2YA. Was just on the point of switching off again, for we were talking about war experiences and were not thinking of music at all, when the Announcer stopped short. I can tell you that three and a half pairs of eyes (Jim lost one at the war) nearly bored a hole through the dial of the old radio set. We'd have given quids to have been able to see into the studio. It all sounded so dinkum genuine, It was the greatest thrill I’ve had since I was in France. But it quite spoiled the rest of the

evening. All the yarns’ seem flat after that. If your next ‘Surprise Item’ is as great a surprise as last Monday’s, ‘it will be some Digger. Strained the Old Arteries. HH incident with its unexpected denouement seems to have appealed to old and young alike:-"Permit me to commend the ‘Surprise Item’ idea. The first we had was of an instructional, educational sort, and was most interesting. I feel as though I now know the instrument room at the Telegraph Office. But last Monday night’s was a real surprise. As my grandson describes it, it was a stunner. That’s the sort of thing we can do with now and then. It gave us all a good stir up and our livers were working much better next day. I nearly burst my old arteries, but never mind, I enjoyed it. The whole thing was jolly well acted. "Take it from me, if there was more of the element of ‘Surprise’ ne your programmes, listeners woul think more of them. If they did not know who was going to sing, or what, the interest of listeners would be increased. Expectation is a ,Bood sauce.""Three Score and Ten." ° e a CC -=e-