Literary Decisions

For the average, non-expert aficionado of novel reading, there is often a need for assistance in decision-making so that time and effort are not expended unnecessarly upon inferior material. There are always "experts" and amateurs who will perform this task in a modest but assured manner. One of the earliest of these kindly guides was an American, George Ade, who produced a book called "Fables in Slang" in 1899 from column extracts in the "Chicago Record" newspaper. Here is one of his Fables.

THE FABLE OF THE MAN WHO DIDN'T CARE FOR STORYBOOKS
Once there was a blue Dyspeptic, who attempted to Kill Time by reading Novels, until he discovered that all Books of Fiction were a Mockery.

After a prolonged Experience he came to know that every Specimen of Light Reading belonged to one of the following Divisions:

1. The Book that Promises well until you reach the Plot, and then you Remember that you read it Summer before last.

2. The book with the Author's Picture as a Frontispiece. The Author is very Cocky. He has his Overcoat thrown back, so as to reveal the Silk Lining. That Settles it!

3. The Book that runs into a Snarl of Dialect on the third Page and never gets out.

4. The delectable Yarn about a Door-Mat Thief, who truly loves the Opium Fiend. Jolly Story of the Slums.

5. The Book that begins with a twenty-page Description of Sloppy Weather: "Long swirls of riven Rain beat somberly upon the misty Panes," etc., etc.

You turn to the last Chapter to see if it Rains all the way through the Book. This last Chapter is a Give-Away. It condenses the whole Plot and dishes up the Conclusion. After that, who would have the Nerve to wade through the Two Hundred and Forty intermediate Pages?

6. The Book in which the Pictures tell the Story. After you have seen the Pictures there is no need to wrestle with the Text.

7. The Book that begins with a Murder Mystery—charming Picture of Gray-Haired Man discovered Dead in his Library—Blood splashed all over the Furniture—Knife of Curious Design lying on Floor.

You know at once that the most Respected and least suspected Personage in the Book committed the awful Crime, but you haven't the Heart to Track him down and compel him to commit Suicide.

8. The Book that gets away with one Man asking another: "By Jove, who is that Dazzling Beauty in the Box?"

The Man who asks this Question has a Name which sounds like the Title of a Sleeping Car.

You feel instinctively that he is going to be all Mixed Up with that Girl in the Box before Chapter XII. is reached; but who can take any real Interest in the Love Affairs of a Man with such a Name?

9. The Book that tells all about Society and how Tough it is. Even the Women drink Brandy and Soda, smoke Cigarettes, and Gamble. The clever Man of the World, who says all the Killing Things, is almost as Funny as Ally Sloper. An irritable Person, after reading nine Chapters of this kind of High Life, would be ready to go Home and throw his Grandmother into the Fire.

10. The dull, gray Book, or the Simple Annals of John Gardensass. A Careful Study of American Life.

In Chapter I. he walks along the Lane, stepping first on one Foot and then on the Other, enters a House by the Door, and sits in a four-legged wooden Chair, looking out through a Window with Glass in it. Book denotes careful Observation. Nothing happens until Page 150. Then John decides to sell the Cow. In the Final Chapter he sits on a Fence and Whittles. True Story, but What's the Use?

Why continue? The Dyspeptic said that when he wanted something really Fresh and Original in the Line of Fiction he read the Prospectus of a Mining Corporation.

Moral: Only the more Rugged Mortals should attempt to Keep Up on Current Literature.

Fabulous Renewal

The observant reader will have noticed a lengthy sabbatical by Wordsmith as he once again dabbled in the time-consuming practice of Family Genealogy. Although the research in this area is never done, it is time to put away the charts for a while. So here he is again at the bench hammering away at another artifact.

Reverting to the First Person, I must report that I have recently rediscovered Aesop and his marvellous fables. It must be acknowledged that many of the 650+ fables credited to Aesop through the good work of his publicists were in existence long before the birth of this philosophical character, and many more were added over the Centuries. It is convenient to subsume all under his name, an Aesopean Genre. Several of these fables used to be found in School Readers for various grades, back in a time when there was a much greater emphasis upon good behaviour and character building in official textbooks.

I have just become reacquainted with one of these, the meeting between Androcles and the Lion. The moral of this fable was "Gratitude is the sign of noble souls". I was never sure whether this referred to Androcles or the Lion. I think we were advised that it would always be best to be kind to all animals. In our walks through the Australian bush, I have constantly been on the alert for lions in trouble, but have so far not discovered any. The Australian animals I have come across have generally scuttled quickly away before I could render any assistance to them. Having a noble soul and being unable to find a recipient for your kindness can be very frustrating. Maybe one of the other Fables will give me more scope for character-building.

Questions from A Telling Sign

Everyone knows that Wordsmith Mansion is situated on the side of a long-extinct volcanic cinder cone that is now called Halloran's Hill, (sometimes written with an apostrophe; more frequently without). Apart from a small patch of forest, this hill area was cleared by and named after a farmer named Halloran.

In order to encourage visitors and locals to visit our mansion and to enjoy the great scene from the summit of the hill, there have been 10 directional or tourism signs erected in aproximately 1.5 kilometres from the edge of the CBD (Central Business District for commercial cognoscenti). The Word Police have reported that a crime has been committed with the erection of an eleventh sign to guide befuddled voyagers. Obviously, someone in Council decided that the message was not getting through, or they hadn't spent this year's signage allocation, so a very large sign was commissioned to be set up about 50 metres from two existing signs, thus providing a bit more reading material for motorists about to negotiate the Robert Street roundabout.

It would be interesting to discover just how many people were involved in the planning and implementation of this project. Did Councillors debate and decide before adding to Atherton's sign collection ? Did they pass their decision onto a CEO and other Council office employees ? Was there one decision-maker who signed off on the wording, layout, etc. before involving a sign-writing firm or council sub-section where specialists in the construction of such creations went into action ? Was there a council representative who okayed the finished product before passing it on to the labouring force to erect in the Main Street ? A crew of at least 4 men would have toiled assiduously for at least one day to erect the sign and stand back, tired but proud of their masterpiece.

There was only one small problem overlooked ! The name "Hallorans" had been misspelt with the transposition of two vowels to create "Hallarons Hill". What will happen now ? How long will this visual affront remain to provide bewilderment and amusement for visitors and locals? Will the sign remain untouched, or will the whole process have to be repeated at further cost? Will the offending section be merely covered over with a remedial patch ? Mr Halloran must be turning in his grave with anger or amusement !

Words of War

Another Anzac Day has passed by and thousands of families have remembered departed relatives, victims of Man's inhumanity to his own kind. They deserve to be mourned, but they did not deserve to be brutally killed. Behind the military smokescreen of "glory" words such as valour, heroism, sacrifice, honour, pride and discipline, little is ever said of political opportunism, moral blackmail, soul-destroying physical and emotional bombardment, business venality and the sorrows of families deprived of loved ones because of incompetence, ignorance and self-inflated egos of supposed leaders.

This year, because I am once more working on Okey genealogy, I try to think of how Mrs W's ancestors felt with their tragic series of losses. Grandfather John Okey was a grocer before WW1, surely a most unmilitary occupation. He was sent off to fight in North Africa and later to the mud and madness of France, leaving behind a wife and young family to struggle financially, socially and emotionally. The "Great War" ended on 11th November 1918. John was killed in action on 10th September 1918 at the Somme, only two months before the official armistice. He was part of an unnecessary ongoing conflict, when leaders on both sides were aware that Germany's defeat had been obtained.

Only one day earlier, 9th September 1918, John's cousin, Whitfield Okey, had died of wounds incurred in the same area of conflict in France. To complete the tragedy of "threes", John's young brother, Norris Okey, though unfit for service overseas, joined the Territorial Army which allowed service in the UK only. During his 1 year 3 months service, Norris was hospitalised for heart and other illnesses. He was discharged and began another personal battle with beaucracy to obtain a pension. As he seemed about to have some success, he died on 17th January 1919, 2 months after the war's end (4 months after the death of his brother). The Okeys had lost 3 close family in 4 months at the end of the lengthy, brutal, often mismanaged fight between "civilized" nations. The Okey family must have been distraught and confused and despairing, and this situation would have been mirrored in the homes of thousands of grieving families.

It is very difficult to create a balance sheet that shows how all the misery, fear, pain and frustration for combatants and their families was necessary for national pride, financial opportunism, territorial ambitions accompanied by irrational decision-making.

The slogan appropriately says "Lest We Forget", but sometimes I think that perhaps we just never knew !

How Do I love thee ?

Sometimes, as I listen to the unintelligible screamed garbage hurled at young people by their musical idols, or read truncated phone messages or coded Face Book entries, I wonder how lovers of today express themselves. Are their messages stored away lovingly, or are they unworthy of remembrance ? I realize that "poetry" can be superficial or pretentious at times but it is a hard heart that would not be moved by the following.

In the Victorian era, Elizabeth Barrett Browning wrote one of the loveliest and most enduring love poems. It is well worth visiting once again.

How shall I love thee ? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when being out sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with a passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints, --- I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life ! --- and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.

Perhaps, being modern, you prefer something briefer.
If, instead of being a petite Victorian lady, the writer was one of the following, the answer to this question may have been different.
How do I Love thee ?
Cardiologist ...with all my heart.
Marathon Runner ... all the way.
Indian ... without reservation.
Contortionist ... head over heels
Psychoanalyst .. unshrinkingly
Dieter ... through thick and thin.
Wheelwright ... tirelessly.
Farmer ... whole hog.
Coturier ... in my fashion.

Now, a return to sanity. There is a temptation to look at "The Birthday" by Christina Georgina Rosetti. But let's see how a male looks at this Question. In Sonnet 18, my friend William S. says;

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day ?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath too short a date:
Sometimes too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;
And every fair from fair declines,
By chance, or nature's changing course untrimm'd;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st;
Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st:
So long as man can breath, or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

And finally, a cheeky entry of the Wordsmith's cellared for maturity half a dozen years ago. There is no claim to parity with the words that have gone before. It is simply a modest addendum.

Come with me and share my life;
Green are the hills and clear the rippling streams.
Abandon all this crazy noise and strife,
Enjoy with me some space and time for dreams.

The clock of nature moves with slower beat,
Untrammelled by the artificial goals
That cities force unseeing slaves to meet,
Squeezing their lives and shrivelling their souls.

The wooded fields and endless skies expand
Each sense to open every door;
Horizons beckon with a promise grand,
Their changing sameness blending peace with awe.

Together we will spurn the world,
Needing no other, if you would be my wife.
Our flag of passion waits to be unfurled;
Oh, come with me and be my Life !

Misty Mountains Odyssey

Since coming to dwell on the Tablelands, we have neglected our usual practice of poking around in every available corner, and some less accessible ones also, until we know as much as, or more than, most of the locals. To give credit where it is undeniably due, the history and geography of this area has been documented better than most, and history groups continue to make more and more information available. To return to our present personal exploratory inadequacies, we are slowly getting back on track and we are determined to travel the highways and byways of the district. There is so much variety in such a relatively small area that there can be no valid excuse not to get out and appreciate it.

This week our trip, encouraged by the Southern Overlanders, was up into a pocket of the misty mountains to mythical Topaz. This is a tiny collection of scattered farm houses hidden in the scrub at the end of an isolated road. It could not be described as a township or even a village. It is a former gold-mining area, but there is little to be seen of its gloriy days, especially as mist accompanied us all morning, muddy tracks proved uninviting and grass and scrub had reclaimed so much of the country. Mt Bartle Frere is within sight of the area, and there is a designated walking track to its summit, a trip that sadly we would be unable to accomplish these days. The Lone Ranger has walked this track and camped at the summit, an enviable journey, even with its accompanying discomforts; e.g. leeches behind the eyelids. We confined our efforts to a mobile exploration until the road had reached a point of petering out.

Throughout the trip we were shrouded in mist or fog. Topaz is quite high and because of its position on the slopes of the range it is frequently mentioned on evening TV as being among the top rainfall areas. Its nearest centre is a damp little village called Butchers Creek which has the luxury of a school and a decrepit Local Hall. On a lot of the hill-tops and upper slopes there are tea plantations, (some in an overgrown, neglected state). These individual farms sell their harvest of tea tips to the Nerada Tea Plantation for blending etc. We visited the Plantation to browse its history and sample some of its brews.

After descending the mountains, we visited the Malanda Tourist Information Centre where there is an excellent small display of local history, photos, nature information and lots of books produced by the hard-working Eacham Historical Society. We finally arrived home having had a lovely morning, despite inclement weather. We feel that we are beginning to live up to our previous standards of inquiry and look forward to our next excursion.

P.S. We heard on this morning's news report that the Malanda Tourist Centre had been destroyed by fire. This will be a great historical loss and we feel deeply for all those people who had worked so diligently for so long to build a fine presentation.
This is a good example of why we should visit and examine as much as possible at every opportunity. Do not put them off ! They may not be there next time you come around !!

Whining and Dining

Recent reports from the Vineyard indicate that there is a glut of wine on the market at present. Sales are declining and many grape growers could cease production, leaving a few large companies controlling the industry. I hadn't realized that my semi-abstemious approach to alcohol use could have such far-reaching consequences. I suppose that I should follow the current political posturing and say that I am Very Sorry and the "Buck Stops With Me". However, I feel that there are other factors influencing this decline; competition, expansion, advertising overkill, greed and lack of availability of pleasure-money. It would be a pity if the wide range of wines currently filling the shelves of the wine cellars should diminish.

Once upon a time, the large wine producers had a "take it or leave it" approach to presenting their wares. The relatively plain labelling was dignified with an occasional flourish or two. Gradually, smaller boutique wineries found space on the shelves and began to revolutionise wine choices. Colourful pictures began to decorate bottles, and even cartoons appealed to the quirky tastes of some customers, while the names of Vineyards ranged from Geographic to Eccentric ...Mount Erebus Estate, Loaded Dog, Twin Virgins, Limestone Manor ...

Browsing the shelves of the bright, fluoro-lit commercial distributors and trying to make a decision has become as exciting and time consuming as selecting books from a well stocked library. Variety and visual excitement present a formidable challenge. This feeling is somewhat diminished when the home cellar is consulted. Half a dozen dusty bottles in the dark rear of a clothes cupboard does not induce the same pleasureable indecision.

The creation of reverse-side information has also contributed to the mystique of wine choices. If bottles reverted to former plain identification of products, how would imbibers know what to do with the contents. Former connoisseurs who spent so much time sniffing a modicum of wine in the bottom of a large glass in search of the scent of mountainside magnolias with just a suspicion of chamomile and a lingering licorice aroma will no longer know what to do with their wine, other than to drink it. They will also miss being guided into other fields of sensory exploration. When they finally taste the product, how will they be able to differentiate between the subtle flavour of burnt artichoke with a memory of ripe blueberries and the brisk assault of mellow watermelon with an undercurrent of wild choko, unless they have the experts' written guidance.

Finally, what about those poor cooks who will be left standing among their paraphernalia of ingredients, with gaping mouth and glazed eye like a defunct Murray Cod, unable to decide what would be an appropriate dish to accompany the chosen wine. This decline of the initiation into and guidance through the mysterious, esoteric world of wine imbibing would be sadly missed. It's time for everyone to help reverse this dire situation. Personally, I am off to spend an hour or so in selecting a couple of bottles of elixir to supplement our cellar.

Odd Occupational Words

All occupations develop their own language. Sometimes these words remain a trade secret, seldom known or used by outsiders. A few breach the barriers and are absorbed into everyday speech, at times with an altered meaning.

Here are some examples from a Cartoonist's Lexicon. Whether they are archaic and deceased or still in active use I cannot say.

Did you know ?
BLURGITS or SWALLOOPS are the curved lines after running feet.
BRIFFITS are clouds of dust left by a runner; also showing anger or fighting.
SPURLS are the coils indicating drunkenness.
SQUEENS are star-bursts or circles indicating intoxication, sickness or dizziness.
PLEWDS are sweat drops, tear drops, etc.
WAFTEROMS are odour lines.
AGITRONS are wiggly lines around an object that is shaking.
DITES are diagonal lines drawn across something flat and clear such as windows, mirrors, etc.
HITES are horizontal straight lines tracking after something with great speed, or falling from a height.
VITES are vertical lines indcating reflectivity.
INDOTHERMS are wavy rising lines indicating steam or heat from hot objects.
LUCAFLECT is a shiny spot on an object.
SOLARADS are radiation lines from something luminous; sun or light bulbs.
STAGGERATRON is the series of dashes that show an erratic path.
OCCULAMAS are giant Xs on eyes to show the character is dead.
Finally, swearing is so popular that it has more than one name. So a speech balloon with swear-word symbols can be called a GRAWLIX, NITTLE, JARN, QUIMP or a VULGARAT.

See how many can be found in your next interaction with a Cartoon.

Illustrious Illustrator

Recently I received the pleasant surprise of a belated birthday gift from my grandaughters. Presents are like little babies. They are always welcome whether they are on time, premature or belated. This little cutie was "Alice's Adventures in Wonderland" by Lewis Carrol. Naturally, the story is captivating, irrespective of the number of times one has read it, and this edition is elevated further by its special presentation. The pages are subtly tinted to give the book an antique feeling, while the printing is light and spacious. The thickness of the pages encourages the reader to enjoy touching them. The crowning achievement is the flow of illustrations that adorn the majority of the pages. The illustrator is Australian Robert Ingpen ( a delightful surname) who always manages to find a fresh approach to stories that have been illustrated so many times before. His artistry and presentation captures the mood of the story, with each picture carrying a world of symbolism.

As may be noticed by the very perceptive, I am a great fan of Ingpen's work and, with the help of my delightful family, I have been collecting them for several years. Altogether he has designed and illustrated over 100 books, a few of which I have in my collection. The ones I am most enraptured with are in a series of "Classic" children's stories by famous authors. He produces a book a year in this series and each new presentation creates an immediate impatient desire for his next one.

So far I have Treasure Island by Robert Louis Stevenson, 2005
The Jungle Book by Rudyard Kipling, 2006
The Wind In The Willows by Kenneth Grahame; Centenary Edition, 2007
A Christmas Carol by my old friend Charles Dickens, 2008
and my new Alice's Adventures ... by Lewis Carrol, 2009.

Somewhere along the way I missed "Peter Pan and Wendy"; "Pinnochio" and "Around The world in Eighty Days". That gives me some goals when I browse second-hand shops. I have two other books with his illustrations; "Australian Gnomes" and " The Rare Bear", so there are only another 90 or so to find.

Robert Ingpen has a well-deserved prominent position in my Literary Hall of Fame.

Jekyll & Hyde Words

During a recent "First Tuesday Book Club" programme on the magic box, one of the books being discussed was "The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde", by Robert Louis Stevenson. Panelist Marieke Hardy made a comment with which I agree. She said that so many of the wonderful words used in this book, and others of the period, sadly were no longer in current use. We know that this is the nature of language, that it should constantly change, but not all changes are for the better.

Another point which found agreement within the panel was that, at no time, did Stevenson describe in detail the gruesome injuries inflicted on the victims, yet the words used captured the aura and horror of each event. This contrasts with so many novels of today which seem to have degenerated into manuals of forensic medicine to create the shock-horror aspects of their story. This has grown from an apparent desire to show realism, but it so prevalent now that readers are being brainwashed into becoming mutilation voyeurs. Let's get back to the use of language to develop atmosphere and let the imagination of the reader link with the writer's story-telling skills in a shared creation.

War Relics

During World War II, the Atherton Tableland had army camps scattered about where soldiers recovered from battles fought, or prepared for their next assaults, probably in New Guinea. There was a large army hospital situated at Rocky Creek, just past Tolga. On Sunday the three of us, Mrs W., myself and the family guard dog drove out to Rocky Creek where a very pleasant area has been created among the trees to commemorate all those who served in the area which had been home for a while for many Battalions. Granite boulders have been set up, each with a plaque detailing the specifics of each army group -- corps' colour patches, battle areas served, etc. One half of the area has been left clear of trees to provide a camping and rest area for caravans. This is practically free, as a gold coin donaton is all that is asked for. It is extremely popular during the main Summer touring season.

The way in which the memorial area has been created and maintained deserves praise. We have driven past so often without realizing just how much thought and effort has been put into the place. Our main reason for driving out was to have a closer look at the area and, in particular, to get some photos of a corrugated iron "igloo" which had been built as a Recreation Hut that would have been able to cater for a very large number of soldiers and nurses for movies, games and dances. It is one of the few remaining examples of this style of easily constructed building left. There are still a few in Atherton which are occupied. The Recreation Hut was owned and lived in by a private family after the war and they must have really rattled around in its huge area. Later it was donated to the Shire Council. Its size and situation out of town meant that upkeep was a most expensive proposition, so the igloo was forgotten and left to rust and deteriorate over the years. Council cannot afford to renew the old place to serve the community in any way, so it has been passed along to the State Government. One feels that any idea of renewal will prove to be costly and daunting, so it is likely to be left to decay further until it is no longer safe and has to be destroyed. A very significant link with the history of this country, and this area in particular, will be lost forever. So, that is why we have stored a memory or two before it is too late.

Despite a little bit of drizzle which seems to have become almost permanent here during the last fortnight, we had a pleasant morning. More excursions are planned.

Etymological Archaeology

Some words end up as road-kill in busy ever-changing human vocabularies. Others are merely injured and limp along in altered shape for a while until they too pass away, rarely to be seen again. A few are preserved like stuffed animals in a museum for the occasional browser to pause and stare at with an unbelieving shake of the head.

Here are a few museum pieces, inexpertly glued together to form a little tale.

A wurp from the castle, a bellibone who was acersecomic took adlubescence in beeking on cold nights, so she croodled to the hearth where she would glop porridge. She was usually quite a gundygut and ate until she quetched. Sometimes she would pingle when she dreamed of the killbuck whose lovedrury she caressed. As a dilling she had few friends and was agruwed at the faldoodle of the hoddypeaks in the village. She didn't like to squiddle or spuddle. Sadly she was widdershins because the man she loved was a porknell and a magsman. How sad !

Translation: A stone's throw from the castle, a lovely maiden whose hair had never been cut took pleasure in basking before the fire on cold nights, so she crept close to the hearth where she would greedily swallow porridge. She was usually quite a glutton and ate until she moaned and twitched in pain. Sometimes she would eat with little appetite when she dreamed of the fierce looking fellow whose keepsake she caressed. As a child born when her parents were old, she had few friends and was horrified at the nonsense of the simpletons in the village. She didn't like to waste time with idle talk nor make trifles appear important. Sadly, she was unlucky because the man she loved was as fat as a pig and a swindler. How sad !


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Only his mother ...

Rumour has been drifting around the market-place that the notorious Cane Toad has changed his name. Instead of Bufo marinus, he now wishes to be called Rhinella marina. It seems that the story is true. Obviously, he now considers Bufo to be too coarse and common, and who could blame him. Rhinella has much more class and may make him more attractive to former critics. So when you wander out in the evening and greet him with a cheery "What ho, Bufo", you will find that he ignores you completely. As he is still getting used to his new name, he probably won't respond to " Hi, yellah fellah, Rhinella " either. We have a feeling that the new name will not result in a change of habits. The noted dramatist Will Shakespeare ( with whom I am very friendly ) claims "that which we call a rose, by any other name would smell as sweet", and in similar vein, we feel that a Cane Toad by any other name is still an ugly PEST !

Good Medicine

Last night the Wordsmith hillside residence resounded to the sound of laughter and singing, and the wine flowed freely. The purpose of this Bacchanal was to celebrate the news that Mrs W. received from her personal Physician that day. Having made a close study of chicken entrails and consulted the latest astrological charts, he pronounced her to be free of evil spirits to such an extent that she will not need to visit him for a year, until next March. Naturally my dear spouse was much relieved at the news as there is always a small doubt hidden deeply when we visit soothsayers and physicians, even when we hope for and expect no problems.. His series of tests and manipulations could produce no adverse effects. All admirers, friends and relatives will be most pleased at this excellent result. Good news is always the best medicine !

Language Watch

Sgt Peda Gogue of the Word Police has reported an ABC Saturday morning announcer who became excited about an artistic creation, twice describing it as "very unique". The miscreant has been released on bail. If he offends again in the next twelve months, his sentence will be a month in gaol,(or jail, if he is American), accompanied by a large dictionary so he can study the rules concerning comparisons. Perhaps we might then be spared discussions about objects or events that are most unique, very unique, nearly unique and so on. This man is a potential threat to the community and he must be stopped before he progresses on to the uniquest things he has found. We know that serial meaning manglers usually increase their vile crimes in search of shock satisfaction. The Word police will be keeping a very close ear on this fellow and his Saturday programmes.

Errands of Mercy

For a couple of Wednesdays per month, I will now have to desert my word-smithing to act as chauffeur, guardian and junior assistant to Mrs W. as she travels about the environs of Atherton, delivering meals and pleasant contact to people who are elderly, ill or in need of assistance. Meals on Wheels,(or Mills on Wills if you are from N.Z.), is a non-profit organization that receives a partial Government contribution towards its operational costs. Volunteers are its life-blood. It provides meal preparation and delivery to people who might otherwise be deprived of needed nourishment. Most of the recipients on our route are ladies, but there are two gentlemen at present. Naturally there will be additions and deletions from the list as situations change. It is sad to think of the loneliness that so many of these people must experience. Regular visits of volunteers with food and a few words of good will and support must be a small but invaluable boost to their morale. We will try to do our best as little cogs in a very big wheel.

The Language of Politics

Last night while I was watching the Magic Box, I came across a news item about the teachers at Church Schools who were marching down the streets of Brisbane, bellowing about their right to have an increase in salary. One of the most raucous shouters was proudly waving his placard while declaiming, " The teachers in every other state get more than us, and we only want a salary like what they get." That should have convinced a few parents of his worth. I feel that such demonstrations might be effective as a last resort, when other means have failed to achieve desired goals, but I have never subscribed to the infantile chanting procedure of negotiation -- "What do we want ? When do we want it ? Now !!" Well, that certainly convinced me.

I would suggest that what the gentleman under discussion may not have wanted, but certainly needed, was to return to school to learn a little more about his own language before being allowed to face a class again. Hopefully, he was not an English Teacher, but the teacher of any subject, no matter how esoteric, should be able to use and teach language as an integral part of his style. After making this fresh acquaintance with the tools of his trade, he might go back to his class and perhaps justify his claim that he was worth $84000 a year !! I know there are great numbers of committed, capable teachers who fully deserve to be paid top salaries for their dedication, and they should receive every encouragement and support to achieve this. So, to them I apologise for my diatribe.

My cavorting mendicant would probably imagine that a diatribe was a group of contestants in "The Biggest Loser".

The Breakfast of Champions

Way back in 1895, the makers of Manna Porridge knew the secret of saturation advertising. In the "Moreton Bay Courier Mail" of May 30th, each page had one of the following mini-adverts.

* Do you desire purity of blood ? Eat MANNA Porridge !

* Manna is better for complexion than Pears Soap.

* See Venice and Die ! Eat MANNA and Live !

* Porridge made of Manna gives Strength without Heat.

* Manna is the greatest Blessing of the Nineteenth Century.

* Eat Manna and you will never quail before Trouble.

* Manna is a household word ; no housekeeper should be without it.

* MANNA Porridge will cure all Ills of Indigestion.

* Bone and muscle will develop by the use of Manna.

* Do you want to get rid of Indigestion ? Then have a plate of MANNA Porridge every morning for breakfast.

* What is MANNA ? Food for the Gods !

* Manna will shed Peace, Strength and Happiness to any Home.

* Who sells Manna ? Every grocer worthy of the name.

* Manna will prevent Mortality amongst Children.

* No breakfast is complete without MANNA.

How could such a marvellous food disappear from grocers' shelves ? Even Weet-Bix doesn't do such a good job. Probably Manna was banned because it would put Doctors and Chemists out of business. It's about time the Government legislated to ensure that Manna is consumed in every household in the Nation. Immediately, this would solve the country's Health Care problems. BRING BACK MANNA !!!!

Jonahs or Jeremiahs

My apologies are offered to those crowds of Wordsmith aficionados who were deprived of information updates during the last couple of weeks. Mrs W. and I were quite busy preparing for and making a trip to Mackay on a mercy mission to visit a very ill friend. Unfortunately, for the second time this year, we were threatened by the approach of a cyclone, so we were obliged to cut the time of the visit short and flee back home. The cyclone struck the coast around the Mackay - Airlie Beach area early on Sunday morning, by which time we were safe and sound at home on the hill. We promise not to make any more trips away until the Cyclone Season has definitely finished, as it is not fair to the people in the districts we pass through. We do not wish to be regarded as a cause of bad luck, (a Jonah), or a foreteller of disaster, (a Cassandra or Jeremiah). People have a habit of dealing harshly with those they regard as harbingers of doom.

This phrase, "Harbinger of doom" has a long history. The word 'harbinger' first appears in the 12th Century when it meant a Lodging House Keeper. By the 13th Century it had changed slightly to refer to a scout who went ahead of a Royal Court to book lodgings, not an easy task considering the number of hangers-on accompanying the King. Next the word meaning altered slightly to refer to a scout who went ahead of an attacking force. I'm sure he would have had bad news to convey at times. Over the following centuries, it changed to a harbinger of things rather than approaching Royalty or armies. Finally it came to indicate the warning of dire happenings. The first time the word was used as a warning of disaster appears to have been in Scotland, where they seem to have refined it to an art form. A modern fictional Scottish character who was a good doom harbinger was Sgt Frazer in "Dad's Army" whose catch-phrases were, " We're all doomed ! Doomed I tell ye !"

This gradual change in the meanings of English words is quite common and I need to remind myself of this fact when I see beloved words being "misused".

Morals & Mores

An Old Joke :
Q. Do you like Kipling ?
A. I don't know. I've never tried it !

Among my literary favourites when I was a boy, alongside H.G.Wells, Edgar Rice Burroughs, Jules Verne, Mark Twain and W.E.Johns, was Rudyard Kipling. He was a writer and poet of his times, towards the end of the Victorian era with its attitude to morals and the God-given rights of the British Empire. Despite these influences, he wrote about great adventures, and his "Jungle Book" tales are still favourites today even when they have been Disneyfied.

Over the years the social critics have unsheathed their cutlasses and set about him savagely, claiming (quite correctly in some instances) that he was jingoistic, militaristic, simplistic, paternalistic, moralistic and several other -istics. But he could write stories that appealed to the youth of his day, and even wrote poems that boys enjoyed reading.

One of his poems, "If", became a favourite of mine and may even have helped to form some of my attitudes and behaviours. Throughout the years the poem has often resurfaced, sometimes in obscure or unexpected corners. Each time it does, I still feel a tingle of recognition and pleasure. Here it is again.

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise,

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim,
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two imposters just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken
And stoop and build them up with worn-out tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings,
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them, "Hold on !"

If you can talk to crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings - nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son !

Rudyard Kipling won the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1907, so he must have been well-regarded once. I continue to enjoy him !

Spam in the Thirties.

A little longer blog today to make up for a couple of missed days.

Many people assume that SPAM is a modern phenomenon spawned by the Internet, but my extensive research has discovered that it was in full flight, in a slightly different format, in the 1930s.

While reading a February 1930 copy of "Astounding Stories of Super-Science", as one does, I found 88 Spam advertisements at the rear of the magazine. (incidentally, this copy was on sale a couple of weeks after my birth, and I remember it quite well, and can vouch for its authenticity.) Most offers concentrated on Health and Financial improvement, just as today's unbelievable, irresistible messages do.

I must admit that I was seriously tempted to try some of the products, but money was a little tight and so I missed some wonderful opportunities. A few that caught my eye were :
* Santa Fe Watch Co. Railroad Accuracy and Beauty Unsurpassed. Now in service on Practically every railroad in the United States and in every branch of the Army and Naval Service.

* (I'm not quite sure what this was, but I had to have it !) Dont Stop Tobacco, without injurious effects. Baco-cure gives the necessary assistance. Use tobacco while you take it. Has aided hundreds. Complete $3 treatment guaranteed to get results or money refunded.

Sport & A Thousand Thrills : Ride a Harley-Davidson. Eager power under instant control -- Speeds that leaves the car parades behind -- Lightly responds to throttle and brakes. All yours at a low cost in a Harley-Davidson "45", the wonderful Twin at an affordable price -- comfortable low-slung saddle. Ask about Pay-As-You-Ride Plan.

* French Love Drops . An enchanting exotic perfume of irresistible charm, clinging for hours like lovers loath to part. Full size bottle, 98c prepaid.

* New Scientific Wonder ---- "X-Ray Curio" ---- Big Fun
Boys, you apparently see thru Clothes, Wood, Stones and any object. See Bones in Flesh. Also Free Package radio picture films, takes pictures without a camera. You'll like 'em. ( 1 pkg with each 25c order).

*Radium is restoring Health to thousands. No Medicine, Drugs or Dieting. Just a light, small, comfortable Radio-active Pad worn on the back during the day and over the stomach at night.

Correct Your Nose. Thousands have used the Anita Nose Adapter to improve their appearance. Shapes flesh and cartilage of the nose, safely, painlessly while you sleep. Doctors approved.

* Old Gold Cigarettes are a kindness to your throat. In raw, damp or cold weather, change to Old Gold. Its naturally good tobaccos are smooth and kind to your throat.

(And, finally, probably the best sell of the month).
New --- Just a Twist of the Wrist.
Women universally detest the old-style can opener. Yet in every home in the land cans are being opened with it, often several times a day. Imagine how thankfully they welcome this new method --- the automatic way of doing the most distasteful job. With the Speedo can opener method you can just put the can in the machine, turn the handle and almost instantly the job is done. You undoubtedly know what a dangerous job it is to open cans with the old-fashioned can opener. You have to hack your way along slowly -- ripping a jagged furrow along the edge. Next thing you know, the opener slips. Good Night ! You've torn a hole in your finger. As often as not it will become infected and stay sore for a long time. Perhaps even your Life will be endangered from blood poisoning. You may be able to get the can open without cutting yourself. But there's still the fact to consider that the ragged edge of the tin left around the top makes it impossible to pour out all the food. The Speedo holds the can --- opens it --- flips up the lid so you can grab it --- and gives you back the can without spilling a drop, and without any rough edges to snag your fingers. It's so easy, even a 10 year old child can do it in perfect safety ! No wonder women -- and men too -- simply go wild over it. No wonder Speedo salesmen often sell to every home in a block and make $10 an hour.

There you are ! How could any modern Spamster compete with that salesmanship ?

Language of Roses

Today Mrs Wordsmith celebrates another birthday. The market place is festooned with flowers and the streets are covered in petals. Along with her early gifts she received one rosebud, a small golden yellow. It is quite dangerous to give or receive rose blooms without a knowledge of their meaning as all kind of strange messages could be inadvertently (or deliberately ) passed on with the flower. Fortunately, a quick check found that a single rose conveys simplicity, and the colour yellow indicates enthusiasm and passion. Well, that seems fairly safe, as we are both simple (meaning uncomplicated rather than mentally infirm), yet enthusiastic and passionate about so many things. It seems that to wish someone these qualities for another year should be well received.

For future reference it will probably be advisable to also be aware of the significance of other rose colours.
Red --- Love and Respect.
Orange --- Desire
Lavender or Blue --- Grace, Elegance, Refinement.
Peach or Pink --- Appreciation or Gratitude.
Orange + Yellow --- Unity.
White --- Reverence or Humility.

Other combinations have other meanings, and some nationalities have quite different messages to convey. For example,in Islamic countries, yellow indicates Treachery and in France it signifies Infidelity. I should like to reassure Mrs Wordsmith that neither of these meanings is applicable in this instance.

Medical Dilemmas

Frequently we become so accustomed to words that we use them automatically without too much attention to the idiosyncrasies that ride along with them. With this thought in mind I have determined to take the following list along the next time I have a doctor's appointment.

Does a nurse have to study Art before she can draw blood ?
If you get ill at an airport will it be a terminal illness ?
Are Doctor's fees ill-gotten gains ?
Can you find out more about your body in your appendix ?
Why do doctors use a scalpel when they are not operating on a head ?
If the nurse checks your heart rate a second time, are you repulsed ?
Do you have to be ambulatory to get in an ambulance ?
Why, years after they left University, are doctors still practising medicine ?
What exactly surges during surgery ?

Anatomy of Language

The gossip around the market place says that there is going to be another educational change, with a national curriculum for specific subjects. One of these will be Grammar which will be taught right up to Year 12. If this should come to pass and is not subverted by the Troglodyte Party, I shall immediately start petitioning the Pope for early canonisation for Saint Julia.

It is a sad fact that for many, many years, the understanding of our language and all the bells and whistles that make it work has not received adequate emphasis in Primary School and has disappeared into the ether at Secondary Level. Too many of our existing teachers have passed through their own school years with only a casual acquaintance with Grammar and are really ill equipped to teach the subject even if it had been part of school policy.

It seems strange that if a student undertakes a serious study of a foreign language, not just oral use of social phrases and sentences, they embark on a thorough analysis of the composition of the language, the correct use of its components, and perhaps a history of its development. Yet with their own language, it is often a hopeful matter of osmosis. I am not supporting a climate of competitive learning and regurgitation of definitions and examples. A carefully graded interaction with the components and their use in a stimulating, enjoyable manner should create a love for the excitement of words. Again, it should not mean a slavish adherence to former usage, simply because that was how it was once done. Language will change, and as long as there is a clearly defined understanding of current usage, these differences should themselves be examined and codified so that all children in Australia have a whole-school experience with as many aspects of a living language as possible.

This should not result in disposal of the recent emphasis upon an experiential creative approach to written work and sometimes oral work. The two aspects should complement one another to result in unambiguous creations that give pleasure to the creator and the recipient, now and in the future. I shudder to think that a laissez-faire approach to our language resulted in a future Telephone Text Message Language devoid of Nouns, Verbs, Adjectives, etc. and their skilful, exciting use in phrases and sentences of beauty. It's always pleasant to dream !

Christopher Robin Addenda

As usual when dealing with human relationships, deeper delving will show that almost invariably "there are two sides to every story". Both A.A. Milne and Christopher R. made their contributions to the rifts that developed through the years. Christopher did suffer emotionally during his childhood, at school, and as an adult from time to time when the constant interest of people with the fictional representation of the little boy and their lack of understanding of the feelings of the real-life individual caused distress. It seems that his early childhood was untainted by the books, but his antipathy began when he attended boarding school at about ten.

To his credit, Christopher seems to have worked hard to become his own man. He studied hard and at University took great geat pleasure in having greater Mathematical skills than his father, though a little less in the literate side. He had sporting interests, particularly in Cricket and Boxing. He learnt the latter in order to deal with the schoolboy teasers who persisted in equating him with the long, blond-haired "angel" of the poems and stories.

He showed great interest and skill in repairing and creating objects, particularly in the mechanical field, and took great pride as a boy and as a man at the extreme effectiveness of his skills. He volunteered to join the army and was accepted in the regular corps, but later transferred to the Engineers which he considered more suited to his talents. Incidentally, this transfer was effected by Milne's intercession with high Army brass. He served effectively in several theatres of war. He married happily, and for many years they ran what became a well-known Bookshop. In later years, he wrote several books, including two biographies about his childhood and subsequent adult escape from Winnie and Co. Extracts from these seem to indicate a wry, witty man and I shall have to begin a search for "The Enchanted Places" and " The Path Through The Trees". Unfortunately, both are now out of print, so it looks like a patient trawl through Thrift and Second-hand Book Shops will be necessary.

An interesting aside: A.A. had hoped for a girl and had Rosemary chosen as a name. When the baby was a boy, one parent chose Robin and the other Christopher. However the boy chose his own name as soon as he could speak properly. He called himself Billy Moon, and the family ended up calling him Billy. So that's how that happened.

And now we say farewell to Christopher Robin and his fictional friends.

Christopher Robin & Associates

It is chastening to realize that sometimes the best intentioned actions are not perceived kindly by the recipient. The subtleties of communication are often lost between sender and receiver, resulting in unnecessary conflict. Such appears to have been the case with Alan Alexander Milne and his son Christopher Robin.

A. A. Milne was the son of two teachers, so it can be appreciated that education and an ability to write would have been encouraged in that family. Milne went to Westminster School where one of his teachers was H. G. Wells who became an early writer of Science Fiction. Milne admired Wells who naturally supported the development of his talent.

Milne and his wife Daphne had only one son, Christopher Robin. He was loved by both parents who, for reasons known only to them, called him Billy, or Billy Moon. At bedtime, Milne regularly told little made-up tales to Christopher. Favourite toys, a bear called Edward, a tiger and other stuffed toys were often the main characters in the stories. Owl and Rabbit were not original members but were added when the book was written.

"Billy" had an adventure in the London Zoological Gardens when he was allowed to feed a tame bear in his cage with milk from a bottle. The bear was named Winnie (shortened from Winnipeg). Of course he became a focal character in subsequent stories. Milne's first publication was "Vespers" in 1923 ("Christopher Robin is saying his prayers"). In 1924 he wrote a collection of poems which included one about a tubby bear. In 1926 came " Now We Are Six", and in 1928 the famous " House At Pooh Corner". Christopher was a very shy boy and did not enjoy the attention that his father's books brought to him. "Vespers" was put to music and became a very popular and frequently played tune, which must have added to Christopher's concerns.

Unfortunately, Christopher wouldn't have any of them read to him by his father, and he didn't read any of them himself until he was sixty years of age. The writings, revered by so many, blighted his life and caused estrangements with his father. Instead of the intimate poems and stories, Milne read tales by P.G.Wodehouse to the boy as he became older.

So there we are. It so sad that such delightful creations, written with the best of intentions, I am sure, would be the cause of a resentful, spoiled relationship. I suppose that Milne's consolation would have been that thousands of other children would have enjoyed his works through many years. We hope that Christopher was able to have an otherwise fulfilling life.

Error Correction

It's interesting to note how "False Memory" can be so strong that it can completely eradicate the truth. I succumbed slightly when my memory associated the supposed "TV commercial" with childhood activities. The association was valid, but the initial impetus for the flashback was not an early Brisbane commercial. It has been repeated a couple of times recently, and it would seem that my memory was triggered by a preview for the forthcoming Sunday evening movie on ABC, " To Kill A Mocking Bird". In a very quick image, someone rolls across the screen in a rather large tyre. I will need to watch the movie once again to check, but it looks as if the passenger in the tyre may indeed be a girl, ( unlike the Grange tyre propellers ), and is probably the heroine, Scout Finch. As well as the great qualities of both the book and the film,I now have an extra interest in the minutiae of the film.

Juvenile Locomotion

A nostalgic mood can be triggered so easily and at times so unexpectedly, ignoring intervening years and leaping back to childhood escapades. In a recent television flashback about life in Brisbane in the early forties, there was a very brief glimpse of a boy curled up in a car tyre, just rolling along. It was literally a two-second shot, but the rest of the programme disappeared as I returned to my childhood days, about age nine or ten.

In retrospect, it seems that the boys of our street at that time seldom moved unless accompanied by a car tyre. Forget about those sissy hoops seen in English comics ! [ Only two sisters lived in our street and they were not allowed the freedom to wander that the little males were given.] So tyre-rolling was strictly a boys' preserve. This period was probably between having a scooter and not yet acquiring the long-desired bicycle. The tyres chosen were usually tall and narrow like those on an old T-model Ford, unlike today's chubby donuts which are useful only for moving cars. Because they were relatively light, the tyres were easily bowled along by hand and therefore they were hurtling up and down our street most evenings just before dusk, or accompanying us across country to Kedron Brook, or even as far as the Yankee Dump where they might be discarded or exchanged for a new model for the trip home. There was no sentiment in tyre bowling circles. Tyres are more suited to rapid transit than a boring walking pace so most tyre motion was done at a running pace. Despite my nickname, there were no fat boys in our neighbourhood.

By far the most fun we had with tyres was to curl up inside one, (like the boy in the TV clip), grip the sides tightly and allow a mate to propel the tyre down our dead-end street. A black right hand was the sign of a regular tyre propeller. I can remember the excitement and laughter, but strangely not the gravel rashes that must have accompanied our fun. Not one family in our street owned a car, so the street was invariably our domain.

If, at any time, the street was declared out of bounds by higher authority there was always the back yard. This did not even require a "driver" as the house was on the side of a hill, so gravity did the job of propulsion, and in emergencies the back wall of the house provided a brake, admittedly a little abruptly.

Sadly, we became "too big" for that game, or someone was hurt, creating an embargo on tyre trips , or maybe a pair of narrower tyres attached to a bicycle frame automatically ended the era of the used tyre propulsion. It was fun while it lasted !

Crash Blossoms

Words can sometimes be recalcitrant creatures. You think you have them trained to say what you want them to say, then you find rebels who decide to convey an entirely different message. We heap praise on the bright little words who have developed the capacity to have differing meanings or even stand for completely different things. But the rogues are always lurking, and it seems that one of the favourite people they try to catch unawares is the Headline Writer. Examples of their misbehaviour are constantly being collected, some of which can be proved to be true and probably just as many which surely must be apocryphal. All provoke some interesting pictures.

These misinterpreted headlines have been called Crash Blossoms or Garden Paths. Here are some chosen examples that caused me to react with a gentle smile and sometimes with a surprised chuckle.

McDONALD'S FRIES THE HOLY GRAIL FOR FARMERS

BRITISH LEFT WAFFLES ON FALKLANDS

SQUAD HELPS DOG BITE VICTIM

RED TAPE HOLDS UP BRIDGE

'GATOR ATTACKS PUZZLE EXPERTS

JUVENILE COURT TO TRY SHOOTING DEFENDANT

MINERS REFUSE TO WORK AFTER DEATH

SMOKING RISKIER THAN THOUGHT

LAWMEN FROM MEXICO BARBECUE GUESTS

POLICE CANT STOP GAMBLING

ANTIQUE STRIPPER TO DISPLAY WARES IN STORE

POLICE DISCOVER CRACK IN AUSTRALIA

GRANDMOTHER OF EIGHT SHOOTS A HOLE IN ONE

STOLEN PAINTING FOUND BY TREE.

It seems that Proof-readers, Spellcheck, or disgrunted readers cannot rein in these lurking monsters. Thank Goodness !

Talking Strine

Recently, there was a program on TV examining Australian speech patterns. Reference was made to a book published in the 1960s called "Strine" by Afferbeck Lauder. I used to own this whimsical paperback, probably a Christmas or Birthday gift from a perceptive family member with sound values. Already republished three times in the '60s, a new edition has hit the bookshops, so I will probably chase it up to renew old acquaintance.

A few of the definitions that have whetted my appetite, (what a cute little cliche !) are offered to emphasize the high-quality scholarship expended on this cultural icon.

Scona : A meteorological term, as in, Scona rine; scona clearup.

Semmitch : Two slices of bread with a filling in between, as in, M-semmitch; semmen semmitch; chee semmitch. Here is the way to order a semmitch in a shop.
A. Sell semmitches ?
B. Air; emeny jiwant ?
A. Gimmie utter martyr an an airman pikkle.
Emma charday ?

Share : (a) Bathroom water spray, as in, Wine chevver cole share ? or, I think I'll ever shy venner not share. (b) Rain, as in, Scadded shares an thunnerstorms.

All entries are in Afferbeck Lauder.

Time Wasters

Bertrand Russell was a Philospher and a Mathematician who received a Nobel Prize for Literature in 1950. He is reputed to have said, " There is much pleasure to be gained from useless knowledge ". These words coming from such a learned man strongly validate my interest in this neglected area. If only I could get more people to recognise this, I too could have had a Nobel Prize for Literature in the area of Collection of Useless Information. It's probably too late for me, but in order to assist other devotees to persevere and perhaps capture this rare prize, I am quite willing to share my Useless Knowledge (Hereinafter called U.K.; not to be confused with the United Kingdom, although a lot of my U.K. collection does seem to emanate from there.)

An example of U.K.
A Lipogram is the omission of a specific letter from a written work, keeping the same meaning but substituting words that don't contain the forbidden letter. It is harder than it looks. Here is "Mary Had A Little Lamb" without the letter "s", (not my work but the creation of some anonymous time-waster.)

Mary had a little lamb
With fleece a pale white hue,
And everywhere that Mary went
The lamb kept her in view;
To academe he went with her
Illegal and quite rare;
It made the children laugh and play
To view a lamb in there.

For those who may remain a little unconvinced, I finish with another aphorism from B. Russell: "The time you enjoy wasting is not wasted time ". This type of advice to young people might not be appreciated by dyspeptic pedagogues or passionate parents,
but to the rest of us it is an inspiration. On with the search !

Library Musings

A visit to our local library made me ponder about the way in which such establishments have changed over the years. When I was a boy, (that famous phrase used so frequently by geriatric gossips), public libraries were not common. I am sure there were lots more than I was aware of, but I can recall only one large one in Ann Street in the city. This would have been run by the Brisbane City Council. There were a few "private" libraries scattered about, however. When I was about 15, riding on a tram to work, I noticed a Lending Library in a row of shops at Windsor. So, in the afternoon I got off the tram well before my regular stop to explore this little treasure house. Naturally I joined, paid a small fee, and began borrowing fiction novels for a while. Breaking my journey meant a walk home of a couple of miles, as I didn't want to squander pennies on the tram. It was worth the effort, especially as in those days of minimal traffic, a book could be commenced on the way home.

Later I discovered another source of books when I came across a library either under or near the Courier Mail building in Queen Street, Brisbane.In my lunch hour, I could just find time to walk from my workplace at Petrie Bight to the Library ( and back, of course), this time devouring a sandwich not a book. The library was called The Saint Thomas Aquinas Library, and as might be supposed it was run by a Catholic organization. At that time the Catholic Church had a censorship group that listed proscribed books that they considered immoral or sinful,and not to be read by the flock. These days, their choices would be considered hilarious, but they certainly would not have been found at Aquinas. I think I remember that "The Three Musketeers" was one of the naughty books, so I suppose I'll pay for reading that (and others) eventually. One series of short stories I encountered was Chesterton's "Father Brown" stories, a gentle introduction to the hundreds of mystery stories I was to enjoy in subsequent years.

One challenge I set myself at Aquinas was to read Dante's "Paradise Lost ", a massive task, but eventually finished and this provided a stepping stone to further "classical" writings. If you can persevere with Dante, the other ancient scribes are all down hill difficultywise. (I think I've discovered a new word).

These libraries were not large, and fairly quickly ceased to provide sustenance to a rapidly increasing voracious appetite. Once my peregrinations began with my teaching career, contact with Public Libraries was minimal until .... but that's another story !

Strange Occupations

In a paint manufacturing firm, who has the job of giving the paint colours their names ? Is paint-naming a specialised craft or something that is palmed off onto the office boy or another staff member with a history of under-achievement ? I don't remember seeing any newspaper advertisements seeking a highly qualified lateral-thinking person for the position of Hue Titler, previous experience not necessary. Perhaps employers have a stall at School Careers Day where an expert, staring fixedly at a pile of coloured splotches, tries to encourage school-leavers to venture into this unusual field with great future opportunities. Are there University Courses, e.g. Paint Nomenclature 101, where you could get your Degree and perhaps move on to a Post-graduate Thesis, perhaps even a Fellowship ? Maybe there is a source, perhaps on the Web, that can explain the reasoning behind the choice of combining a particular colour with an imaginative description. Obviously the "namers" are highly creative and alive to current trends, but the potential purchaser of the paint must frequently puzzle over the aptness of a title and whether said title immediately calls up a specific colour image.

If I could enrol in a course such as one of the above, or have contact with a Public Relations employee of a paint firm, would I find it any easier to understand this esoteric career ? So many questions remain unanswered ! I am studying a Paint Chart to try and solve some of them.

What induced a Titler to call an anaemic pinky-grey, Wollybutt ? (Not Woollybutt which at least calls up some intriguing pictures ; but Wolybutt ?) Do they think that Koonunga will make me see a muddy dark green ? (I freely offer that name for future use -- Muddy Dark Green). Another offering is a darkish grey with a bluish tinge called Dunny Do. I'm sure you'd rush out to buy a couple cans of that, wouldn't you ? Perhaps you would prefer a flat, bland blue called Scruple -- and I never ever knew that Scruples were blue. Maybe flat Ginko, a subtle shade of black, would be your preference. Some colours on the chart do seem to have names that could be considered relevant. Red Fire is a deep red ball; it looks like a red fire-ball. I'll bet that colour selector received a rap over the knuckles at the Monthly Staff Meeting for that slip. The manager would be fuming to think that an uninitiated user could understand the link between number and name. Further errors like that could signal the end of their secret cult, and would certainly see the departure of the lack-lustre employee and a series of job offers appearing in the local paper.

Be on the lookout for Dan Brown's next book which is based on this particular phenomena. It has been tentatively titled " The Mystery Of The Bundena Blue Code & The Rainbow Connection"

Famous Friends

Some aspects of human nature seem to be common throught the world. One of these is the tendency to become excited when links, no matter how tenuous, with someone famous,or even notorious, are discovered. Such an interesting case has recently come to our notice.

The spelling of surnames varied quite considerably through the years, especially around the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries. Various branches of a family would finally settle on a particular form. Some people used several different spellings for their name at different times. The Okey family is one good example, using Okey, Oakey, O'Key, Oke and Okes. Similarly, the Beadles also developed several ways of spelling their name. One of these was Bedell which eventually became strong around Kent, and was exported to America. This has been a long-winded approach to the reason why Mrs Wordsmith is seriously considering taking out American citizenship.

In 1860 a little Bedell girl from New York State wrote the following letter ....

Hon A B Lincoln
Oct. 15, 1860
Dear Sir
My father has just home from the fair and brought home your picture and Mr.Hamlin's. I am a little girl only eleven years old, but want you should be President of the United States very much so I hope you wont think me very bold to write to such a great man as you are. Have you any little girls about as I am if so give them my love and tell them to write to me if you cannot answer this letter. I have got 4 brother's and part of them will vote for you any way and if you let your whiskers grow I will try and get the rest of them to vote for you you would look a great deal better for your face is so thin. All the ladies like whiskers and they would tease their husband's to vote for you and then you would be President. My father is going to vote for you and if I was a man I would vote for you to but I will try and get every one to vote for you that I can I think that rail fence around your picture makes it look very pretty I have got a baby sister she is nine weeks old and is just as cunning as can be. When you direct your letter dirct to Grace Bedell Westfield Chataque County New York
I must not write any more answer this letter right off Goodbye
Grace Bedell

Four days later, Lincoln replied. Manners and the postal service were obviously better in those days.

Springfield,Ill., Oct 19, 1860
Miss Grace Bedell
My dear little Miss,
Your very agreeable letter of the 15th is received. I regret the necessity of saying I have no daughters. I have three sons -- one seventeen, one nine, and one seven years of age. They, with their mother, constitute my whole family. As to the whiskers, having never worn any, do you think people would call it a piece of silly affection if I were to begin right now ?
Your very sincere well-wisher
A. Lincoln

Eventually Lincoln did grow a beard of sorts. Whether this influenced his popularity, we will never know. Did Grace Bedell change the history of the United States and the world ? Wouldn't it be lovely to think you had some relationship with this bright little girl ?

The Burrowing Beadles

While researching to find more information about the Okey Clan, I discovered a few more names to add to the list; (an extra 19 names, including children). We knew already that Mrs Wordsmith's great-great grandfather, John Sharp OKEY, married Elizabeth BEADLE. We also were aware of her father and grandfather (great-great-great grandfather Thomas BEADLE, b 1815; and great-great-great-great grandfather John BEADLE, b. 1788). I am pleased to add great-great-great-great-great grandfather Joseph BEADLE, b. 1757, his wife Nancy WALTON and 8 more kids, including John; and great-great-great-great-great-great grandfather, another John b. 1722, and half-a-dozen kids including Joseph. The BEADLE name and its numerous variations appears to have originated in Yorkshire, and nearby Middleton-in-Teesdale, Durham became a stronghold of Beadles for many generations. It seems that most of them were miners in the lead, coal and ironstone mines. Both John Jnr and his dad Joseph married women from the WALTON family.

BEADLE is an interesting name. A beadle was originally a minor parish official in the Church of England who acted as an usher and kept order as a constable. One interesting beadle in literature was Mr Bumble the poor-house supervisor in Charles Dickens' "Oliver Twist". Beadles settled in America as early as 1608 before the "Mayflower" arrived. A later real-life character was George Wells BEADLE, an American, who shared the Nobel Prize for his work in Genetics. We have no evidence that Mrs W. is directly related to any of these literary or foreign characters.

Eating Crow

One should be careful never to criticise or underestimate a woman. After yesterday's critique of Cyclone Olga's performance, she felt compelled to offer a reminder of her technique and capacity. After crossing the coast at Karumba, insteady of fading into the customary steady, rainy Low, she joined forces with the bottom edge of a monsoon trough and seems intent on giving the whole of coastal and central Queensland a good drenching accompanied by strong, gusty winds. They blew all night and show no signs of abating today. I withdraw all recommendations to the Weather Bureau and agree that they should continue with their current system.

We had intended to travel to Malanda this morning, a distance of about 16 km each way. On the last Sunday of each month, the Malanda Cancer Support Group meets in the local Tennis Clubhouse (shed ?), to provide social contact for people (male & female) who are currently being treated for cancer, who are in recovery, or who have recovered. Partners and support persons also make up the group who maintain a positive but realistic attitude towards this disease. Because of the strength and persistence of the elderly Olga, (Woops ! Be careful !), we felt it would be safer to remain home today and resume contact again at the end of February, (Weather permitting).

Cyclone Nomenclature

About a week ago, Cyclone "Olga" hurried in from the Coral Sea and crossed the coast in the Port Douglas - Cooktown area without too much fuss. Then she ran quickly across the Peninsula, idled around for a couple of days in the Gulf and reformed to move on to land at Kurumba. Again there was little serious damage created. If this kind of cyclonic attitude persists, people are going to lose all respect for the phenomena. I think a lot of the problem is caused by the Weather Bureau's naming procedures. Currently, they move through the Alphabet, alternating male and female names. Obviously some letters are causing difficulties, and the selected names are lacking a little in oomph. Well, who's going to be scared of a cyclone called "Neville" or even "Olga". The latter is foreign and a little exotic, but really was too much of a lady.

Cyclone naming needs rethinking, especially with regard to categories from which the names are chosen. Forget names of people ! What about using prehistoric creatures ? For instance, Cyclone "Tyrannosaurus Rex" or Cyclone "Muttaburrasaurus". Now, they would make people sit up and take some notice. Even if "Olga" had been called "Olgasaurus", I'm sure she would have been a little more enthusiastic. But if a scientific category seems a little high-brow, and people's names are preferred, what about looking at old TV programs. Something like "The Addams Family" could provide Cyclone "Gomez", Cyclone "Morticia" or Cyclone "Pugsley". Try ignoring them ! Selection would still have to be done thoughtfully. Cyclone "Cousin It" might be a hairy little fellow but it's hard to see him creating any real panic.

The Weather Bureau needs to employ more divergent thinkers. They need to look outside the square, or perhaps the circle in this case. There are so many TV shows and Movies that would provide inspirational names and give cyclones some street credibility. It's now in the hands of the bureaucracy.

Books, Books, Books

When I was a lad I lived in a lower middle-class home that contained love, respect, discipline, humour and a regard for educational values. Though money was often scarce, there was little in life that made us feel deprived. We were adequately fed, suitably clothed and encouraged to " look good " when leaving the house, and we lived in comfortable, clean surroundings.

Yet, like so many homes at that time, there was one singular omission. There was not one bookcase or book shelf in the place. Books were valued, but were rarely purchased, probably because there were other " more important " calls upon a limited purse. A Christmas present of a book became an exciting, valued treasure.

One of the few permanent book inhabitants was a thick, well-worn tome called Pears Encyclopaedia, a single volume -- unlike the multi-volumed sets which were produced in later years to grace the shelves of many homes, perhaps to be read, perhaps not. Pears was a soap manufacturer and the book may have been a cheaply priced advertising vehicle. I remember many evenings spent lying on the floor absorbing all the exotic knowledge packed into this drab looking but magical book. I needed to be persuaded to do homework, but willingly immersed myself in Pears. Its print was small and tightly crammed on the page, allowing lots of information to be squeezed between its collapsing covers. Pictures were rare, but there were lots of maps, tables and graphs to break the text. And what information there was in the text ! Every reading meant a new discovery. History and Geography seemed to hold a prominent place, but there was also Literature, Grammar, Mythology, Science and Mathematics ; a miniature university.

Maybe this smorgasbord of information was the genesis for my still strong obsession with collecting and enjoying all kinds of valuable and valueless snippets of information. That's my excuse, at any rate. A lifetime of pleasure has developed from Pears and a few other books into the thousands of volumes that have accompanied me through the years, hundreds of which at any time threatened to overwhelm me with stolen space in most rooms of the house. Some people are lucky !

Culture Corner --- Saturday Night Movies

As I search the "TV Times" to find a decent movie to watch on Saturday evenings, I am overwhelmed by repeats of repeats of old movies, most of which seem to feature John Wayne. The programmers have obviously become very lazy, taking the easy, cheap way to fill in a time slot. They must do better !

Once, in the long gone 1950's to 1970's, there was a group which was inspired by the Oscar and Tony presentations. They began giving an award called "The Golden Turkey" for the year's worst Hollywood Films. Here is a really great missed opportunity to win back viewers who would certainly prefer the abysmal mediocrity of these productions to the interminable regurgitation of movies that should be worn out by now from over-use. Who could resist these samples of 1960's award winners ?

1960 ... Cinderfella. (Jerry Lewis in the title role. Enough said !)
1961 ... Snow White & The Three Stooges. (A brilliant concept !)
1962 ... Reptilicus. (Denmark's answer to Godzilla)
1963 ... Blood Feast. ( Caterer serves human limbs and organs. Lacks taste !)
1964 ... Attack of the Mushroom People (aka Matango -- The Fungus of Terror
Worst Vegetable Movie of All Time )
... The Incredibly Strange Creatures Who Stopped Living and Became Mixed-Up
Zombies. (A Musical Monster Film )
1965 ... Invasion of the Star Creatures. ( Extra-terrestrial carrot-creatures. One of the least
horrifying horror films ever made )
... Frankenstein Meets the Space Monster. (A confusing cast of badly made-up midget
monsters)
1966 ... The Navy Versus The Night Monsters. ( Melodrama about Killer Tree-stumps in
Antarctica)
1967 ... Reflections In a Golden Eye. ( Arty soft-focus fiasco )
1968 ... Boom ! ( Tennessee Williams "The Milkman Doesn't Stop Here Any More" totally
destroyed by Liz-n-Dick)
1969 ... Can Hieronymous Merkin Ever Forget Mercy Humpe and Find True Happiness ?
(Film is even more pointless and confusing than the title)

I rest my case !! Who wouldn't prefer one of these to the current sleep-inducing bores ?

Educational Innovations 2

Following on from yesterday's blog, further educational courses are offered ;

3. The Atherton Anti-signalling Association Remedial Course : This association is only a local rural group, but they have produced some attractive Seminars and Retreats. They have organized several sub-groups throughout the state. Having noticed that there has been a severe escalation of good manners from district drivers recently, the Association has offered this remedial short-term course. Many drivers felt that a lot of the fun of driving has been diminished by this adherence to the rules, and accident avoidance skills have diminished. Next term's lessons will remind vehicle operators to leave signalling until the very last moment, or better still, to avoid all instances of letting other vehicle owners know what manoeuvres you may be about to attempt. An Advanced Certificate may be obtained and displayed prominently on the windscreen once the reacquired skills are exhibited. Honours will be awarded if frequent mobile phones are used while in motion.

4. Anti-Privacy Campaigners' Course. (External Only, from Tel-all Communications.) Only people with their own mobile phones and an exciting lifestyle need apply. The Course involves a lot of shouting about inconsequential happenings to you, your family, and friends. Entrants will be taught how to avoid any instance of community consideration, with emphasis given to public venue performance. Doctors' Surgeries, theatres and churches will receive special attention over and above the usual Shopping Centre, Restaurant and public vehicle showcasing. Extra stars will be added to the Graduation Certificate for those who install a very loud, " humorous " dial tone.
All applications close on Australia Day 2010.

Education Innovation

It is apparent that there is a current thrust to overcome deficiencies in our education system. The following areas are considered to need extra attention, and it is to be hoped that Federal Funding will be forthcoming, especially in an Election Year.

1. Greengrocers' Billboard Academies : Several fruit shops have recently gone bankrupt because they have ignored the basic rules of billboard advertising. Extra money is needed for certification in two sections of this skilled profession . The first is Rule 1 which states "All words ending in 's' must have an apostrophe shoved in before the 's' irrespective of its number or possessive intent." If this skill can be accompanied by Rule 2 , (" A Notice will lack impact unless attention can be attracted with an incorrectly spelt word ."), vegetable sales should increase dramatically to the benefit of the National Economy.

2. TV Advertising Traineeships : There has been a noticeable falling-off of quality in announcers' advertising skills, although a few islands of mediocrity remain on Channels 9 and 10. Applicants for these traineeships must be prepared to practise assiduously in the following departments; Advertising 101 -- Shouting loudly, especially when promoting sub-standard goods. Shout ! Shout ! SHOUT !
Advertising 201 -- This is an advanced course where Shouting ! is accompanied by a high-pitched "funny" voice. This is guaranteed to attract positive attention.
Advertising 301 -- This is the most important aspect of TV selling. This is the most important aspect of TV selling. This is the most important aspect of TV selling. Every time a listener thinks that the long advertisement is ended, the whole rigmarole must be repeated, and repeated, ....
An extra Diploma will be awarded to students who can instill a sense of urgency by shouting "Hurry ! " as often as possible. Reluctant applicants for this course are reminded that several advertising announcers have been forced to resign recently because they repeated ads only three times, rather than more frequently. Everyone Needs This Course ! Hurry ! Last Days for Enrolment ! Offer Never To Be Repeated !

Applicaton Advice for other Courses will be available in the next edition of this bulletin.

Poetic Inspiration

While thinking about my bloggish nom-de-plume, I noticed the following small coincidence. I think that I must have been influenced by some psychic phenomena. Please note the significance of the poets William WORDsworth and Oliver GoldSMITH. Incredible ! I am quite happy to accept this remarkable synchronicity since I have a great respect for both men. Wordsworth was a great creator of sonnets and poems which dwelt on Nature, Love and other relationships. Anyone who has read his poetry must have been moved by his poem about Daffodils, "I wandered lonely as a cloud".

Goldsmith was a master of the Epigram and a poetic critic of social inequalities, such as the death of rural villages caused by the Inclusion Acts of the 18th and 19th Centuries. Probably my favourite of his works is "The Deserted Village. A Poem", probably because I can relate to his creation, the village schoolmaster. As I re-read it, I cringe a little as I feel some of his comments striking a little close to home, especially when I remember my early days of teaching. I'll have to pretend that his more positive, appreciative passages are more relevant to my village work. This verse shows a slightly different feeling for educators than those expressed by G.B.S.

Beside yon straggling fence that skirts the way,
With blossom'd furze unprofitably gay,
There, in his noisy mansion, skill'd to rule,
The village master taught his little school.
A man severe he was, and stern to view;
I knew him well, and every truant knew;
Well had the boding tremblers learned to trace
The day's disasters in his morning face;
Full well they laugh'd with counterfeited glee
At all his jokes, for many a joke had he;
Full well the busy whisper circling round
Convey'd the dismal tidings when he frown'd.
Yet he was kind, or, if severe in aught,
The love he bore to learning was in fault;
The village all declar'd how much he knew;
'Twas certain he could write, and cypher too:
Lands he could measure, terms and tides presage,
And ev'n the story ran that he could gauge.
In arguing, too, the parson own'd his skill
For ev'n though vanquish'd, he could argue still;
While words of learned length and thundering sound
Amazed the gazing rustics rang'd around;
And still they gaz'd, and still the wonder grew,
That one small head could carry all he knew.

Shavian Scraps

Word is filtering along the grapevine in the market-place that Michael the Bush Arranger is being tempted by the Thespian call once again. He is considering a role in "My Fair Lady", a musical which the cognoscenti are aware was painfully extracted from George Bernard Shaw's play "Pygmalion" . Shaw, an irascible Irish wit, was a master of the subtlety of Language and was a caustic observer of the foibles of Society. It is to be hoped that the players will do justice to his words as they sing and dance, taking the advice offered to Eliza by Professor Higgins.
" Remember that you are a human being with a soul and the divine gift of articulate speech; that your native language is the language of Shakespeare and Milton and the Bible; and don't sit crooning like a bilious pigeon. "


Although they may strenuously deny it, authors' characters frequently mirror the attitudes and beliefs of their creators. In "Man and Superman" , Shaw says, "Hell is full of musical amateurs; music is the brandy of the damned". I wonder what he would have thought of "My Fair Lady" ?
Another of his statements may answer that question. "If Pygmalion is not good enough for your friends with its own verbal music, their talent must be altogether extraordinary ".


I like Shaw, but have one major concern. He gave ammunition to the Philistines when he wrote " He who can, does; he who cannot, teaches ". I suppose if I look at it long enough, I may be able to squeeze a compliment out of that, but I don't really think so.

Ornithological Enthusiasms

Among the exciting gifts and good wishes which I received at my recent elevation to the Secret Order of Octogenarians was a delightful little bird who will be welcome in the collection of pictures, paintings, sculptures, leadlight suncatchers, books and books, calendars and miscellaneous cuttings and computer printouts about those beautiful creatures. While contemplating this new addition to my avian family, I was forced to acknowledge that, throughout my lifetime, I had (like millions of other people) developed many interests, some of which had expanded closely to the realms of Obsession. This is obviously a very serious character flaw -- one which has given me an enormous amount of pleasure. The majority of these crazes eventually disappeared (usually to be replaced by a new contender) after the expenditure of time, money and ever-diminishing space. I will be kind to myself and use the label Dilettante, rather than the more truthful fickle dabbler. [ Is a Fickle Dabbler a type of Duck ?] One of these Enthusiasms has been constant -- the interest in birds and the pleasure they have given me in the wild and on the printed page.

Until about the age of 25, I was like most folk, a casual noter of birds if they thrust themselves forward to be admired. [Ah ! The wasted ignorance of Youth ! ] Then a neighbouring School Principal showed me his Field Book and raved on about the variety of birds around his house. The disease had been implanted and I was unaware that I had been infected. It was a gradual onset which increased exponentially as we wandered the country engaged in work and recreation. Here at Atherton we planted trees that would attract birds and we have been rewarded with permanent occupants and regular visitors.

Obsessions may come; obsessions may go; but bird-watching lasts forever !!

Medical Breakthrough

After reading yesterday's vitriolic attack on poor defenceless news readers, today's artifact will be a bright little gee-gaw reflecting light and good taste. I have been assured by a very good but anonymous source that the following story is true, and if that is so, it might explain the creation of some interesting phobias.

In the 16th Century, Thomas Muffett had a little daughter named Patience. He believed that spiders could cure many ailments. He wrote (probably in his daily blog) that having plenty of spiders in the house prevented gout. (This must be true, because I don't have gout). He also stated that Spider dung and urine cured running eyes. He often tried these spider remedies on Patience.

So this is why Little Miss Muffett ran from spiders, and probably from Dad too, and went through life with perpetually runny eyes. It might be best not to try these remedies unless under medical supervision.

Language Disaster

This afternoon we had our second rainstorm in two days. Fortunately it caused no trouble and I am sure the gardens all benefitted. Had there been any ill effects, the News Editors from both radio and television would have launched into their stories with their favourite word that they toss into any "disaster" story. I believe they do this sadistic act only because they know that News Readers, almost without exception, will repetitiously mutilate it. The word is "havoc" !!
They love it ! Dictionaries give the last vowel a neutral sound; something like "uh". Perhaps a careless pedant might be forgiven for the use of a final short "o". However, a majority of News Readers lazily seem to prefer the short "i" sound, so that every cyclone creates Havick; earthquates create Havick; bushfires cause Havick; bombs, battles, uprisings, floods, droughts, all enjoy a bit of Havick. We know that the results of these occurrences can impact distastrously upon people, but this does not excuse the careless approach to the story, and indeed the lazy mispronunciation distracts from and minimizes the importance of the event. It seems a long time ago since the ABC promoted a standard in pronunciation and grammar. Now it appears that almost anything goes. One is left with a feeling that speech coaches are now retired rappers ( or rapsters) who enjoy the Havick caused by speech mutilation. Listeners deserve the courtesy of care and correctness. The facts of life dictate that polemics such as this will have little or no effect on the situation. However, I'm sure it will enable me to bear up more bravely under future havoc attacks.

Ancient Wordsmith's Birthday 16/01/10

Today I waken to find that I have been alive on this planet for 80 years, so it is an important day. Yesterday was not an important day and tomorrow will not be an important day. Tradition dictates that I should celebrate the fact that I have managed to avoid major catastrophes and personal disasters for such a long period. Getting old is a natural process, if you are lucky. The main thing that I find distressful is that there is a tendency to spend a lot of time looking back, rather than planning for a finite future. It is enjoyable to look back at any time, especially if the mind is prepared to be selective and hide away unpleasant events while highlighting joyous moments, usually where one has played some positive role. This is why elderly people, of whom I may soon be one, start conversations with " When I was young ...." and reel off some occurrence usually to the implied detriment of the current hearer's behaviour. Therefore I resolve to continue looking forward, and to strive to restrain myself from homilies concerning "the good old days". Tomorrow will begin more good old days.

While thinking about birthday celebrations, I blessed the fact that certain traditions were not carried over to modern adult life. In Brazil and other South American countries, the ears of the birthday person are pulled once for each year of his or her life. In some cases, an extra pull for luck is given. I shudder to think of 80 pulls on my ear-lobe with or without one for luck. In Hungary, this experience is accompanied by a song which says, " God bless you should live so long, your ears reach to your ankles". That's really rubbing it in.

In Canada, the birthday person has his nose greased with butter or margarine, so bad luck cannot hold on to them. This is accompanied by a pinch for each year alive and the ubiquitous "one for luck". It seems that birthdays can be painful places and should be avoided where possible.

I shall conclude with one fashion which I managed to avoid by getting married at an appropriate time. In Germany, it was the practice that when a man reached 30 and still was unmarried, he had to sweep the stairs of the City Hall. Previously his "friends" had covered the stairs with rubble. After he was finished, they strewed the stairs with rubble once more for further cleaning. These sadistic trials were supposed to show the ladies that he was available and was a good housekeeper.

I have had another lovely birthday, with lots of kind words devoid of painful activities. I look forward to the next one.

The War Against Senility

Recently on television, Andrew Denton has been hosting a programme called "Elders", for which he has chosen half a dozen people who, because they have been lucky enough to survive to a reasonably elderly age, are assumed to have acquired wisdom. As I look around me, I feel that there is not necessarily a correlation between AGE and WISDOM, and I might even go so far as to say this relationship is rare. As I age, I patiently wait to acquire my share of this scarce quality,but must admit that there is little evidence of onset, at this stage. Incidentally, I am far from being a fan of Andrew, but I must acknowledge that there are times when he does exhibit good interviewing skills.

One of his guests was the "Silver Bodgie", Bob Hawke, a former Prime Minister of Australia. There are many things that Bob and I would not agree on, but one of his statements I considered to be very wise. He felt that in order to combat the onset of Dementia or Altzeimer's Disease, one needs to constantly exercise the brain and challenge it with fresh information. I know there is no magic bullet for this problem, but it seems logical that the brain will respond more positively to fresh stimuli than to torpor and disuse. One of Bob's techniques is to solve two Cryptic Crosswords each day. I don't know whether his solving skills are better than mine, or he works on easier puzzles. I sometimes solve ONE in a day, with great celebration, though some may carry over for some days. I have several books of puzzles of varying difficulty to suit my current mood. For the maximum of difficulty and frustration, I think the ones that are collected from the British daily newspapers rank highly.

As we dodder on into our wisdom-filled twilight years, perhaps Bob and I will be able to compare the efficacy of the various types of puzzles available.