Page 68 – 69 / 1941 – 42
RLeft Hand Page
‘The Chunkel’ (draft), ‘Young Ronald’, cartoon, and ‘Get a load of this!’ (cont.) by Bernard Campion and ‘Books’ (cont.).
GET A LOAD OF THIS! (continued from Page 7)…
[…] or genuine mirth this item invariable invoices it would appear that it deals almost exclusively with Military Law…
Max Miller’s “Street Singing” debut was enterprising enough, but who in Sime Road requires any reminder (however melodious) that “once he built a railroad”…
Just over two years after Singapores recorded breaking wrap up we are ordered to produce and wear identity discs. I think that after that February fiasco most people were mainly concerned with the problem of losing their identity, instead of establishing…
A recent census undertaken by my staff revealed that there are still six officers who are not yet attached to the Concert Party. They consist of a camp Q.M., four messing officers, and a Provost Marshall – occupations which are far too exacting to allow of any participation in such hobbies… So we are all to cultivate a couple of Castor Oil plants – huh.
Heavens! What an internal bind! … The recent ban on gambling reveals a hitherto unsuspected thoughtfulness on the part of our Nippon hosts. After all, nothing can be more distracting to a well-organised “Two up” game than a sudden Black-out, obliging all participants to fling themselves shrewdly on their stakes at considerable risk to life and limb… B.G.C.
BOOKS: Continued from page 6
[…] their lives toiling in obscurity; self-sacrificing in their devotion to a tradition of Service; infusing a tincture of morality in an unethical system of government.
Right Hand Page
‘The Chunkel’ (draft), ‘Yah-sissy!’ cartoon by Ronald Searle and ‘Rope’ by Bernard Campion.
“The mixture as before” as critics say – the “perfect crime” done in the same old way, a murd’rer who recalls his crime with zest; a strangled body in an old oak chest. Two nancy boys, a semi-dear old maid are seen in this familiar parade. A crippled ‘tec addicted to his booze, upearths with skill a dozen different clues. “Sir Richard” too is once more in the cast – as in a million murders of the past. And Antoine – dear old Antoine – he’s there too, the perfect butler with his routine clue. Philosophy, psychology and crime, are then discussed to while away the time. The murderers – extraordinary chaps – are written with a chronic mental lapse; the show on which their alibi is based can’t be recalled – the tickets are misplaced. The same old grand finale’s introduced, the lame detective crowing on his roost; the police, of course, are waiting in the street, and Brandon sobs admission of defeat. The whistle screams the triumph of the law, decidedly – “the mixture as before.” B.G.C.