Conversation Piece Accorpinc to an English newspaper air raid warnings are making Englishmen talk to each other without an introduction.
"Was that an air raid warning?" said was that an air raid warning?" "Couldn't say, I'm sure."
"Perhaps it was the all clear."
"What?"
"I said perhaps it was the all clear," "Might have been."
"I suppose it must have been one or the other." suppose so."
"Unless it was an elephant." "An elephant?"
aw."
"Yes, an elephant—trumpeting. Haw, hew, "Oh, jolly good, Haw, haw, haw." "Well, good night."
"Good night,"
Theory GLANCENG through an American magazine the Other day, we were surprised to read that, in the editor's opinion, Herr Hitler has been dead for about a couple of years, says Maurice Lane-Norcott in the "Daily Mail"
This has disturbed the even tenor of our ways, and ever since then we have been walking round in a state of doubt, wondering about our own chaps. Is it possible that they are dead too? We just can't make up our mind.
After a careful study of their faces, which we have compared with known living faces, we are, on the whole, inclined to think that perhaps half a dozen of them are waxworks.
We believe that we could prove this if we were allowed to tap their stomachs. In our opinion their stomachs open on a hinge, each one containing a gramophone and a set of records for making public speeches.
We think further that these lay figures are operated by clockwork and are wound up every morning by a highly placed Civil Servant, who is sworn to secrecy.
We have nothing further to add.
6 News Flashes A £25,000, Cocktail Queen, whose elbows are insured for £10,000, was found in a discarded ice-chest last night by a Mayfair dustman while combing a West Kensington mews with an elec-trio rubbish-rake, A husband, who used his wife's gas mask as a "Wall of Death" for racing snails, was tarred and feathered by an angry mob of golf widows at Utter Loathly yesterday.
Peeping out from behind a large policewoman, a little girl, believed to be the daughter of a fudge-maker's wiveller, threw a broody pigeon at Mr. Justice Glutton as he left the Law Courts yesterday. It laid an egg in his wig, which was fried by the heat.
While paddling in the sea at Little Stuctonon-Wold, a woman, who claims to be the heaviest charwoman in Acton, trod on the spire of a church which has been lost since 1437 and dislocated her ankle.
Permission to use the Albert Memorial for a Hog Calling Contest has been refused to the Society of Pigs, whose members meet in a sty once a year and dine off truffles out of a silver trough.
Text read from the printed page and cleaned; old type leaves the occasional error.