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Document : 624

Title: The March Hare, No. 3

Author(s): Various

THE
MARCH
HARE
£1000 'NA' 'NA'
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REQUIREMENTS FOR SPRING
AND SUMMER WEAR
BE SURE TO COMMUNICATE WITH
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that the Best is Cheapest in the end.
When you buy a RADIO SET you want
GOOD ADVICE, a GOOD SET and
a good "AFTER SALES SERVICE."
Make sure of them all by entrusting
your requirements to the
practical man.
TOM NESS
230 KILBOWIE ROAD,
CLYDEBANK
(Qualified in Wireless 17 years ago).
C. Horsburgh, F.B.O.A.
Ophthalmic Optician,
Photographic and
Wirelesss Dealer
45 KILBOWIE ROAD
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Editorial
No. 3, 1930.	PRICE, THREEPENCE.
"It's all tommyrot; but it's brilliant, you know." — G. B. Shaw.
"When Homer smote his bloomin' lyre,
He'd 'eard men sing by land and sea,
And what 'e thought 'e might require
He went and took — but not so, we."
— R. Kipling.
Once again, dear reader, "The March Hare"
makes its appearance before you for your
appreciation or censure, or a congenial mixture
of both, with the emphasis, we trust, on the
former. To-day is an important date, since it
heralds the appearance, for the third time in
history, of "The March Hare." If a phrase,
by continued repetition passes into the realms
of truth, then this, our third production, should
have luck on its side, if nothing else; but we
leave judgment of this to you since our natural
modesty prevents us from saying more. In this
phase of our campaign, as in others, we have
behind its the experience of the past two years
and we can only hope that we have benefited
thereby.
Our first quotation is designed to give you a
faint idea of what is to be found within our
covers. Let us sweep away all pretensions!
"The March Hare' is produced with one end
in view. Crude people would call that end
barefaced robbery; but a little reflection will
bring to mind many more delicate phrases.
In reality, it is a plausible way of separating
as many people as possible from their three--
penny bits by seeming to give them something
in return, and if it serves that purpose, its
production, in our eyes, is justified. Further,
the discerning reader may discover, after an
arduous search, some little touch of brilliance,
cautiously concealed in the mass of tommyrot.
If he does, he is lucky. If he does not, we
sympathise with him, our heart goes out to him,
but — we have his threepence. What a wealth
of consolation to us!
The contributions which go towards the makeup
of our magazine, and some of which, owing
to a calamitous mistake, may contain some
sense here and there, are, to the best of our
knowledge, original. We have not followed the
tactics of Homer, the old reprobate, who, it
would appear, was the first world's champion
plagiarist. If, however, we have absentmindedly
included someone's pet masterpiece in these
pages, we are very — No! We are not sorry and
we don't apologise.
In another page of this magazine, the people
who have assisted us, variously, in our general
campaign, have received their mead of praise.
Here, however, we wish particularly to thank
our contributors, without whom the success of
this publication would be impossible, and we
must express our regret that all the contributions
could not be printed. A special word of
thanks is due to Mr A. Wallace, who designed
the cover. We consider ourselves indeed fortunate
to have had at our disposal the services
of such a capable artist. We must also
commend Mr F. B. Semple on whose previous
experience we have relied, and Mr J. R.
Macfarlane, whose assistance, in a sub-editorial
capacity, has been invaluable.
During next week the real big push will
commence and the people of Clydebank can be
sure that a few surprises are in store for them.
One thing of which they can be certain is that
no dullness will prevail. Entertainments of
various kinds — advertised elsewhere — have been
arranged for next week, with the usual grand
rally in the Town Hall, on Friday evening,
while Saturday will be one long day of mingled
amusement and horror, the proportions being
decided according to the amount of money left
in your pocket after the raid. However, we
we appeal to you to rally round us in our
enthusiastic efforts to benefit local institutions
whose good work might be extended if funds
were not so badly lacking. The finest form
your appreciation of our efforts can take is to
"ADSUM" AND MAKE IT A £1000.
Rara.
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Testimonials from Sir Harry Lauder, Dr. Freu, Mus. Doc., R. S. Rait,
Principal, Glasgow University, J. M. Hamilton, Tenor,
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First-Class Stock of Gramophones and Records, "His Master's Voice,"
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61 KILBOWIE ROAD, CLYDEBANK
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SOCIETY CHIT-CHAT by
The Duchess of Duntocher
In the Arms of the Law.
Along with the Marchioness of Dalmuir, I
had a hectic time at the Canal Banque Casino,
the other Sunday. We were doing great
business with our two-headed pennies when the
police raided the Casino and drove us all off in
taxis. I was very lucky, however, as the nice
young sergeant who took charge of me was a
real dear and I did not mind him holding me
closely in the taxi because he "knew his stuff "
and breathed on the windows all the way like
a perfect gentleman.
A Dead Cert.
I can let you into a little secret. The
reason why the proposed prizes for the gentlemen
wearing the oldest dress suits at the
Charity Ball were withdrawn, was simply
because it was thought undesirable that the
Committee or the Members of the Town Council
should monopolise any particular set of prizes.
A Pawn in the Game.
Our darling Provost has been trying to coax
me to take one of the new Parkhall mansions,
but I have told him plainly that the district
would be rather out of the way for me unless
the Town Council construct a shorter road from
Parkhall to Radnor Street. I should hate to
walk the present long distance every Monday
morning with the Duke's Sunday suit.
Bowled Out.
I'm going to resign from the Ladies' Bowling
Club — it's far too rude a game for a lady of
refinement. Just because I was rather hot and
bothered in my first game, through having a
rush to get there on time, Lady Brickland
remarked loudly when I threw my first bowl,
"You're steamy," and although my figure may
not be of the skinny, fashionable type, there
was no need for the Duchess of Faifley to keep
yelling at me, "You're always too wide."
Latest Dress Cut.
The real reason why the wardrobe of Lady
Whitecrook is not so extensive now is that the
"Co." has announced that goods on "appro."
are expected back after, say, a couple of dances.
A Swank Unmasked.
What a laugh we all had at the recent
Trades Hotel Carnival Night when the haughty
Baroness Jennyhouse took off her sable wrap
in the foyer and only then discovered she had
forgotten to discard her apron. The blacklead
brush, dangling on one of the strings, too, will
be remembered when next she brags about
"my domestic staff."
One For His Nob.
While bathing from Duntocher pier the
other morning that conceited young ass, Lord
Garscadden, plunged in after me and asked if
I was advertising the permanent wave tickets —
alluding, I suppose, to what our shipyard experts
would describe as my huge displacement. The
"wave" I gave his fat head with a boat-hook
when we got ashore will be permanent, I assure
you.
Motoring Note.
The time has come when I must see about
getting a new car. One evening last week
when I was being driven home in my usual
all-weather model, one of the chauffeurs was
rather rude to me. He said he did not mind
a Duchess licking a cornet but he was so-and-so
if he would stand for her eating a fish supper,
so he threw me off at the Thomson St. Station.
Footwear Hint.
When that nasty old cat, the Hon. Mrs
Bon-Accord asked me to recommend an
establishment where she could get shoes that
really would fit her, I cast my gaze on her feet,
and said, "Brown's." I also added that she
should order without delay lest that big berth
is booked for the giant Cunardcr. This should
keep her from tramping on my corns so often.
IN THE RISINGEST BURGH
"AN HISTORICAL DOCUMENT."
NOW, these are the words of Dan, the scribe,
concerning the things that were done in the
year that was nineteen hundred and thirty, this
being the ninth year of King David of the Scone
of Destiny.
It came to pass in that year that a certain
Chinese mandarin arose and went into the world
to study civilisation, with the hope that he might
return and bestow unto his beloved people the
benefits thereof. And this mandarin, whose
name was Chu Tin Foil, journeyed afar until
he came even unto Tamsontoon.
And there assembled much people to welcome
him and a great feast was held at which were
the Councillors and fathers of the people, besides
many publicans.
And Tin Foil beheld in this city the many
wonders of which the inhabitants were justly
proud. He did visit the Council Chambers of
the Fathers and hearkened to the wisdom that
fell from their lips concerning the inhabitation
of certain newly-built dwellings on the
neighbouring slopes of Parkhall, a district fair
to behold. None but the chosen might enter
there. Concerning this matter, many were the
words and great the wisdom thereof, uttered
in the chamber.
Great indeed was the talent that the worthy
mandarin did spot in the streets of Tamsontoon.
Many were the virgins who did await
the bridegroom, on the road to Dalmuir, on the
Sabbath eve. Likewise, many did tarry long,
though they did say even unto Tin Foil,
"Hullo, old thing," and bestow upon him the
eye that is glad.
Now, at this time there was in this town
a yard wherein the dwellers built ships, they
having peculiar skill in this art. Chu Tin Foil
betook himself into this yard. And he marvelled
greatly, and joy filled his heart with what
he saw, but it was good that he understood
not what he heard. And behold, as he stood
in the dock in wonder, an apprentice rose up
in wrath and threw a hammer with great power
at his fellow shirker. And it fell upon the neck
of Foil who, perforce, dropped even into the
water. But divers workmen went unto his help
and pulled him out of the waters which
threatened to engulf him. And Tin Foil thought
unto himself, "Great indeed are the marvels of
Civilisation. Oh! why left I my hame?"
On the seventh day of his sojourn in the
land of Tamson he beheld a great multitude
of men gathering in an enclosure. Desiring
to add unto his knowledge of Civilisation he
entered therein. In the midst of the great host
a score of men clad in raiments of vivid hue
pursued on the muddy grass a leather sphere.
He later learned that it was the custom of
some of the men of this region to engage in
a peculiar game called Football, while the
assemblage, having naught else to do, did look
on in two divisions, each man lending his voice
to urge on his favourite sphere chasers. This
day there had come to the field of Bullcouey
men of the tribes of Duntocher who would do
battle with the local giants. As Chu Tin Foil
entered there arose a great shout of wrath and
he would fain have turned back but one behind
him pushed the mandarin forward. There on
the field a mighty battle arose. And lo! one,
Cray, sought to gain honour before the hosts,
and he carried the leather night unto the Duntocher
goal (which, being interpreted, means
wooden posts placed at each end of the field),
but behold, he lost his head and did kick it
over the topmost post. And Chu Tin Foil marvelled
greatly at the tumult of the many voices
and strange it was that the song of the
hosts was repeated like a chant. With one voice
they did call out vehemently that the referee
(the ruler of the game) should be interred —
 — and yet that gentleman had not expired.
A graveyard did seem to have been set aside
near to the field of play, and from afar it
appeared that many referees had erstwhile met
the fate demanded by the multitude for this
unfortunate man. And in the language of these
men were many words not to be found in the
word books of that people.
Then up rose one, Long, of Bullcouey, and
smote the sphere so that it rose high, yea,
even unto the heavens. And one who stood
nearby demanded with loud voice that the
players of Duntocher should be booted on the
countenance, the stomach, and various other
anatomical regions. And there was a great
rush of the crowd towards him and fierce conflict
followed. And Chu Tin Foil was smitten
so that while he lay on the ground he was
trampled by many feet. Great indeed, thought
the Celestial, on recovering, are the marvels of
Civilisation.
Now, in these days, there was in Tamsontoon,
a form of amusement known to the
inhabitants as the "Talkies." Our worthy
mandarin went to give ear unto them, but, on
entering, it occurred to his shrewd intellect that
they were illnamed. The noise suggested to
him that they might suitably be termed the
"Roaries " and the odorous aroma exhaled by
a man nigh unto him suggested the nomenclature
"Smellies."
As he was seated, darkness fell upon the hall.
Then from the chancel came strange, confused
noises. The resemblance of a man conversing
(Continued on page 17)
GIESIA-PENNY.
The Story of a Yankee who Courted Disaster.
"SAY, folks," said Silas P. Hickman, "I'm
sure sick hearin' youse talkie' about the
roughnecks youse met out west, an' the yeggs
youse saw right here in li'l' ole Noo York."
The buckaroos its the club-room looked up,
"Wal, you've nothin' on me fer experience,"
said Zamber T. Squanderbelt, "I've mixed it
with hoodlums on the Big Horn Range, I've
tickled tigers in India, and had a struggle with
a grizzly on the Rockies. You've got to show me."
"Nits on that," snarled Silas P., "I'm referrin'
to real tough stuff."
"Wal," drawled Squanderbelt, "spiel your
lay; I'm listenin'."
"It was like this," began Hickman, "my
natural cravin' for likker sent me to Yourip
an' I lands its the place where the real highballs
grow — Scotland, they call it. And say,
guys, there's a burgh west of Glasgow where
they shave with blowlamps, and the folks say
that the cream (of society) is the cheese of
to-morra. Clydebank, they call this partikiler
dump. I was gain' to see a li'l' ole pool called
Loch Lomond when the auto goes jag. It was
sure punk Iuck; but I decided to step ashore
and give this village the once-over. I had
hardly located the ground with my feet
and sure had'nt time to remark that Simpson
was the guy that slaughtered five thousand
Philadelphians with a half-bottle of Bass, when
a yeggman steps up to me an' sticks a six-gun
into my midriff, an' starts in to spiel his lay.
I sees a cop sluggin along so I holds tight; but
would youse believe it, that bull never batted
an eyelid? 'He's in on this,' I says, an' seein'
the folks puttin' dimes in other stick-up men's
boxes, I puts a greenback into a tin that my
gunman was shuffin' up to me.
It was just thankin' Uncle Sam on gettin'
away so easy, when a parson ambles up to me
an' shuves a box under my snitch. Now, folks,
I sure started in to cuss. I'm not in the
parson robbin' honest Americans and I sure says
so with partikiler emphasis. The padre just
smiles an' murmured somethin' in his lingo, an
I parts with another bone. Then a nurse comes
along and does her stuff. I tumbled that it
was a man disguised; but he stings me for
another dollar.
I jaloused that it was a general stick-up an'
makes for a hootch joint to spend some dough
before I'm cleaned out. I had just ordered a
bullet of rye when a feller with a mask coverin'
his phiz stings me for another green. It was
sure cussed bein' in that li'I' dump with no
getaway. The bulls were sure in with the yeggs
for a cop stung me for a five spot before I
got back to the auto. I tell you, folks, tiger
shootin' has nothin' on a burgh packed with
disguised gunmen pullin' their gats.
Back in Glasgow I reports to the big squirt
chief of police an' tells him to send the navy
down to that hick burgh. You know, folks,
that bull just laughs and says, "Giesa-penny."
That's the very spiel these yeggs spilled in
Clydebank. I starts in to part with another
five spot knowin' that the bulls were in on the
game, when the squirt says, "It's Stoodents'
Day in that burgh." He seemed to think that
that should have relieved me; but, believe me,
I got out while the goin' was good an' beat it
for England that night."
"That's my spiel, folks," concluded Silas.
"Keep clear of that burgh if you ever go to
Yourip. An cannibal island has nothin' on that
li'l' town when the stoodents get goin."
"Wal, Silas," admitted Zamber T., "You certainly
have said a mouthful."
THE BRIGANDS.
Clydebank is in a turmoil,
The Students have thrown the scare;
They are driving the risingest Burgh,
As mad as an old March hare.
They are no respectors of person;
Everyone shares a like fate;
Beggars and opulent people
Are caught with the self-same bait.
The faces of the sitizens
Have lost their care-free look,
As they watch the approach of the pirates,
Clad in all manner of costumes,
Descending upon them to rook.
But please don't try to avoid them,
By dodging up the next close,
Escape them you can't!
Refuse them you won't,
When a box appears under your nose.
H.P.R.
GEORGE F. ROBERTSON
CHEMIST AND DRUGGIST
279 KILBOWIE ROAD
PURE DRUGS
PROPRIETARY ARTICLES AND
SUNDRIES ALWAYS FRESH
LEAVE YOUR SPOOLS
HERE
TO BE DEVELOPED, PRINTED and
ENLARGED.
SPRING IS COMING!
YOUR HEAVY COAT WILL
SOON BE DISCARDED
CALL AND SEE
THE NEW PATTERNS OF
Spring and Summer
— SUITINGS —
A Good and Varied Stock of
Shirts, Underwear, Ties, Socks,
Braces, etc.
JOHN M. M'ALPINE
LADIES' & GENTLEMEN'S
TAILOR AND OUTFITTER.
285/7 KILBOWIE ROAD
CLYDEBANK
ANDREW Y. YOUNG, F.B.O.A.
Qualified Optician, Watchmaker
and Jeweller
Registered by the Joint Council of
Qualified Opticians for Sight Testing
and Optical Treatment under the
National Health Insurance Acts.
Sign of the Clock - Dalmuir
LERN TO RITE FONETIKALY!
A Native of Dumbartonshire Gave
the World THE 20th Century
Advance in Shorthand,
viz.: —
SLOAN=DUPLOYAN
Taught by Education Authorities.
ALL VOWELS JOINED TO CONSONANTS
ADVANTACE — STRAIGHT FORWARD ONE POSITION OUTLINES
ACQUISITION — INCOMPARABLY EASIER AND EARLIER
ATTAINMENT — WHILST OTHERS LABOUR 1-3RD WAY THROUGH
ACCURACY — PIONEER OF WHOLE-WORLD LEGIBILITY
ACHIEVEMENT — WORLD'S RECORD REPORTING FEAT
Students' Campaign —
"ASSIST 'EM " for Local Charity.
Sloan-Duployan —
"A SYSTEM " for Vocal Clarity.
Holding Local Record of 200 words per min.
Keep this Ad. — Write or Interview
Mr D. M. MOIR, F.S.D.S.
Secy. Scottish Section Sloan-Duployan Soc.
42 CHURCH ST., CLYDEBANK.
GLAUR REVELATIONS.
"GOOD-BYE TO BACK-CHAT."
LAST INSTALMENT OF OUR STUPENDOUS WAR SERIAL —
(A critic recently affirmed that there is more bunk to the line in this
story than in
he eeee tackled previouslv. Perhaps he is right. — Ed.)
SYNOPSIS:
HAMISH McTAVISH, known to his intimates
for some inscrutable reason as "Wee
Macgreegor," welcomed the opportunity
in 1914 to leave his wife, Naggy, and his
innumerable progeny for a rest-cure in
France. After sundry adventures in bars,
barracks and other health resorts, he is
appointed to the Secret Service. On the
1st of November, 1918, he received sealed
orders in Paris.
Now read on
Macgreegor, with the aid of his pocket
hatchet, at length succeeded in opening the
envelope. There was, within it, a single sheet
of crocodile skin and engraved on it in platinum
a solitary combination of hieroglyphics,
"¶ U V £ 6 K ?," which, of course, as Macgreegor
well knew, after one and a half hour's struggle
with his code-book, meant "Berlin?" The "?"
was a bit of a puzzle to him but he took it as
implying a tentative invitation to him to scout
around the little village on the Spree. So he
packed his bag with a bottle of whisky, a razor,
a bottle of whisky, a letter from Naggy and a
bottle of whisky; then he paid his bill, and, on
recovering sufficiently, took an east-bound tram.
It was unfortunate for this poor lad that the
tram happened to go on a circular tour, for
on disembarking two hours later, he found himself
once more outside his hotel. Scorning the
treacherous vehicle, he set off on foot in
complete darkness and a very bad temper.
Three days later he strolled down Unter den
Linden with his razor, a bottle of whisky, a
letter from Naggy, a bottle of whisky and a
black eye. Reaching.Berlin had been no picnic.
On several occasions people had actually — and
actively — resented Macgreegor asking a lift in
his exquisite blend of Gaelic and English. That
last chaffeur, on the back of whose car Macgreegor
had ridden for a day and a night had
been almost rude. Of course, there is some
excuse for a general's chaffeur not being exactly
sweet, but really, you know, there is a limit.
As Macgreegor said later, "One other word
from him and I'd have pushed his face even
further in than I did."
Well, of course, now that Macgreegor was
actually in Berlin, he supposed it would be the
right thing for him to start discovering things.
His first move was to take rooms in a quiet
hotel (Trades). It struck him as he entered
the reception hall that it would be hot tactics
to pretend he was a dumb Bulgarian. He did
so, and presently, with the comfortable feeling
that he had aroused no suspicions, he was in
a room, above the Swimming Baths on the top
floor.
For some days he had just a lovely time
discovering and discovering. You'd he surprised
if I told you all the nice things he discovered
in Berlin. He had to change his hotel twice
and discard the dumb Bulgarian idea, for there
seemed to be thousands of dumb Bulgarians
anxious to play tunes on their fingers to Macgreegor,
who knew as much about the dummy
alphabet as the Income Tax Office knows about
an Aberdonian's private means.
But now, he had hit on a big thing. Disguised
as a flower-girl, he had been taking the
air in a park, when he overheard a couple
children discussing a meeting that was to take
place. The Big Noise and the Lesser Noise
were both to be there as were also hordes of
minor squeaks. Naturally, Macgreegor intended
to be there. Cramming his razor, a bottle
whisky and his letter from Naggy into his
suitcase, he paid his bill and "quand it se
revint," he staggered off to a left-luggage office
and left his luggage.
On the 10th November, he slipped into the
cellar of the pub at which the meeting was
to take place, and hastily disguising himself
as a bottle of beer, had himself carried into
the inner sanctum. His embarassment was
great for the Big Noise had serious business
on hand — or rather on his knee. Presently,
however, this business being disposed of, the
meeting commenced. Well, if you think Macgreegor
discovered anything worth talking about
before, you're wrong. In half-an-hour he had
learned enough to enable him to claim the
war on a foul, so, disguising himself as an
earthquake, he shocked them a little, and,
travelling with a graceful, wavelike motion, he
arrived at the left-luggage office, reduced it to
ruins, became himself again, found his suitcase,
and departed hurriedly for Paris.
Having delivered his report and found with
joy that the referee would uphold his claim,
he returned to his hotel, where another letter
from Naggie awaited him. He hastily packed
his suitcase with his razor and his two letters,
paid his bill, took a pick-me-up and departed
for Patagonia to avoid Naggy, who was, even
then, arriving at the Gare du Nord.
Avis.
Stationer	JAS. PENDER	Printer
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Does the World Reel before You?
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DON'T LET THAT WORRY YOU!
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OR ANY OTHER CENTURY.
(Copyright by Rotter, Daily Tripe, Slaughter House, Mincing Lane.)
SENSATIONAL DEDUCTIONS BY
A WORRIED, UNSOUND SCIENTIST.
IMMINENCE OF SECOND FLOOD.
(Can you swim?	If not, charter a liner.	Special rates to our readers.)
ON WITH THE FLOOD.
A Thesis in Pure Science.
ALTHOUGH I have seen the "bow in the
clouds" several times just lately, I begin
to have fears that the rainbow promise may
be only a poetic fancy of the writer of the
Pentateuch, and that there will be a repetition
of the Flood. No one has, up till now, quite
satisfied me as to the scientific facts which lie
behind the story of the Flood, in which Noah
and his Ark were involved. Recently, however,
a conjunction of two separate phenomena in the
present-day meteorological conditions has caused
me to think there will be yet another deluge
despite the fact that an amazing number of
people seem to possess rainbows which, they
insist on telling us, should be worn around the
shoulders.
The two conditions referred to are as follows:
(a)	rain is so unusual now in the Southern
Hemisphere that 1,214,337 umbrella manufacturers
died of starvation last week; (b)	in the
Northern Hemisphere it has rained continuously
for so many years that Sunday School Picnic
Promoters are now confined in padded cells and
provided with a calendar and pencil.
Now, consider the inevitable result of all this
disparity of conditions. In the southern half
of the world, the hot sun is licking up the
seas and the vapours must be going somewhere,
at least, I hope so. If they are not falling
down again as rain in that part of the world,
then they must be finding their way up here.
Very well, then!. If that process continues
much longer the transference of such vast
bodies of water to our half of the globe will
certainly make that half top-heavy. The centre
of gravity is slowly, imperceptibly, but surely
being shifted, and the process will continue until
the tilt of the earth is quite altered by the bulk
of the weight being concentrated in the northern
half.
One of these days the earth will tip over
altogether and the poles will become the Equator
all of a sudden. That is just what must have
happened at the last Flood. It only needed
that last forty days and forty nights of rain
to finish the job. It was the day after Noah
got into his Ark that the big tilt took place and
the water of the seas had to find new levels
when the earth rolled over. You see, the folk
of these far-off days had no reason to think
the old earth would take a sudden topple and
as in the present day, I suppose some idiot
would be wandering around the Ark whistling
to Noah in derisive notes, "It ain't gonna rain
no more."
The redistribution of the water of the earth
will certainly cause some inconvenience to a
great number of people, for if all that water
starts to tumble about and try to readjust itself
in a day there is bound to be a devil of a mix--
up somewhere. I can foresee that this is just
where a good education is going to be of great
service. For instance, how is an Eskimo going
to adapt himself, on such short notice, to a
temperature of 110 degrees in the shade, or a
big, naked nigger to an equally terrible temperature
of 45 degrees below zero. The Eskimo
will soon put away his furs with moth balls in
them, while his igloo will melt off the earth and
become a little fleecy cloud, leaving him quite
homeless. What a positively uproarious time he
will have sitting on a melting iceberg at the
Equator!
Now, that's a deuce of a predicament for the
poor old Eskimo to find himself in, isn't it?
You see, the big nigger wouldn't be quite so
badly off. The tropical beasts will die of the
cold, he will pinch their skins, and fur coats
among niggers will soon be as common as war
novels here. And, of course, he will have the
trees and all the wood of the jungle to burn
and thus he may manage to keep himself warm
until he gets a bit acclimatised to iced drinks
instead of hot peas. His lack of education,
however, will be a serious drawback, He will
never have seen those pictures of igloos with
a little hairy-clad man down on his hands and
knees going in at the door and, consequently,
until he learns better, he will find his kraal a
trifle draughty. Then after everything freezes
up on him, he will have a painful time discovering
that five-foot ice is not so congenial to
diving practice as lukewarm water. But if he
were properly educated this would be "easy
meat" to him, and, further, he would know
how to make harpoons out of sharks' teeth and
gas masks out of loin cloths to evade the scent
of the petrifying fauna.
This lack of education must be remedied.
We ought to get pictures of life in the jungle
distributed at once among the Eskimos, and
pictures of igloos, kayaks, and somiaks sent
out to the tropical countries for free distribution
among the natives so that these poor benighted
heathens will know what to do when they find
themselves in their novel surroundings when
the big tilt takes place.
I can see quite clearly what is going to happen
to these folk; but what puzzles me is how we,
in this middle zone are going to be affected by
this coming cataclysm. I suppose that will all
depend on the general level of our land as
compared with the new level of the water. How
awkward it would be if even Scotland should
happen to be about ten feet too low on the
average! There aren't enough boats for us all.
How about trying a little auto-suggestion for
the development of wings?
GREAT
COMPETITION
£1000 — First Prize
Second Prize — £2000
NO SKILL!	NO COUPONS!	OPEN TO ALL!
(Except Jas. Pender, Printer, and "The March Hare" Staff).
CONDITIONS.
(Read these Carefully)
This year 7,000 "March Hares" will be printed. All you have to do
is to collect the COMPLETE SET of these, tie them up in a neat
brown paper parcel, and address them to
THE COMPETITION EDITOR,
"THE MARCH HARE" (DEPT. Z),
c/o "PRESS" OFFICE,
CLYDEBANK.
and mark your parcel "Comp."
For the First Complete Set received, a prize of £1,000, (One
Thousand Pounds) will be awarded.
For the Second Complete Set received, a prize of £2,000 (Two
Thousand Pounds) will be awarded and the matter will be placed
in the hands of the Police.
CLOSING DATE — APRIL FIRST.
The Editor's decision is final. No correspondence can be entertained
and no interviews granted in this Competition.
(With acknowledgements to "The Rag Rag”)
Answers to Correspondents.
BY
Stutterer. — Avoid lemonade and other effervescing
drinks. A certain cure is to
fill the mouth with boiling water, secure
the nostrils with a clothes pin and insert
the head in a gas oven with the taps
on.
H. Ford (Detroit). — Your fears are groundless,
Harry, Woolworth's have not yet taken
over the Albion Works.
Candidate. — No. — I do not wish to discourage
you; but politics offers a precarious
existence, and a knowledge of cabinet--
making is of no advantage.
Falling Hair. — A bald head does look indecent,
but the modern beauty parlour has produced
a marvellous alternative. The
method adopted is to apply a coat of
egg-shell enamel. This course is much
favoured as an occasional rub with a
duster restores the original lustre and
besides, there is a wide range of colours
to suit all complexions.
Interested. — No, the Master of Rolls is not the
King's baker.
Naturalist. — You request an article on the
antiquity of the flea. Here it is, "Adam
'ad 'em."
G. B. Shaw (London). — A charming fairy tale,
George. Limited space forbids publication.
Try Tiny Tots.
Poet. — The shortest epic poem on record, herewith,
was written by Six-Gun Shaw.
They sat together, holding hands,
Expressionless their faces.
Then Joe shot Bill without a word,
Bill's hand held five aces.
Actor. — I feel sure it was the "bird" the
audience gave you, for the peculiar
sound you describe is known as the
raspberry.
Antonio. — A certain method of preventing a fish
from smelling is to remove its nasal
extremity.
"Constant" — You say: —
"She frequently has smote my eye
And yet I love her till I die."
The solution is obvious to the meanest
mentality. For the love of Mike, die!
No one will prevent your demise;
indeed, he would be cruel who would
upon the rude rack of this rough world
stretch you out longer. We will sing
no sad songs for thee.
Love-Sick — My dear love-sick swain, you say
that you have a pain in your heart for
Celia. Shove your fevered brow through
the window and the pain will go away.
Why give other poor folks a pain in
the neck with your rotten verse?
ANSWERS TO
Being replies received by the Editor on
asking permission from X pupils of C.H.S.
to include extracts from their works.
G. B. Flaw. — Yes, you may use any of my
"Unpleasant Plagiarisms." No, I don't
want any credit. My Banker's address
is "Flaw, London."
Barnold Ennet. — Sorry, I cannot allow you to
use "The Old Wives' Pail." Copyright
is reserved to Woolworth & Co.
W. E. A. Messtin. — Extracts from "The Four
Fathers " might suit, if their language
is fit for publication. (I've heard
father, after one extraction and his certainly
wasn't.	Ed.)
Bohn Juchan. — You've made a mistake. "Hunting
Flour" is not a book; it is an
exercise indulged in by bakers and
others in the same line.
Fillup Snowdown. — To safegaurd myself, I'm
sending you an advance copy of my
best seller, "Budgets," or "Why State
Secrets are Popular." The "Daily
Wail " can't say enough about it.
G. W. Hells. — (Answer unprintable. In any case
Editor regrets that he cannot find time
to go to the place recommended by this
gentleman.
Clydebank Co-operative Society, Ltd.
BOOT DEPARTMENT
A "MARCH HERE"
FOR LADIES', GENT.'S, BOYS' AND GIRLS' FOOTWEAR FOR
SPRING AND SUMMER, OUR STOCKS COMPRISE THE NEWEST
FASHIONS AND DESIGNS, CAREFULLY SELECTED TO MEET
PREVAILING REQUIREMENTS.
Our Extensive Range affords you elegance
without extravagance.
SEE OUR WINDOWS AND COMPARE OUR PRICES.
PROMPT AND CAREFUL ATTENTION GIVEN TO ALL ORDERS
OUR BUTCHER!
GEORGE MILLER
71 GLASGOW ROAD
CLYDEBANK
PROVIDES EVERYTHING OF
THE BEST IN MEAT AT THE
Lowest Possible Price
GRAPE FRUIT
FINE FOR BREAKFAST
DATES
AT PRE-WAR PRICES.
CALIFORNIAN PEARS
ARE NOW AT THEIR BEST.
APPLES
ALL THE BEST VARIETIES.
JAFFA and VALENCIA
ORANGES - TANGERINES
IN SPLENDID CONDITION.
PETER CALLAGHAN
Fruiterer and Florist
15, 32, 72 & 273 Kilbowie Rd.
CLYDEBANK
'Phone — 153 Clydebank.

OUR HOAXING PAGE.
FULL REPORT OF WORLD'S CHAMPIONSHIP.
"KILL-ER" STOTT v. "HACK-ER" SPARKEY.
By Our Special Correspondent, "Gee-Jay-Bee."
SIAMI: — The combatants weighed in this
afternoon at 2-30. Stott who arrived first
with his manager, Windy Honson, turned the
scale at 18 st., being 2 lbs. heavier than the
American who appeared a few minutes later.
The Britisher's advantage, however, seems to
be counteracted by the fact that Sparkey has
lost his right ear and is therefore less vulnerable
in those telling struggles on the canvas.
Asked, after the weighing-in, whether he
would beat Sparkey, Stott replied in his usual
modest manner, "Beat him? Say, how do you
think I got my name? Why, I'll knock that
white-livered boob stiffer than the Statue of
Liberty." Sparkey was also quietly confident.
"After to-night," he remarked, between two
sticks of gum, "Mrs Stott will be a widow.
That English cry-baby won't want any more
when I get my new ankle-hold on him. It'll
be slow, sad music for him."
A sensation was caused when it was discovered
that the boxers had been forbidden to wear
their false teeth during the contest. As Stott's
teeth have been freshly ground, and Sparkey
was expected to wear a set of steel-tipped teeth,
the public are greatly disappointed. It is surely
outrageous that a high-handed Boxing Board
should thus deprive the fans of their innocent
excitement and make the noble art an exhibition
fit only for women and children.
Notwithstanding this restriction the vast arena
was packed to overflowing when the fighters
appeared in the ring. All the rich sportsmen
of U.S.A. were there to witness this meeting
of giants. It is understood that a party of
Chicago Pork Butchers came to study modern
methods.
Nou Damollia, the referee, best known as
"Top Price," speedily disposed of the preliminaries
and the fight was on.
ROUND I.
Both men were obviously unwilling to take
the initiative, and this round was, in consequence,
very tame. Sparkey's right foot jabs
to the back of the knee troubled Stott; but
the latter's rasp-like beard and granite gums
gave him a decided advantage in the clinches.
The crowd showed their disapproval of these
timid tactics and the referee warned both men
at the end of the round that unless they got
to business they would be left for the crowd to
deal with.
ROUND II.
This warning had its effect and the second
round was a rouser. Beating the bell by a
fraction, Sparkey flashed across the ring and
clubbed the Britisher to the floor with his stool.
Stott's manager claimed the fight on a foul;
but the referee declared that he could not disqualify
a man for one foul. Stott resumed
agressively and at the end of the round had
the satisfaction of seeing his opponent's ear
in shreds.
ROUND III.
Sparkey again tried his surprise tactics of
the previous round, but Stott cleverly stopped
his rush by butting him violently in the stomach.
Both men were beginning to let themselves go
and the spectators, emerging from their initial
torpor, were expecting exciting fighting at any
moment. But one of these ugly incidents which,
fortunately, are rare in boxing to-day, brought
to an untimely end, a bout which promised
to develop into a first-class scientific display.
Sparkey had, at last, succeeded in getting his
ankle-hold on his opponent and had flung him
across the ring. Stott, seeming to resent this
treatment, tore into Sparkey and, in his rage,
obviously losing control of himself, actually
struck the American to the floor with a terrific
right-handed blow to the jaw, in direct violation
of all the accepted traditions of American boxing.
The lurid jeers, threats, and curses of the
enraged sportsmen prevented Nou Damollia
from formally disqualifying the culprit and he
could only sign to the crestfallen Stott to
escape before the crowd translated their threats
into action.
It is certain that Stott will never be allowed
to enter the ring again. His manager, Windy
Honson, is taking the defeat philosophically
and saying nothing. Nou Damollia, it is
rumoured, is retiring soon to enjoy the wealth
which he has amassed after many years of
hard graft.
"ADSUM"
AND
MAKE IT £1000.
(Continued from page 6)
with a lady passed before his eyes. The former
spoke and made a mighty noise like unto the
bulls of Bashan, while, seemingly from the lips
of a damsel gentle as any sticking dove, came
the bellow of an elephant with toothache, followed
by breathing like to the noise of many
winds. Straightway a man commenced to sing
with loud, nasal voice while he performed with
his body manifold rotations and convolutions,
while damsels behind him did throw their limbs
in many directions like to the savage inhabitants
of Danchow. Meanwhile many drums
began to beat and strange cacophonous croakings
with manifold chronic crackings came from
invisible minstrels, and our lord from China,
becoming afraid, did seek to beat it in haste.
Straightway he rushed in great fear into the
street, yea, even in front of the wheels of a
mighty chariot proceeding unto the great City
of Glasgow. Great, indeed, are the wonders of
Civilisation!
Far away, in a distant region of China, the
people await a ruler who will never return to
the home of his fathers. In the burial-place
of many referees is a stone with these words
writ upon:
Here lies Tin Foil, a Chinese Lord,
Who sought out Civilisation,
Crossing the street at Bon-Accord,
He was lost to the Chinese nation.
W. W.
GARDEN SEEDS
GARDEN TOOLS
FERTILISERS
WOOD TRELLIS
Galvanised Wire Netting
etc.
Large Selection —
— Keenest Prices.
ELLIOTT'S STORES
28 GLASGOW ROAD
CLYDEBANK
Telephone— 395.
For the Week.
Sunday. — Concert in Town Hall, at 7-30.
Wednesday. — Football Match (If possible at
Clydeholm) F.P.'s v. Clydebank Police.
Kick-off 6-30 p.m.
Collectors' Dance in. Town Hall, at 7
p.m.	Admission, 1/6.
Friday. — Reception in Town Hall. Doors open
at 7 p.m. (The square at Rosebery
Place and Kilbowie Road should be
watched to-night from 7 p.m. onwards).
Saturday . —Procession leaves Montrose Street
at 2 p.m. (assemble at 1-30 p.m.) and
proceeds via Kilbowie Road, Chalmers
Street, Alexander Street, etc., to disperse
in Miller Street.
Dances. — School Hall,	2/6.
Lesser Town Hall,	2/6.
And any others which may be advertised
later.
When going Shopping first consult what
our Advertisers offer you on the undernoted
pages.
James Boyd — Dairyman	Cover (Front)*
A. B. Brown — Gent.'s Dealer	Cover (Front)
"The Bulletin" — Daily	Page 1
Clydebank Co-op. — Gent.'s Tailoring	" 15
Clydebank Steam — Laundry	" 4
Clyde Valley — Electricity	" 19
C. Cruickshank — Chemist .	Cover (Back)
Club Bar — Wine and Spirits	Cover (Back)
D. Dewar — Butcher	Cover (Back)
Elliott's Stores — Ironmonger	" 17
C. Horsburgh — Optician	Cover (Front)
Maison Kendrie — Hairdresser	Page 10
J. McAlpine — Outfitter	" 8
J. E. McGlinchey — Cooked Meats	" 10
G. Miller — Butcher	" 15
T. Ness — Wireless Dealer	Cover (Front)
Jas. Pender — Printer & Stationer	Page 10
G. F. Robertson — Chemist	" 8
Sloan-Duployan — Shorthand	" 8
Thos. R. Taylor — Men's Wear	" 2
Wm. Thompson & Sons — Music Sellers	" 4
A. Y. Young — Jeweller	" 8
CONVERSATIONS WE CANNOT IMAGINE.
Reginald:	"Awfully jolly sorry."
Taxi-Driver:	"The pleasure is yours, sir."
"The gowf course be over that hill, zurr.'
"Thank you, sir; fine game; have a smoke."
The things we do
STANDARD COOKERS on Hire,
Hire Purchase or Cash Terms.
You will never know true perfection
in cooking till you use an electric
cooker. Come along any day to our
Showrooms and see our cookers
being demonstrated.
The prices quoted below include delivery
and installation of Cooker,
complete with Control Board, Main
Switch, Pilot Lamp and Kettle Plug.
HIRE: — £2 10s. for installation and
12/6 per quarter.
Larger size quarterly payments
of 17/6.
HIRE PURCHASE: — £2 10s. down
and twelve quarterly payments
of 30/-.
CASH PRICE: — £18 12s. 6d.
FIRES. — Electric Fires which bring
radiant heat to the home and abolish
smoke, dirt, and drudgery are
supplied on
Hire: — 2/6 per quarter for small fires.
5/- per quarter for large fires.
HOT WATER HEATING. — We
supply tanks on hire for hot water
heating by electricity. Plumbing
installation charge is payable by
consumer and varies according to
the amount of work necessary.
The rates quoted below include
Wiring up to 25 feet.
Hire: — 17 gal. tanks 10/- per quarter
2 gal. tanks 5/- per quarter
VACUUM CLEANERS AND
WASHING MACHINES on Hire
Purchase or Cash Terms.
CLYDE VALLEY
ELECTRICAL POWER Co
ASSISTED WIRING. — Two methods are available: — (1) Five
years' Hire Purchase, which, in practice would mean 20 quarterly
payments, or (2) For smaller types of houses, the Slot Meter
Method of Collection. In this case the fixed charge for
Electricity would be augmented by 2d. per unit until a determined
number of units had been consumed.
HEAD OFFICE AND SHOWROOMS - 206 ST. VINCENT STREET, GLASGOW, C.2.
OUR LITTER-ARY PAGE.
WRITING TO FAME.
By ARTHUR RAllBERRY
The Clydebank Municipal Crank.
ARE you one of these people who have been
inoculated with the "writing spirit?"
When you sit down in your study or attic —
as the case may be — waiting for the requisite
inspiration in order that you may "dash off"
your masterpiece, have you a feeling of exaltation,
of impending triumph? Do you say to
yourself, "Ah! When my inspiration comes,
what fools they will look. Scorners, cynical
editors, sleepy readers, and the great, big stupid
public will become as swine slithering at my
feet." If you have this presentiment, then
you are indeed suffering from that malady
known to authorities as "Authors' Fever."
Presuming you are such a person, and before
your temperature becomes dangerous, I am going
to give you an astringent serum which will
take the form of advice. I was a pretty obscure
writer myself until I launched that masterpiece
on the sea of literature (note how my figurative
language develops. Dashed good!). I refer, of
course, to my popular pamphlet, "How to Make
Bolshevism a Success," or "Are Clydebank
Workers well paid?" There were few mistakes
in it; there might have been none, but they
wouldn't let me read the proofs in prison.
Judging from the standard of present-day
literature, I feel it is my duty to help young
struggling authors. In the first place, before
you write your novel or story, secure the services
of a press agent (any ordinary tramp
will do), for the press agent is, after all, only
the man who sends in, to the various papers
and journals, paragraphs to the effect that Mr
So-and-So, the rising young author, is spending
a much-needed holiday at Deauville, where, it is
rumoured, he is finding fresh inspiration for his
new novel, although he has not yet got as far
as the title. Then, when the big, reading public
see these announcements, they are as unfed
carrion crows and will swallow anything.
Now, about the actual novel. If you want
to be original, cut out women, but as that
would be rather difficult (even though you are
not writing the "Romance of the Mill-girl"),
leave them in. It is preferable that your hero
should not wear plus-fours or Oxford "bags,"
and that you should get rid of him, if possible,
in the opening chapter. If you can achieve this,
you are working on the correct lines for a best
seller ; only you must not allow the public to
imagine that it is all a "sell." (Note the pun —
very good!) When you have the hero out of
the way, do not get rid of the body at once;
it may come its handy later, when you are at a
loss for material. You can easily say that he
was merely drugged, or in a trance; or that
he was only "playing possum," i.e., pretending
to be dead for some unknown reason which
need not be explained, as you are only a writer,
not a psychological expert.
Having successfully disposed of the hero,
you then introduce the other villain, or if you
are only going to have one villain, and he
has already put the hero out of action, be
absolutely sure that he has not administered
an absolute "coup de grace;" although he may
leave him (the hero) in perilous positions on
cliffs or skyscrapers. Presuming that you cannot
do without a heroine, you then allow the
villain to illtreat her, but only after the villainous
one has been openly scorned, and has
ejaculated "Bah! Bah!" or something equally
plaintive or puerile, do you allow your villain
to get rough. Then you give the evil genius
full scope. But do not descend to brutality,
although you must remember that illtreating
the heroine isn't brutal; she likes being knocked
about a bit, otherwise she wouldn't be a heroine.
Once again keep in mind the necessity of
not killing the hero. The villain may hit him
on the head with pig-iron or its equivalent;
immerse him in boiling oil or molten lead;
poison him with prussic acid or even a mixture
of laudanum and Lysol; or hang, draw, and
quarter him — but, he must not kill the hero.
A last word to the would-be novelist (having
submitted, free of charge, ideas for an original
story which can easily be completed). Never
write more than two lines a day (geniuses take
great pains, apart from indigestion); leave
plenty of space in the margin of your manuscript
— you may have to correct it, or re-write
the whole thing; and to stimulate your confidence
that your story will be accepted when
you have re-written it, gargle your throat with
nitric acid. Nitric acid is necessary in most
cases, for it is usually only when you are dead
and buried that the big, reading public awaken
to the fact that another genius has passed
along the highway unheard.
An Invitation to
Lady F-n-s B-f-r.
(lt may be remembered that in a book of
memoirs published recently this lady seemed
to have some rather misguided notions
of our pleasant little town. Ed.).
DEAR Lady Francis, gentle dame, has 'Davie'
pu'd yer leg,
Or whit's the maitter wi ye that ye gie us
sic a fleg?
Clydebank's no' juist sae "crimson" as gentle
folk wad think,
Indeed, considerin' a' things, we're juist a nice,
pale pink.
Oor Charities Day is drawin' near; noo, wad
ye come doon
And see us as we really are, that day, in this
nice toon?
Well send oor celebrated baun tae meet ye at
the station,
An' clever loon, an' bonnie lass tae lift yer
kind donation.
An' Provost John — the douce guid man — wi a'
his funny stories,
An' Jamie Fleeming's famous choir tae sing
"The Sodgers' Chorus,"
The Rector in his cap an' gown, an' "Mammy"
Hogg tae greet ye,
An' — wheesht — we even micht persuade Sir
Tammas Boon tae meet ye.
An' Doctor Strang; he'll no' be lang in quotin'
ye his feegurs,
To prove we're really "in the pink" an' a' as
strong as neegurs.
Oor lives are spent in buildin' ships for sic
as ye tae sail in,
Oor hames are clean; oor hearts are true, if
politics be oor failin'
Its' easy, lady, in your rank at workin' folks
tae rail,
Bit try a single en' a while, a scrubbin' brush
an pail,
An hauf a dizzen steerin' weans in sic a hoose
tae rear,
Ye'll find that charity — in speech — is needed
mair than here.
Philip Carlyle.
GOLFER'S PUNISHMENT.
Have you ever paused and pondered, in the
middle of a round,
Over solemn thoughts concerning the hereafter,
If in Hades you will land when you're laid
beneath the ground
Or in Heaven, that place of joy and laughter.
Let me tell you of a golfer — he was a man of
leisure,
He'd led a full life — at the 19th hole!
But the thought which obsessed him draining
life of all its pleasure,
Was the future of his everlasting soul.
He ultimately died and with consciousness persisting,

Was transported to a golfers' paradise;
Said he "If this is Hades I'll continue
unresisting
And my previous opinions I'll revise."
A lone figure he espied standing gazing at the
course,
And recognised a former friend named Bell,
He greeted him and asked in a voice grown
strangely hoarse,
"Is this delightful country really H—?"
With a crooked smile of sadness his friend
signified assent,
But where's the expected torment," you will
say,
"Well! you may stand here for years — no one
will you prevent,
You may look, but you're not allowed to play."
H.P.R.
"ADSUM" and make it a £1000.
"RAB TAMSON."
There was since a caddie in St. Andrews;
Rab Tamson was his name,
And maist every nicht aboot twal o'clock
He cam' staggerin' hame.
For Rab, though fond o' cairryin' clubs,
Oftener cairried a dram;
He was nearly droont in the harbour ae nicht,
As staggerin' hame. he cam',
Noo Rab was married to a guid bit lass,
Wha didna like Mountain Dew;
And she couldna staun the sicht o' her man,
When he got singin' fou.
She thocht if maybe she'd gie him a fricht,
He'd never drink whisky again,
So the next nicht she set oot tae try the cure
As he cam' staggerin' hame.
At twal o'clock, a' dressed in white,
She stood at the tap o' the street,
Tae gie Rab a fricht that would send his hert
Richt doon intae his feet.
Doon cam' Rab, drunk as a lord,
Till he saw the figure in white,
Staunin' in front and wavin' its airms,
But it didna gie Rab a fricht.
He drew himsel' up and said, "Wha are you?"
"I'm the Deil," it replied in a whisper.'
"Then come richt hame wi me," said Rab
a laugh,
"For I'm married tae yer sister."
H.P.R.
Gin — Anglicé "If."
(It is with pleasure that we print this
hitherto unpublished effort of M R—d
K—g, inspired, no doubt, by his quota
of the blood of the Macdonalds. The G
of the title, it should be noted, is not
liquid as in "Gin and It," but hard as in
"Whit's the Gemm?" — Ed.)
Gin ye can haul yer wheest when a' aboot ye
In braggart strains are vaunting this an' that;
Gin ye can be yersel' when a' things suit ye
An' aye refrain frae talkin' "through yer hat;"
Gin ye can pay, an' no be tired by payin',
Or being joked at dinna tak' offence,
Or pay nae heed tae what the Sass'nach's sayin',
But grit yer teeth an' use yer commonsense.
Gin ye can sport the tartan like a hero
An' show aff knees that bristle like the boar;
Gin ye can ward the 'flu aff when it's zero
Nor kill't be wi the cauld when winds do roar;
Gin ye can put the haggis like a Dinnie
Or dance the Ghillie Calum or the Fling;
Gin ye juist ha'e the accent o' Dalwhinnie,
O' a' men ye maun shairly be the king.
Gin ye can speak the tongue they used in Eden
An' at the "ceilidhs" let yer tales be heard;
Gin ye can crack o' cattle, beasts, an'. breedin',
Gin yer heart stouns at the whussle o' a bird;
Gin ye can guddle troot or poach a rabbit,
An' mebbe whiles ha'e come across a deer;
Gin ye can mak' releegious talk a habit,
An' scorn the feckless fule whose drink is beer.
Gin ye can Soothward haud an' mak' the siller,
Or walk with kings an' mind yer Stuart blood;
Gin ye can lose yer pile an' he nae iller;
Gin ye're sib unto " Ta Phairson" at the Flood;
Gin ye can gi'e yer life for a' that's higher,
For auld time's sake accept the guid an' bad,
To a' that's' best yer talents wull aspire,
An' — whilk is mair — ye'll be a Scot, my lad!
Jargonrne.
THE GREAT HUSBAND.
If he really takes it all in fun
When the steak is overdone —
Then he loves you!
If hc.keeps his head when the biscuits
are like lead
And still insists he's overfed —
Then he loves you!
When you're fat and forty quite
And he thinks you're still a sprite,
Staying home 'most every night —
Then he loves you!
If you still can hold his eye
When the flappers canter by
Then you have no need to sigh —
'Cause he loves you!
THANKS
OUR yearly raid, known as the "Clydebank
Students' Charities Day" is organised and
carried out by the local students of Glasgow
University and Jordanhill College and the responsibility
rest; with an Executive Committee
appointed by these students. Its success, however,
would be well-nigh impossible, were it not.
for the enthusiastic co-operation and wonderful
generosity of our many friends, and here we
take the opportunity of expressing our thanks
to those whose assistance has proved of such
great value.
As much of our success depends on the
good-will of the Provost, Magistrates and
Councillors, whose unstinted generosity has
aided us considerably, we ask them to accept
our sincere thanks.
The attractiveness and, therefore, the material
success of our procession, is dependent, to a
great extent on the number of motor vehicles
and horse-lorries obtainable. To their various
owners, for the assistance thus given to us,
we are very grateful. For aiding us with our
Sunday Concerts, which are a great source of
income, our thanks are due to the various
Picture House managers, and also to the
directors of the Clydebank F.C. for the free
use of their ground.
Maison Kendrie and others, by donating
various prizes, have made possible the pursuance
of several Free Gift Schemes while the "Sunday
Mail," by presenting badges for our Badminton
Tournament, has helped to add to our total.
The cost of publishing this magazine has been
considerably reduced by donations of paper from
Harvey's Ltd., Edinburgh, G. S. Malloch & Co.,
Edinburgh, Charles R. Sommerville & Sons,
Glasgow, and Spicer's Ltd., Glasgow, also donation
of ink from John Kidd & Co., Ltd., London.
The Charities Day Shop is indispensable as
a source of advertisement and Central Committee
Room and to those, who are generous
enough to grant us the temporary use of such
premises, we offer our deepest thanks.
To prevent a reiteration of superlatives we
wish to express to Collectors, Donors and helpers
generally, whether carriers carting boxes, or
pirates shaking boxes or spectators filling
boxes, the extremes of our thanks. To all
churches, etc., who have organised parties and
any others who may have been omitted unintentionally,
we say, with a wealth of meaning
and expression, "Thanks."
Where did the Money Go?
Last year, owing to a combination of various
unfortunate circumstances, our total fell below
that of the previous year This year, however,
we hope that all these circumstances will be
eliminated and nothing will impede us in our
effort to reach the £1000 mark.
The various sources of income, last year, are
detailed below. The actual collection on the
streets on Charities Day amounted to £370,
while concerts and picture shows accounted for
£103. Immunity badges and dances were also
fruitful sources of income, the former bringing
in £97 and the latter £95. Our various other
activities, including Football and Hockey
Matches, sale of "Gin and It," and Raffle
Tickets and our voluntary Fortune-Teller, completed
the total of £796.
The Executive Committee, after the dissipation
of considerable mental energy, decided on
the following scheme of allocations.
Clydebank & District Nursing Assoc.	£300
Eye Infirmary	£186
Old Kilpatrick After-Care Committee	£100
Western Infirmary	£75
Duntocher & Hardgate Nursing Assoc.	£25
Clydebank & District Samaritan Guild
for the Blind	£100
St. Andrew's Ambulance	£10
Total - £796
WHO ARE TO BLAME?
1930
The arrangements for Charities Day this year
are, broadly speaking, similar to those of the
past two years. We are learning tactics in the
sure school of practical experience and each
year, we hope, will show an improvement in
methods and results. We are putting forth our
energy enthusiastically in the cause and this
year we are optimistic enough to think we
will attain the £1000 mark. Do help us as
much as possible!
The Executive Committee welcome constructive
criticism and offers of assistance: —
F. B. Semple, B.Sc.	Chairman.
G. G. Henderson, M.A., B.Sc.	Secretary.
Miss M. D. Brodie	
Boxes and Badges Convener.
Wm. Blyth	Amusements Convener.
Wm. Johnston	Districts Convener.
Wm. Lamont	Transport Convener.
Wm. C. Jardine, M.A.	Shop Convener.
A. M. Brown	Publicity Convener.
H. Steel	Finance Convener.
R. Andrews, M.A.	Editor "March Hare."
H. R. Low, M.A., B.Sc.	Ex-officio.
J. Robertson, Esq	 Hon. Treasurer.
Royal Bank, Clydebank.
All communications can be addressed —
c/o "Press" Office, Clydebank,
The Very Best
You want the very best results from
your snapshots. You will get them if you
send your films to me. I employ the very
latest methods in developing and printing
and only "Velox," the Kodak Gaslight
Paper, so as to obtain the very best prints.
Leave your developing and printing to me.
You will be delighted with the results.
C. CRUICKSHANK, M.P.S.
11 Dumbarton Road, 11 Singer Street, and
13 Radnor Street,	Clydebank
TELEPHONE — CLYDEBANK 255.
THE
CLUB BAR
688 Dumbarton Road, Dalmuir
Famous for all Brands of Wines and Spirits,
Comfort and Courtesy.
Some Dewar 'ism's for 1930
1.	A Good BUTCHER is as necessary as a good doctor.
2.	We know our good points; you tell us our bad ones.
3.	A satisfied customer is our satisfaction.
4.	Goodwill is created by reliable goods, Courteous Service
and Truthful Advertising.
Duncan Dewar
Quality Butcher
52, Second Avenue
Radnor Park, Clydebank
UP-TO-DATE HYGIENIC SERVICE.
'Phone — 193 Clydebank.
Printed and Published for Clydebank Students' Executive Committee by James
Pender, Printer,
in own Workshop, at 165 Glasgow Road, Clydebank.