Football extravaganza planned
IS THIS wise? A football pitch has been marked out in the gardens of Buckingham Palace for a match next month between Britain's two oldest clubs. Civil Service FC, founded in 1863 will take on Polytechnic FC (1875).
The match will mark the 150th anniversary of the Football Association, of which Prince William, Duke of Cambridge, is president. He will host the occasion though it's not clear whether his grandmother, Queen Elizabeth, will also attend.
Nor is it clear who else might attend. Will the football rowdies also be there? Is there not a risk they could go on a drunken rampage through the art galleries and the rest of the palace splendours?
Apparently they did once stage a boxing match at Buckingham Palace back in the 1950s – it was probably Churchill versus Atlee – but football could be a step into total disorder.
'Erewego, 'erewego, 'erewego!
Value for money
WHICH recalls the story of the punter who approached a ticket tout just before the FA Cup Final.
"How much?"
"'Undred quid to you, guvnor."
"A hundred pounds? Why man, for that I could have the best tart in Piccadilly!"
"Maybe, guvnor. But not 45 minutes each way and a brass band in between."
Dare we hope?
THE PLIGHT of the rhino is suddenly getting heavy coverage on the overseas TV networks. Dare we hope that an international wave of revulsion is building up against the Vietnamese and Chinese goons who are driving the poaching racket, sufficient to counter them?
Stranger things have happened. When Ian Player and his band of Zululand rangers set out to rescue the white rhino from extinction in the 1950s, its position was possibly even more perilous than today. The Nat central government was hostile to conservation. Its supporters in the ranching lobby were campaigning for the Zululand reserves to be deproclaimed. The rest of us were pretty apathetic.
But determination and skilful management won through. The tide turned. The conservation lobby became seemingly unstoppable. Can it happen again in a wider arena?
Conservation is girding its loins. Player's book, The White Rhino Saga (Jonathan Ball) has just been republished, 40 years on. It follows publication of his biography, Into the River of Life (also Jonathan Ball).
And at St Clements this week we were treated to a 16-minute clip from a 70-minute production being put together by Bushman Films, in which Player sets out his whole philosophy of conservation and its role if homo sapiens is to be rescued from himself.
'Twas powerful stuff. Player is 86 now but possessed of a lucidity that is remarkable. He seems to relish the approaching struggle.
This production – by Rick and Gill Andrew – is the sort of thing that must surely end up on the overseas networks.
A luta continhua!
Kroonstad
READER Brian Norris confirms last week's piece on the origins of the Free State town of Kroonstad. It was indeed named after a horse named Kroon, but it seems Kroon didn't drown in the nearby Vals River, he broke a leg.
Brian quotes the New Dictionary of South African Place Names: "It was laid out on the farm Klipplaatsdrift in 1855. Generally accepted to have been named after Kroondrift, a ford so called because a horse named Kroon broke its leg there. Explanations linking the name to Kronstadt near Leningrad and to the English Crown (Afrikaans kroon) are dismissed."
So that's it then. Remember where you read it first!
Less is more
THE SUFFIX "less" seems to feature so much in the language these days, says reader Eric Hodgson, that it seems to indicate a social trend.
Our phones – wireless; cooking – fireless; cars – keyless; food – fatless; tyres – tubeless; dress – sleeveless; youth – jobless; leaders – shameless; relationships – meaningless; attitude – careless; wives – fearless; babies – fatherless; feelings – heartless; education – valueless; children – mannerless; politicians – clueless.
"Our hopes are endless, so much so that I am speechless."
Tailpiece
A SMALL boy is in a restaurant with his mother when he starts spluttering and choking. He's swallowed a coin. He's going blue in the face when a smartly-dressed young woman rushes across to help. She seizes him by the testicles and squeezes. He coughs up the coin and all is well.
"Thank you, thank you!" says the mother. "You must be a doctor."
"I'm not a doctor but I do have training. I'm with SARS."
Last word
People who get nostalgic about childhood were obviously never children.
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