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The New Zealand Railways Magazine, Volume 4, Issue 11 (June 1, 1930)

Wee Moderns

Wee Moderns.

It is vain to squawk at the Squawkies, air our objections to aeroplanes, or ostracise Oxfords.

The world has always been modern; Jacob was considered slightly futuristic and a bit over the fence when he wore his coat-of-many-colours, and Henry the Eighth was a little before his time. Personally, it is my secret sorrow that I have never worn a beret. Of course you know what a beret is; it is a sort of bedspread for a deadhead, a counterpane to counter brain —a veritable vacuum-screener; but still, envious reader, who is there, here present, who would not amputate his chin-ware, have his face sifted, and throw in his old age pension, to wear a beret? There are few of we moderns who would not be wee moderns.

Make me a child again,
Just for to-night,
Give me a brain again,
Light as a kite,
Singe off my whiskers,
And give me some hair,
Fill up my skull,
With a pint of hot air.
Give me a motor-bike,
Make me a sheik,
Earning a quid and
A quarter a week,
Give me a pillion,
Give me a “Jane,”
Something that's modern,
And not very sane,
Bag me some Oxfords,
An over-size pair,
Give me—oh give me,
A Beret To Wear.

“Wore a beret.”

“Wore a beret.”