Ashley Sterne From the Dud Letter Office

Here is Ashley Sterne parodying letters to the editor in the Christmas issue of World-Radio, 20 December 1935.

From the Dud Letter Office

Being some correspondence intended for the Editor of World-Radio, but inadvertently delivered to the address of ASHLEY STERNE.


INTERVAL SIGNALS WITHOUT TEARS

Sir,—I am one of those unfortunate persons who invariably contrive to capture some foreign station when an interval signal is being broadcast.  I am also tone-deaf, and hence cannot distinguish between Warsaw’s “Polonaise in A major” and Ljubljana’s “Cuckoo.”

I now learn, however, that the eminent radio-physicist, Prof. Innes-Belfry, has perfected his long-awaited system of Smellivision, and I am hopeful that ere long odours universally associated with the town or country whence they emanate will replace the audible interval signals.

Nobody then will fail to identify Cologne by the wafting of its celebrated eau, Athlone by its odour of Irish stew, Hilversum by the distinctive perfume of Hollands gin, and Paris by its pungent aroma of French polish.

Your scententiously,
(Miss) EFFLUVIA SNIFFER.
“The Sachet,” Smelton Smowbray


A DELICIOUS TOMATO OMELET

Sir,—I have observed that you publish awfully jolly little black-and-white sketches, full of dear little squares and curves and other geometry.  I regret to say that I haven’t the groggiest notion what they’re all about, but being a lover of squares and curves and things I have made so bold as to design one which should prove of considerable interest to such of your readers.

Yours, complete with graph,
ANAESTHESIUS BILGEWATER, D. Sc, F.R.S.

[Non-technically-minded readers can use this graph equally well in connection with the Potation Identification Panel furnished by “Inn-Vestigator,” as illustrating the return half of the Sabbath morning’s journey, the dots denoting inns en route.—Ed.]


















THE PESSIMUM LOAD?

Sir,—I was tickled to death to learn from a recent issue of World-Radio that one of those amusing formulae which from time to time punctuate and enliven your technical pages, had been misprinted in the previous issue.  Under the article entitled “The Optimum Load” appeared a formula, the chorus of which went something like this:

     Ok x SOS/(Rs +Vp) = H2SO4

N.B.—H2SO4 (alias hydraulic acid) turns blue litmus red.

The amended formula said practically the same thing, but the orchestration was slightly different.

Well, my aunt, Miss Agatha Meadle, who was Senior Wrangler at Roedean in Dr. Jowett’s day, has worked out both formulae (to three places of Decibels), and informs me that the respective answers are: 1 lemon and 2 raspberries, neither of which has any effect whatever on blue litmus, though they both make excellent roughage for the “youp,” which is crossword-puzzle for the blue titmouse.

Is this a record?

Yours, with two vegetables and bread,
BARMION CRUMPET (M.I.C.E., R.A.T.S)
“Crackers,” St. Nitwits


NEW SCAMPS FOR OLD

Sir,—(Or may I say, “Dear Sir”?)—I would like cordially to thank your Mr. “Wireless Topics” Ion (by the way, is he one of the Berkshire Pig-Ions, or one of the Wanstead Flat-Ions?) for his most illuminating paragraph which appeared a few weeks ago entitled, “A New Trickle-Charger.”  I am looking forward to other contributions from his helpful pen.

Meanwhile, I feel sure he will be intrigued to know that we recently lost, through red-lead poisoning, our old plumber, Mr. Spigot (deeply respected, and no flowers by request), and have now got a new one, Mr. Gooseneck, who, after repairing a small leak in our bathroom wast-pipe the other day, had the effrontery to bung me in a bill for 1 pound, 7s. 6d.  Instead of remitting a cheque for these piratical charges, I merely cut out and sent him Mr. Ion’s glowing phrases in the hope that he will now move a considerable Amendment to his own Bill.

Yours pharmaceutically,
D. I. Spenser, M.P.S.
(Brimstone-and-Treacle Charger)
Little Dripping, nr. Bath


PUTTING THE “WAG” IN WAGNER

Sir,—When in Zurich last month arranging, by request of the BBC, for a relay of the Semi-Finals of the Yodelling Championship, I heard a new anecdote of Wagner, showing how, despite his stolidity, he could upon occasion be very quick on the uptake.  He was once approached by the famous basso, Herr Helloverau, who greatly wished to sing the exhausting and exhaustive part of “Wotan” in The Ring at a forthcoming Bayreuth Festival.  “Do you think you can stay the course?” asked Wagner.  “It’s a very long role.”  “Well, said Helloverau, “I once sang the part of ‘Escamillo’ in Carmen three times in one day.”  Quoth Wagner: “Little man, you did have a Bizet day!”

How’s that for a Good Pull-up?

Yours untruly,
“SPLENDIDE MENDAK”
Lye Green, nr. Sevenhoax


“HEARTIEST CONGRATTERS”

Sir,—By way of riposte to your disgruntled correspondent, “E. & O.E.”, who appears to labour under the delusion that World-Radio is published solely for his convenience, please allow me to tender my heartiest congratters upon your much-improved and ingenious programme-arrangement.  Suffer me, however, to make one small suggestion for even greater (if possible) improvement.

Being inherently lazy almost to the point of general paralysis, and with a very strong objection to making any intelligent effort to isolate for myself the various Continental items I wish to hear, could you possibly contrive to insert in your pages a special hour-cum-station programme just for me alone?  There are only a baker’s half-dozen of items I ever want to hear, and hence, if you could conveniently arrange to publish each week a daily precis along the following lines, I would gratefully become a register reader:—

SUNDAY, 12.18 p.m., Kharbarovsk: “Grandfather’s Birthday” (Brahms)
MONDAY, 1.7 p.m., Katowice: “The Robins’ Return”  (Beethoven)
TUESDAY 9.21 pm., Dniepropetrovsk: “Pussy’s Bedtime” (Cherubini)
WEDNESSDAY 6.34 p.m., Kootwijk: “Chopsticks” (Palestrina)
THURSDAY 4.54 p.m., Helsinki: “Dollie’s Bath” (Bach)
FRIDAY 3.19 p.m., Moravska-Ostrave: “The Maiden’s Prayer” (Wagner)
SATURDAY 11.2 p.m., Trollhattan: “The Merry Peasant” (Sibelius)

Yours, in eager anticipation,
AVORY LACEY DE VILLE
“The Cot,” Much Slumber, Beds.


THIS IS WHICH STATION—THAT WAS!

Oh, Boy!—Say, can any of your humdinger staff help a poor piker from Hoboken, N.J., who is giving little old England a quick once-over for the first time, to identify a station he hit last week on arriving in London?  Here’s the low-down: A boy’s voice announcing “Pipers—chocklits—cigarettes,” backed by a superhet loudspeaker crooning, “Any more for Bournemouth?  Hurry up there, lady, please.  First stop Winchester.”  The station-signal registered red at first, but turned green later.

Now, I guess your paper’s just berries if it can put me wise on this, and then I’ll remain
Yours to my quicklime,
CYRUS X. HIRAM Q. ELMER Z. STICKELBACH
Hotel Splitz, W.1.

[It can.  We submitted the problem to our station expert, Mr. Teck Nicholl-Hitch, who unhesitatingly identifies it as Paddington.—Ed.]


SAFETY THIRST?

Sir,—I have very kindly drawn up the following Potation Identification Panel in the fond hope that it will prove of some slight solace to the many beachcombers of the ether who, to whatever world-station they chance to tune in, invariably get let in either for “The Londonderry Air” or else (and worse) for a crooner in full song.

Yours helpfully,
“INN-VESTIGATOR”