Two fingered salutes to the whistling police

September 19, 2021 â€" 9.00pm

Responses from the women readers of Column 8 indicate that generations upon generations of women had their natural impulse to whistle (C8) curbed by grandmothers, mothers and, in the case of Georgie Shaw of Narrawallee, Mother Superiors, who all recited the same admonishment: “A whistling woman and a crowing hen are good for neither God nor men.” Of course this sad business is just ingrained patriarchal nonsense â€" Granny admits her immediate reaction was a far less delicate phrase â€" as proved by the great use that the following whistling women put their talent to.

Joy Paterson of Mount Annan was one of seven children growing up in the country in the 1950s with far-ranging play areas, so to call them home her “very petite and proper mother used her ability to use the ‘two fingers in the mouth’ whistle (C8) that was so loud and shrill it could be heard for miles”.

Josephine Piper of Miranda relates that a dear friend of hers took up a position as headmistress of a school in the stockbroker belt of London. “When needing to gain the attention of one of her students on a soccer field she put two fingers in her mouth and blew (C8). Admiration for the headmistress went up another notch.”

On another note, Terry McGee of Malua Bay observes that tin-whistle players (the couth name is flageoletists apparently) are also often described as whistle-blowers (C8). “In the ’70s I ran tin-whistle lessons at the ANU Student’s Union building under the grandiose title ‘W.T. McGee Academy of Flagellation’. Discipline was strict.”

Jonty Grinter of Katoomba always thought “the number of prunes (C8) was governed by personal ambition, as in ‘Tinker, tailor, soldier, sailor, rich man, poor man, beggar man, thief’, with three prunes for soldier, and four for sailor. Ever hopeful, I always have five.” By that reckoning, a thief would have eight prunes a day. Eight? Wouldn’t have thought you’d have the time for thieving much of anything with all the time you’d be spending on the toilet!

Someone must have emptied their piggy bank. Looking for change in her purse for her coffee, Linda Berry of Toolijooa found “a 10-cent piece from 1966, 50 cents from 1977, 20 cents from 1981 and a 5-cent piece from 1999. Oh, and just for good measure, a 1977 Kiwi 20-cent piece. Wonders never cease.”

Column8@smh.com.au

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