Tag / Florence Hummerston

by Eddie

Here pussy, pussy

kitten

Fireman Smith and his wet… kitten, 1941

Back in 1941 the RSPCA thought it was a good idea to shoot kittens in trees. Seriously. At the time, the Esplanade Kiosk (later renamed after Florence Hummerston, as some kind of compliment we assume) was run by William Webb.

One day a parcel arrived at the kiosk, so William opened it. Inside were two kittens in a box. Because people used to mail kittens in 1941. Apparently. As he opened the box, one of the terrified kittens leapt out. Unfortunately William’s dog thought this was great fun and gave chase.

The cat flew out of the Kiosk and up to the top of the 15 metre palm outside on the Esplanade. Worried about the poor beast, William went to look for help. The Esplanade’s gardeners said there was nothing they could do. However, the Electricity and Gas Department sent some men. With a 12 metre ladder. For a 15 metre tree.

Over and over again, they very nearly caught the petrified kitty, but each time it scampered back to the top of the palm. One man climbed the ladder with some meat to try and lure pussy down. But with no success.

The next sequence of events seems a little odd.

The RSPCA, who were now on the scene (along with gardeners and the electricity and gas people) decided the rescue was a total failure. So the only humanitarian thing left to do was to shoot the trembling animal dead. An RSPCA inspector slung a rifle over his back and climbed the ladder.

Yes. The RSPCA. A rifle. To shoot a kitten. In a tree.

However, the animal-loving inspector couldn’t find pussy, so he decided it had escaped by itself and his job was over and he could go home and have a cup of tea.

Ten days later a passer-by noticed the poor starving animal was still at the top of the palm. So the RSPCA was called again. This time the inspector charitably decided not to shoot, but to call the fire brigade instead. Who, unsurprisingly, had a long ladder. And the skills to get kittens out of trees.

After ninety minutes of Fireman Smith failing to grab the poor mite, they had the bright idea of turning the fire hose on the tree top. Which so frightened the soaking wet kitty, he fled into Fireman Smith’s waiting arms. [Those of you who are old enough can insert your own Mrs Slocombe joke here. It’s all set up for you.]

The large crowd which had assembled gave a loud cheer as William Webb took the starving pussy into his kitchen in the Kiosk to give it some milk.

Then William’s dog charged in and the kitten fled up the palm tree.

You can’t make this stuff up.

by Eddie

We named a kiosk after her?

img20141216_13265957She was the first female councillor at the City of Perth. She was awarded an OBE. Had a kiosk on the Esplanade named after her which they recently knocked down and rebuilt at taxpayers expense. And, oh yes, there is a pathetic little park on the corner of St George’s Terrace and Mount Street bearing her name.

What a wonderful lady Florence Hummerston must have been to have all these accolades. After all, look at the gentle love beaming from Cedric Baxter’s portrait.

Such a woman deserves respect. Let’s listen to Auntie Flo’s opinions on women with jobs. I’m sure they will be heart-warming, just like an afternoon spent at her park.

Today we find so many mothers setting their children aside and going out to work because they believe it is more interesting and because it satisfies their egotistical desire for admission to society.

Okay. So FloHum isn’t exactly Germaine Greer. But let’s read on, maybe she’ll soften up a bit.

The price of this, the loss of love and respect of their children is no concern.
They know they are neglected. They pretend to love the mother because they are afraid.

Right. Yes. Fine. Anyway, Councillor Hummerston, do continue.

The argument that a mother can properly care for her children, her husband and her home and undertake a job which requires her daily absence from the home is unsound.

Oh do tell us why.

There is no time to cut lunches so the children go off with a few pence to spend at the tuck shop and the children’s lunch is usually chips, sweets and a bottle of fizz, as they call it.

Oh FloHum, you are so hip and down with the young folk. No wonder they all love you.

And what happens to children of those evil homes where the mother (perish the thought!) has a job?

With revenge they rejoice in their ‘day of reckoning’ and set out on a crime spree.
They are the delinquents, the problem we hear so much about.

So, if you were at school in the late 1950s or early 1960s, had a working mother and ever partook in a bottle of ‘fizz’ (as we believe the hipsters say), take a good look in the mirror.

FloHum did not approve of you, and there was no hope for your future.

by Eddie

A palm tree, a pussy and a rifle

kiosk

So, in March 1941 the lessee of the Esplanade Kiosk was William Henry Webb.

Someone had mailed William two kittens in a box, which was duly delivered to the Kiosk. Because that, apparently, was normal in 1941.

Go figure.

As he opened the box, one of the terrified kittens jumped out. It was promptly chased by William’s dog.

The cat flew out of the Kiosk and up the 15 metre palm outside. William went to look for help.

The Esplanade’s gardeners said there was nothing they could do. However, the Electricity and Gas Department sent a crew. With a 12 metre ladder.

They nearly caught the petrified kitty, but each time it scampered back to the top of the palm.

A man climbed the ladder with some meat to try and lure it down. But no success.

The next decision seems a little odd.

The RSPCA, who were now on the scene (along with the gardeners and the electricity and gas people) decided the rescue was a failure. So the only humanitarian thing left to do was to shoot the trembling animal.

An RSPCA inspector slung a rifle over his back and climbed the ladder.

Yes. The RSPCA. A rifle. To shoot a kitten. In a tree.

However, the ‘humanitarian’ inspector couldn’t find pussy, and decided it had escaped by itself.

Ten days later someone noticed that the poor starving animal was still at the top of the palm, and called the RSPCA again.

This time the inspector generously decided not to shoot, but to call the fire brigade instead. Who, unsurprisingly, had a long ladder. And who had the skills to get kittens out of trees.

After ninety minutes of Fireman Smith failing to grab the poor mite, the gardeners had the bright idea of turning the hose on the tree top. Which so frightened kitty that he fled into Fireman Smith’s waiting arms.

[Those of you who are old enough can insert your own Mrs Slocombe joke here. It’s all set up for you.]

The large crowd which had assembled by this time gave a loud cheer.

William Webb took the starving pussy into his kitchen in the Kiosk to give it some milk.

The dog charged in. The kitten fled up another palm tree.

You can’t make this stuff up.

kitten

Fireman Smith gets some wet, er…, kitten

by Eddie

Egotistical and uncaring: FloHum on 1960s mothers

First female councillor at the City of Perth. Awarded an OBE. Had a kiosk on the Esplanade named after her. And a tiny little park on the corner of St George’s Terrace and Mount Street.

Surely, Florence Hummerston must have been a wonderful lady. After all, look at the gentle love beaming from Cedric Baxter’s caricature above.

Let’s continue our series of excerpts from The Gap, with Auntie Flo’s observations on women who want careers. I’m sure they will be heart-warming.

Today we find so many mothers setting their children aside and going out to work because they believe it is more interesting and because it satisfies their egotistical desire for admission to society.

Okay. So Flo isn’t exactly Germaine Greer. But let’s read on, maybe she’ll soften up a bit.

The price of this, the loss of love and respect of their children is no concern.
They know they are neglected. They pretend to love the mother because they are afraid.

Quick date check. Nope. Definitely written 1962, not 1862. Anyway, Councillor Hummerston, do continue.

The argument that a mother can properly care for her children, her husband and her home and undertake a job which requires her daily absence from the home is unsound.

Do tell us why…

There is no time to cut lunches so the children go off with a few pence to spend at the tuck shop and the children’s lunch is usually chips, sweets and a bottle of fizz, as they call it.

Oh FloHum, you are so hip and up-to-date with what the young folk are saying. No wonder they all love you.

And what happens to children of those evil homes where the mother (perish the thought!) has a job?

With revenge they rejoice in their ‘day of reckoning’ and set out on a crime spree.
They are the delinquents, the problem we hear so much about.

So, if you were at school in the late 1950s or early 1960s, had a working mother and ever partook in a disgusting bottle of ‘fizz’ (as I believe the cool cats say), take a good look in the mirror. Auntie Flo did not approve of you, and there was no hope for your future.