LIFE is tough, mighty tough in Derby, in the far north-west of Western Australia.
There the moths not only invade the bar and hamper people drinking, but also mop up the beer themselves.
There’s not much to do in Derby with its 40 houses, and 120 whites, except drink, or go to the “theatre” twice a week and suffer the pictures without sound, or the sound without pictures, according to which part of the projector breaks down. So it’s past a joke when the bar is invaded by thousands of big grey moths which flutter around the top of your glass (at 1/- a time, or 1/4 for an 8oz. schooner) and try to take the sips out of your mouth.
Sometimes at night the moths enter in force, smother the ceiling, rest on the electric light flex and dive-bomb the upraised beer glasses.
The more daring of the species make three-point landings on the counter, taxi up to beer puddles and drink contentedly to saturation point. But killing the moth population of Derby by alcoholic poisoning is an expensive business.
– Sydney Sun, Sunday 24 August 1947.
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