TRURO, N.S., had a practice blackout recently, when a couple
of queer bits of business turned up. In one lightless household there was trouble with a two-year-old lad who wouldn’t stay put. Finally his exasperated mother picked the boy up, set him down firmly on the diningroom table, told him to stay
there. When the lights were turned on again she discovered her offspring seated rather unhappily in the middle of a now entirely unserviceable Washington cream pie.
On the same occasion an air-raid warden knocked on the door of a home where a tiny sliver of light trickled through the closed blinds, with a stern rebuke. “You’re showing a light,” said the warden. “So are you,” retorted the man of the house, pointing to the brightly gleaming lantern the official carried in his hand.
James (Honest Jim) Leman, of purely occidental descent, but happening to possess a facial bone structure slightly resembling the familiar oriental cast, has hung a big sign beside his stall in a Vancouver market: “Me No Jap. Me Honest Jim.”
Some of the doings that helped to oversubscribe the Victory Loan: Bond salesman Sydney Baker went to ring the doorbell of the apartment occupied by Mrs. H. Dewar, of North Vancouver, but found his path barred by wet paint on the stairs. “I’ll buy if you’ll come up and collect,” challenged Mrs. Dewar. Baker flagged a fire truck, borrowed ladders, climbed over the porch roof to an open window and signed the lady on the dotted line.
When leading Chinese of Lillooet, B.C., wished to advertise to their fellow countrymen the merits of the loan they found no Chinese type available at local printing houses. They carved the necessary symbols into the flesh of a large, firm potato, poured molten metal into the pattern and so produced the Chinese equivalent of their message: “It is your duty to buy Victory Bonds.”
At Kincaid, Sask., the Canadian Bank of Commerce accepted as part payment on a bond—one Bank of Montreal $5 bill bearing the date 1871 ; two $4 bills issued by Molson’s Bank, dated 1875; a $2 Dominion of Canada bill, vintage 1878; and a $1 Merchants’ Bank note of 1878.
It was positively gruesome of the Winnipeg Tribune to publish a swell four-column picture of that city’s new white stone and glass brick medical clinic right alongside an item reporting plans for adding another nine and a half acres to the area of Brookside cemetery.
Charles Stuart Dunbar, whose home is in Glasgow, Scotland, but whose duty lies on the high seas as an able seaman in the merchant marine, is beginning to wonder where the Orde Street School affair is leading him. Last Christmas, through the Navy League of Canada, Able Seaman Dunbar received a ditty bag filled with all sorts of useful articles contributed by pupils of Orde Street School in Toronto. Feeling no end grateful, Charles Stuart Dunbar wrote the school a nice letter of thanks. Weeks later forty-five letters arrived from Orde
Street schoolboys and girls, telling seaman Dunbar how much they admired him. The sailor replied to each of his correspondents individually. St. Valentine’s Day brought forty-five different valentines to Charles Stuart Dunbar, who, when last heard from, was so busy writing letters of acknowledgment and watching for enemy airplanes and submarines that he was finding it difficult to catch up on his sleep.
Domestic arguments revolving around who shall use the family car, and when, are familiar enough; and wives who drive from the back seat have for years and years been one reason why comic cartoonists pay large income taxes; but Mr. and Mrs. Mike Kaip, living near Minton, Sask., have added something new in this direction. Mr. Kaip, havingfinished the business that took him to Minton, borrowed his father’s car and started for home, carrying a couple of passengers with him. Meanwhile Mrs. Kaip had taken the Kaip truck and was on her way to Minton to pick up Mr. Kaip. She was accompanied by her small son and a party of friends. Car and truck collided head-on two miles out of Minton. Four people, including Mr. and Mrs. Kaip, suffered injuries requiring hospital treatment.
Underworld goings-on in Alberta. Some perversely motivated criminal stole the back steps from Edmonton’s Chalmers United Church. The stairs, all eight of them, were in place on a Sunday. They had disappeared by Tuesday. Detective Alex Bremner traced the loot to a vacant lot a block away from the church.
Maybe the thief was looking for a short cut to heaven.
When word of an ambulance call to an apartment house reached the office of the Regina Leader-Post, reporter Vic Mackie suggested telephoning George Bothwell, another reporter who lives at that address. “Let George cover it. He’s right there,” said Vic Mackie brightly. The scheme would have worked perfectly except that the ambulance was carrying away George Bothwell who had fractured a hip in a fall on an icy sidewalk. A week later a new patient was wheeled into the hospital ward where George lay in his snugly fitted cast. The Bothwell smile of welcome may have been tinctured with a dash of irony. The fresh arrival was Vic Mackie, in for an appendectomy.
On her way downtown for an afternoon’s shopping a Calgary housewife picked up from her kitchen a neatly wrapped parcel she supposed to contain a discarded dress she wished to donate to her church sewing circle. She tucked the package under her arm, made the rounds of the stores, then on the way home stopped off at the parish hall to deliver the dress. “It just needs a bit of fixing,” she explained and, removing the outer covering, dumped onto the sewing table the previous day’s collection of garbage—potato peelings, lemon skins, coffee grounds ’n everything.
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