HUMOR

Parade

THE GRIN AND BARE IT SECTION

May 1 1942
HUMOR

Parade

THE GRIN AND BARE IT SECTION

May 1 1942

Parade

THE GRIN AND BARE IT SECTION

THOSE ings-on IMPISH at Bible carryHill, N.S., have a rosemary -for-remembrance aroma, inducing the sort of nostalgic feeling one gets when something happens exactly according to the pattern of something else that happened long, long ago. “Goodness gracious,” one says, “I’ve been through pre-

cisely this same experience before.” After dark, in a house occupied by a family named Langille on Farnham Road in Bible Hill, a suburb of Truro, chairs danced over the floors, stove lids jitterbugged, clocks, milk bottles, knives and forks leaped across rooms, overshoes walked by themselves. A visiting neighbor was inhospitably banged on the head by a flying poker. Mrs. Lucy Langille blamed ghosts for the disorderly doings, and crowds of people began to swarm over Bible Hill, usually a placid community where nothing much happens, causing traffic jams that Royal Canadian Mounted Police were required to untangle. This sort of monkey business went on night after night, always in darkness, until George H. Hanebury, an amateur photographer, and Earl Talbot, a professional, accompanied a Truro News reporter to the scene one evening and set up flashlight apparatus synchronized with two cameras, in the Langille kitchen. When a flatiron on the top of the stove began to conga, flashbulbs flared, the camera shutter clicked, and two photographs were obtained, both of them clearly showing a human hand manipulating the iron. Confronted with this irrefutable evidence the Langilles confessed they had been having fun and games.

Yes, yes. It was around 1922 that similar poltergeist activities were reported from Antigonish, N.S. The affair became an international sensation, largely through the earnest efforts of a trio of Halifax newspapermen who knew a good thing when they saw it. Boston and New York papers gave the Antigonish phantom front page space, and one Dr. Prince, a renowned American ghosthunter, made an official investigation leading to the discovery that the culprit was a naughty little girl named, unless a wilted memory is doing us dirt, Mary Ellen. What we cannot for the life of us understand is why these things always seem to happen in Nova Scotia.

At Ordale, Sask., Miss Jennie Wolfe was joined in holy matrimony to Mr. William Bird, by the Rev. Harold E. Parrott. Among the guests were Mr. and Mrs. Fish.

We don’t know what happened to keep Noah

Civic officials of Fredericton, N.B., are unable to make up their minds whether to be good and mad at the Department of Welfare of Amesbury, Mass., or lost in admiration for the efficiency of the Post Office. This all comes about because a letter sent out by the Amesbury folks was delivered correctly to the Fredericton City Clerk, although it was addressed:“Town Clerk,New Brunswick, Canada.” ♦

After a visit to Toronto a mother, who lives in rural Ontario carried home as a souvenir for her five_year-old son a small cake of soap bearing the

away.

imprint of the Royal York Hotel. Weeks later the whole family, the boy included, travelled to Toronto. As they were leaving Union Station the mother pointed out the Royal York to the lad, who gazed at the towering structure with awe, standing stock-still on the sidewalk and refusing to budge. “Come along,” said the mother. “What are you waiting for?” “Nothing,” the boy replied. “I was just thinking that’s an awfully big house to get along with such a little cake of soap.”

All tire thieves and receivers of stolen tires rank with us as the sort of white crawler you find under rotten logs; but we haven’t been able to think up any words drastic enough to describe the miserable marauder who stole two rubber-tired wheels from Jimmy Houston of Calgary. Jimmy is four years old. The wheels belonged to his tricycle.

Last December a resident of Carberry, Man., wrote a letter to a friend living in near-by Medora. Through some mishap the letter got itself enclosed in the same envelope with a Christmas card that one of the R.A.F. cadets in training at Carberry was sending to his folks in England. A week or so ago the missive was delivered to its proper destination, having crossed the ocean twice and travelled something like 10,000 miles to get from Carberry to Medora, a distance of a little over one hundred miles.

When Group Captain E. G. Fullerton, commanding the Air Training station at Summerside, P.E.I., pinned wings on the tunic worn by Kenneth Vincent Michael Murphy recently, some sort of logical cycle was completed. Murphy, who joined the R.C.A.F. last summer, was born in Kitty Hawk, North Carolina, where, in 1903, Orville and Wilbur Wright made the first flight achieved by a heavier-than-air machine in the history of the world.

One of our Winnipeg operatives reports that the extravagant enterprise displayed by the hypothetical salesman who peddled refrigerators to the Eskimos has been topped by the good people of Rennie, Man., who at a recent rummage sale, held to help the Red Cross, actually managed to persuader fur trapper to buy a carpet sweeper.

Bad weather delayed the teacher of a one-room rural school at Gouverneur, Sask., when she went home to Radville for a week end, but that didn’t bother the pupils, who assembled as usual on Monday morning. Two older girls took charge, rang the hell, marched the children to their seats, led them in reciting the Lord’s Prayer, singing God Save the King, and saluting the flag, then put them through the appointed routine of reading, spelling and arithmetic. Winding up a busy morning, the youngsters rehearsed a program they were preparing for Easter, then, since the teacher was still absent, gave themselves a half holiday and went home.

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