THE SHOCK of it came after three days in the mountains and steaming coastal savannahs of Haiti. It came when Lee Barnshaw returned to his ship in the estuary under cover of darkness, expecting a hero’s welcome. The cold reception made no sense at all.
In border towns everywhere, on both sides of the line, small-time smuggling is an illegal art highly developed by men and women alike. For Maclean’s this Windsorite frankly tells how she cheats the revenuers. I STARTED smuggling when I was a girl of 13 living with my family in Windsor and going to school north of the river in Detroit, and I’ve been smuggling ever since.
NOT LONG ago I stayed for a few days with the family of Grossdoddy Martin, in the fieldstone house which his grandfather built in Waterloo County, Ont., in the days when the Mennonites came up from Pennsylvania to break new ground in Upper Canada.
I AM a member of that fortunate group who has suffered a severe attack of coronary thrombosis and lived to tell about it. For the pressure of modern competitive life has made heart disease the nation’s No. 1 killer — greater now than tuberculosis.
ON THE DESERTS of Saudi Arabia, where thieves are still punished by having their right hands chopped off, and beautiful Sudanese girls are secretly auctioned on the slave block, a Western revolution is quietly taking place under the sure hand of a giant, scowling, hawkbeaked man of the desert.
RICHARD E. CHADWICK likes to suggest that his Foundation Company of Canada got keelhauled into the deep-sea salvage business when a couple of his men fell in love with a tugboat in Hamburg in 1929. The pair had been dispatched to Britain to look at a somewhat more modest tug which Foundation could use in building wharves and paper mills in the lower St. Lawrence, but the powerful 650-tonner was a bargain they couldn’t resist.
HAD a parched wayfarer chanced to stop at the Fountain tavern in the tiny village of Tuddenham, Suffolk, England, at one time during the late war he would have witnessed a scene to convince him that he had stumbled on a congress of trolls and heard the horns of elfland blowing.
TOUGH motorcycle policemen in Vancouver wore earmuffs for the first time in history during this winter of 1949-50, and one day a man named Leo Sweeney even tried to give the country back to the Indians. The Indians, a shrewd lot, wouldn’t take it.
THERE aren’t many sports columnists in Canada who haven’t observed at one time or another that there are two hockey games in Maple Leaf Gardens in Toronto of a Saturday night: the one on the ice and the one on the air. The observation seldom is meant as a compliment to Foster Hewitt, who is fairly generally regarded as the most entertaining play-by-play announcer of them all, but it is, nevertheless, a backhanded tribute to his artistry with a microphone.
LONDON, Feb. 27 (By Cable)—In a few minutes I shall be going down to Westminster to sign on for the new Parliament. We shall swear to be true to King George VI, his heirs and successors. Our salaries will begin from that moment and when Parliament opens next week we shall be allowed to take our seats.
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