How is a teacher Supposed to interest her students in the natural wonders in this day of man-made miracles? In eastern Ontario’s seaway valley, where the rerouting of the mighty St. Lawrence has left the small fry singularly hard to impress, the teacher of a one-room school asked in eager tones how many of her class had seen the eclipse of the moon, which had occurred the night before. Out of the listless silence that followed one child finally asked politely, “What channel was it on?”
We’re relieved to report that wild rumors of a crazy new feminine make-up craze, which swept through a Vancouver department store recently, were unfounded. The woman shopper whose red eyebrows caused amazed stares had been unwittingly betrayed by the studio photographer who had just done a camera portrait of her. He suggested she’d photograph better if she darkened her eyebrows and when she didn’t have an eyebrow pencil told her that lipstick would photograph just as well—but didn’t remind her to take it off.
A kindergarten teacher in Medicine Hat. Alta., who thinks it’s wonderful the way the old nursery rhymes still exert their charm on modern youngsters, got to wondering how much of what they sing the kiddies really understand. So the other day, after a rousing round of Sing a Song of Sixpence, she conducted a survey to find out where, in this day of recreation rooms and family rooms,
her toddlers thought the queen was when she was in her parlor. Half of them had her in the beauty parlor and the other half in the beer parlor.
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The RCMP still sends its tenderfoot constables out to fend for themselves at frontier posts, and it stands to reason these days that more and more of them are city-bred lads with little experience for the job. One such recent recruit, posted to a tiny settlement in northern B.C., was concerned by a report that a large black “Indian dog” had been caught in a trap in the bush, and went to investi-
gate. Sure enough, there was the poor beast, suffering considerable pain and turned so vicious that upon being released he promptly bit his rescuer and finally had to be shot. Even more concerned, the conscientious constable went about the community describing the ani-
mal and trying to find out whose dog he’d shot. Finally one local resident went back with him to the trap and confirmed a growing suspicion that the tenderhearted Mountie had gone to the rescue of a timber wolf.
The engine crew of a freight train nearly fell out of the cab the other day in south-central New Brunswick, at the sight of a daring bareback rider bounding along beside the tracks on a deer. Hundreds of miles away in the Laurentians. about the same time, a Montreal hunter fired two easy shots at a big buck he spied grazing in a meadow; when it didn't drop he raced across the field firing repeatedly and when he finally reached the nonchalant beast the hunter could only fling down his gun in frustrated rage.
The simple solution to these strange goings on, as pieced together by Parade operatives across eastern Canada, is an unparalleled outbreak of madness among deer slayers. In N. B. it was a foursome carrying a deer they’d shot the day before, who were so elated at their first kill that when they heard the train coming they couldn’t resist propping the frozen carcass up in the snow while one man played cowboy to give the crew the start of their lives. The Montreal hunter never did find out who the practical jokers were who had cunningly rigged the deer head and hide, stuffed with straw, to look like a grazing buck; but his vanity was somewhat restored when he discovered that other equally keen-eyed hunters had already riddled the lifelike target before he fell for it.
Parade pays $5 to $10 for true, humorous anecdotes reflecting the current Canadian scene. No contributions can be returned. Address Parade, c/o Maclean’s Magazine. 481 University Ave., Toronto.
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