A Russian journalist did a tour of Canada recently and stopped off at Fort William, Ont., where he fell into the clutches of an enthusiastic tourist-bureau man. For half an hour he got the full treatment on the glories of the Ontario northwest—the climate, the country, the industrial potential, the sport, the culture, the beautiful girls. After the publicity man reached the climax of his persuasive performance he seemed to experience a relapse: the enthusiasm died from his voice, the gleam faded from his eye. “But would you believe it,” he complained glumly, “some of our eastern writers still refer to this country as the Siberia of Canada.”
The Russian pondered this for a moment and then exclaimed, “Yes, it is nice, isn’t it?”
* * *
It has been a deep winter in the Summit Lake area, north of Prince George, B.C., and one resident completely lost patience with the highway snow-cleaning crews. Ten feet up a tall post at the corner of Landing Road and the John Hart highway—well above the highest snow mark—he nailed a sign bearing this terse message: “Public road. Four families
live here. Plow it.”
* * *
There’s a hard-working woman in Winnipeg who boards a bus for the rushhour ride home, elbows her way to a seat, then pulls out and sets a small alarm clock which she tucks back into her shopping bag. Fifteen minutes later and halfway across town the clock’s shrill
tinkle wakens her, just in time for her stop. Her timing’s foolproof because buses are never ahead of schedule, particularly in rush hours.
* * *
There’s a grandmothers’ bridge club in Calgary that has its own house rules to guarantee that there are sufficient lulls in the conversation for those who wish to play cards. The first fifteen minutes of the afternoon sessions are devoted exclusively to talk about grandchildren (snapshots permitted), then ten minutes is allotted to oil stocks. After that everybody has to keep quiet and play bridge.
A Toronto dentist, who is the methodical painstaking type of chap who likes to keep his life neat and tidy at all times was even more than normally put out when his home was broken into and robbed on three separate occasions. Located on a ravine, the house was appar-
ently more vulnerable than most, so the dentist decided to take special steps to protect it. Of a mechanical bent, he ingeniously wired every window and door on the ground floor so that if they were tampered with, a large and loud bell on the outside of the house would raise the alarm. He wasn’t satisfied until he and his wife gave it every kind of a test and he’d convinced himself it was foolproof. So they went happily away for the week end, the dentist taking his customary precaution of turning the power off before they left. And by the time they returned Sunday night the house had been broken into a fourth time.
* * *
We feel it our duty to report on even the slightest flouting of the democratic procedure, even if we’re a little late hearing about it. We have it on good authority that when Winnipeg held a liquor referendum last fall, all the wastepaper containers in one polling booth were empty beer cartons.
* * *
A nineteen-year-old RCAF man arrived home in Aylmer, Que., on leave and proudly introduced the woman of his choice—an airwoman from England. His parents quite took to the girl, particularly when she told them that, never having been baptized as a child and always having felt badly about it, she had arranged for the padre at their RCAF station to baptize her just a few days before. They were just a bit bemused, however, when shown her brand-new baptismal certificate, to find their son listed as the girl’s godfather. Thanks to a subsequent ceremony, moreover, the airman’s mother now finds that she is her son’s god-daughter’s mother-in-law.
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