ROW upon row of starry-eyed faces; small girls and boys perched on the edges of chairs, tense with excitement; older boys and girls and a smattering of grownups sitting more at ease but with an air of pleasurable expectancy . . . this is the audience.By DOREEN CORPS
WITHIN the next few months, perhaps in September or October, Britain will hold the most unpredictable, and in some ways the most fateful, general election for a hundred years. The result may not only determine the course of Britain’s destiny but will affect the Empire and have profound repercussions on nations and continents outside the Commonwealth and across many seas.By Beverley Baxter’s
IT WAS just after Christmas and the Sunday school teacher in Cardston, southern Alberta Mormon centre, asked each of the pupils what Santa Claus had brought them. “Not a darn thing!” was the reply of young Solon Earl Low, to the consternation of the teacher, who still tells the story—for Solon had been in the bad books of Santa Claus that Christmas.By B. T. RICHARDSON
THE juke-box people, chortling over their piles of nickels, are beaming more broadly than ever these days and don’t hate anybody. And the bobby soxers and the hepcats go their own unfettered way little knowing why the tradesmen who make their nickels add up to $10 millions are so happy.By ROBERT L. GOWE
YOU DON’T peed to be a railroader to know that the Big Hill is on that spectacular piece of railway track between Field and Banff in the Rockies; that it is 14 miles of winding main line steel which loops twice upon itself through spiral tunnels cut into two mountains which border the famous Kicking Horse Pass. Anybody west of Winnipeg has heard of the Big Hill.
BREAKFAST at our house has become a delirious affair. This is due to father’s alarm clock, which is eccentric because of extreme old age. Sometimes it goes at five in the morning, calling forth loud words from father, none of which he could print in the Friar’s Point Times, of which he is editor. Sometimes it waits until 7.30, which is half an hour too late, and then blows its top like a three-alarm fire.By LAURA MAE QUANCE
UP ALONG the rim of Germany Canuck airmen held for weather were shooting the breeze. When would the war end? As civilians, who of them would be going where to do what? One asked, “How about you, skipper?” The pilot grinned, his eyes suddenly dreamy. “I guess I’ve kind of got the edge on you birds,” he said. “I come from Powell River.”By JACK PATERSON
The Maritimes BALANCING budgets by liquor profits has been the rule in Nova Scotia since war brought a population boom, but the eightman Liberal Cabinet isn’t any too happy about it. One reason is that dry sentiment is strong in that beer-parlorless province and political opponents use soaring liquor revenues as ammunition to attack the administration.
WESTERN FRONT (By Cable) — When Colonel Ernest Dupuy, U. S. Army, opened the control switch of a microphone in London on the morning of June 6, 1944, and spoke the words, “This is D-Day,” he broke the biggest news story of the war. The Second Front—long dreamed, doubted and decried—was at last a reality.By L. S. B, SHAPÍRO
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