A BUSINESSMAN who still has a twinkle in his eye has explained to us that “a priority rating is something you ask for and receive so that you can legally ask for something you can’t get.” We have not heard his comment on the statement of price-ceiling policy issued by Chairman Gordon of the Wartime Prices and Trade Board; a statement which makes it clear that Mr. Gordon’s ceiling specifications mean hard plaster.
IN ENGLAND there are many cases in which the Government has said to a businessman: “Sorry, but we are going to take your employees and premises and put them to work producing something of more importance to the war effort than that which you are producing.
AT THIS SEASON, wherever the Christian faith is upheld, an ageless story is told. It records that through the night watches preceding that day from which Christmas takes its name, Wise Men of the East scanned the Heavens, seeking a sign-a star that would lead them to the cradle of a baby born to save mankind.
WHILE the Government has adopted drastic measures to control expenditures by the people, it hasn’t done as much as the public would like to see done in curtailing its own non-war costs. One example is that of the postal “franking” system under which government departments and members of parliament can mail, “free,” correspondence and literature to their hearts’ content.
IF YOU would like to give Christmas presents the value of which will increase, and the purchase of which will directly aid Canada’s war effort, it’s easy. Buy War Savings Certificates. A four dollar certificate will be worth five dollars on maturity.
NUMBERED 243a on our priority list of Things We Intend To Do When We Can Get Around To It is the idea of writing a brochure or something on the subject of pen-names and pseudonyms (We don’t care if both words do have the same meaning. We like the rhythm in their joint appearance.)
Hers was a heritage of freedom that roused simple peasants to defy the masters who had enslaved their land
GEORGE MADDEN MARTIN
RENE SAID, “She becomes queer again, our Madame le Parapluie.” “But all Americans are queer,” big Jacques said reasonably. And the old curé, who like many slightly-deaf people had a way of hearing when one did not intend him to, said: “Madame is not queer.
Meet Henry Brant. He left Montreal for New York and shunned orthodox music to compose concertos for tin whistles and alarm clocks
BILL TRENT FRAYNE
LI’L HENRY BRANT’S idiosyncrasies crowd through his genius just often enough to make him one of the most engaging Canadian musical figures now operating out of New York. He actually is a virtuoso of the dime store tin whistle and has given concerts with the darn thing with full orchestral accompaniment.
LONDON, Nov. 22 (By Cable). At the moment this letter is being written the British have attacked in Libya and the Germans are still held in Russia, with Moscow and Leningrad as defiant, unconquered citadels. Despite the fact that there can never be battle without casualties, there was a great sense of relief when the news came that at last the British Army had struck at the enemy.
Hibbs Pivonka, hauler of high-class rubbish, brings shantytown a personal appearance by old Saint Nick
ALIGHT snow had begun in the afternoon and now this evening, Christmas Eve, there was enough of it to crunch beneath the cart wheels. Leviticus, bobbing her old head as though pulling a load up hill, turned her nostrils to the last sunshine and let her wet snorts tremble in the crisp air.
VICTORY can only be won by the destruction of the enemy’s military force and the occupation of his territory. That has been the first rule of war since the beginning of military history. It is still the first rule. More than a hundred years ago one of the greatest of military writers said something which needs repeating today.
A spot of lusty Yuletide drollery concerning one Danny O'Malley and the pal of his bosom, Michael McKane
WE WON’T go home till morning, We won’t go home till morning, We won’t go home till mor-NING! “All right now, Danny me lad. Both together—” Till daylight doth appearrr! Although it was three hours past midnight, with a lively snowstorm blowing and most honest citizens in their beds, the spirit of Yuletide was loudly manifest in the mining camp of Skeleton Lake.
How farmers’ wives and village clerks stand airraid watch for Uncle Sam across eleven states
A. P. COOKE
IT IS late October and Carolina in the morning. The yellowish autumn sun has poked its rim through its accustomed slot far out over Cape Hatteras. A stiff breeze riffles the sand dunes at Kitty Hawk where those visionary Wright brothers proved that man can take wing.
Jostling thousands jam a theatre Fear and hope fill a dozen hearts
<p>“Sneak preview of ‘Marriage Minded' at the Avon tonight—” The magic news creates a stir in Westwood Village, Hollywood suburb. To ten people the new motion picture’s success or failure may mean happiness or tragedy. Flora Kimball knows that if the picture is a “smash hit” stardom will come to her niece, Gay Orvis.</p>
COME December and Christmas just ’round the corner, housekeepers are in for a stirring time. If the cake and pudding are not already on the shelves they’re on the conscience—and it seems that a good many are of uneasy mind. Unlike other years the Christmas baking has to be fitted in between your wartime activities, but the calendar warns you that you can’t put it off any longer.
Allow me to express my appreciation for your issue of September 15. I have seen many articles and pictures about the Air Force but none, in my estimation, give as realistic and accurate a description as you have in your magazine. I appreciated it all the more because I myself have gone through several of the stages described.
Shoved Down Throats—Another of those public schools polls is supposed to have shown that the tots adore spinach. . . but it sounds to us like an Axis plebiscite!—Sudbury Star. Spuds Are Duds—Then, there’s the farmer who feels his potato crop was an awful flop this year.
Mechanized—Jones was carrying a typewriter from his office to his home. On the corner of his street he collided heavily with a running man. Together they rolled into the gutter. “Why the dickens aren’t you more careful?” cried Jones wrathfully, as he retrieved the machine from the roadway.
WHEN some persons unknown cracked the safe in Ray’s Market, Columbia Street, New Westminster, they first prepared a reasonable facsimile of the front of the safe, then used the cardboard camouflage as a screen, working behind it, and stealing $3,000 in cash—a tidy haul.