ABOUT THE time this page went to press, most Canadians were preoccupied with one or both of two great public issues, (a) Who was going to win the national rugby football final? (b) Who had a spare ticket? Maclean’s does not discount the importance of either question.
LET US talk today about Winston Churchill and the men he has appointed to his government. Let us look behind the newspaper headlines and note the problems of a party leader who by the will of the people becomes Prime Minister of Great Britain.
ONE POLITICAL topic still lively here, as post-election gossip fades, is “How long will Winston Churchill stay in office?” Before the election the word was that he proposed to remain Prime Minister only for a year, then hand over to Anthony Eden.
For twenty-five years Canada’s famous Prime Minister was a practicing spiritualist. He believed that, through mediums, he had communicated with his mother, Franklin D. Roosevelt and even his dog Pat, after they had died. Here, for the first time, is revealed the best-kept secret of Mr. King’s amazing career
ONE WET Saturday afternoon in October 1948, William Lyon Mackenzie King lay ill at the Dorchester Hotel in Park Lane. His visitors were few and uniquely eminent—King George VI, Winston Churchill, Prime Minister Nehru of India—so the London press was keeping a close watch on the hotel lobby.
The Ronald Grahams of Vancouver like nothing better than to entertain in their half-million-dollar mansion. At one party for the Red Cross they had three thousand guests and one morning a sailor turned up at breakfast saving he’d let himself in with the key they’d given him during the war
THERE IS a saying around Vancouver that if some enterprising young man were to build a small shack for himself in a certain wooded ravine at the tip of West Point Grey close to the twenty-room pink stucco home of Mr. and Mrs. F. Ronald Graham, he could live a rich full life without cost to himself, simply by attending the Grahams’ parties.
It turns out after all this time that Anne of Green Gables, the Prince Edward Island redhead who ran away with the hearts of millions of young readers all over the world, was the image of little Lucy Maud Montgomery, who lived and wrote beside the Lake of the Shining Waters
ANNE OF GREEN LES, the best-loved character ever created hy a Canadian author, has been tugging at the heartstrings of millions for forty-three years. She’s still a steadily moving item on the booksellers’ shelves. This Christmas, seven thousand more Canadian children will be introduced or reintroduced to her.
Like a restless sourdough Canada’s vast aluminum industry is always on the hunt for new frontiers. When the frontier is tamed, civilization troops in and Alcan heads for the bush again, panning remote rivers for nuggets of cheap power. Its latest strike will bring the world’s biggest powerhouse to the B.C. wilds
LAST SPRING a man stepped into the little hotel at Terrace, B.C., a quiet and remote lumbering town of twenty-five hundred people on the CNR eighty miles inland from Prince Rupert, and casually announced that he wanted to reserve a few rooms.
The twisting, tumbling Gatineau River that sweeps past the nation’s capital bears its yellow pulpwood through a fabled frontier land where millionaire sportsmen and half-breed trappers rub shoulders in log-cabin hamlets with hermits, witches and revered faith healers
ON A CLEAR DAY from the Peace Tower on Parliament Hill you can trace the twisting course of the Gatineau River from the spot where it spews its jostling yellow tide of pulpwood into the Ottawa, to a point many miles to the northward where it suddenly vanishes in a little cleft of the piled, slumbering masses of the hills.
In the torture chambers of Robagonia men cried out to the Golden Giant to save their country. But what could a simple-minded peasant do against the brutal army of oppression?
This is the story of what happened in Robagonia, a small South American country, at a time when the current group in power turned out to be quite a bit more merciless, more ruthless and efficient than previous totalitarian groups. The very scientific plan for absolute control put into effect involved, logically, the elimination of all segments of population around which resistance might develop, and covered lawyers, universities and their staffs, newspapers, reporters; in short, the sources of leadership.
Don’t worry if you can’t afford Michael Powell’s recipe of a lark inside a pigeon inside a chicken inside a goose inside a turkey. Let a graduate of Turkey Tech show you the newest and best ways to give your friends the bird this Christmas
THE sun on the snow in the yard rebounds through the dining-room windows onto the ceiling and falls dazzlingly on the best tablecloth. The family is expectantly gathered not too far from the table. The children come in through the storm entry with icy air clinging to their mackinaws; they shed snow on the rug, which is already specked with tinsel and mica snow.
In the next few days thousands of Canadian men will spend about one million dollars at the nation’s perfume counters. And even if the woman who gets one of these exotic little bottles would have preferred a cashmere sweater she’s likely to say, “Just what I wanted”
NO WASTE of time in this Christmas season can compare with a woman telling her husband, as she sets down his morning coffee, how fond she is of pink cashmere sweaters, size 36, or navy-blue nylon blouses with tucking down the front. “Mmmm,” replies her spouse, thoughtfully, turning the page of his newspaper, “looks like Ezinicki is just about through.”
THE common cold has been afflicting humans and chimpanzees for at least twenty-four centuries, when Hippocrates used to advise his patients that rest in bed was the only treatment. No record has been kept of the misery and expense colds have caused chimpanzees, but among people the toll is considerable.
RONNY JAQUES, who took the fine photographs that accompany Ian Sclanders' piece, Lucy of Green Gables, on page 12, likes best to tell stories with his camera. But he’s so much in demand by the flossy fashion magazines to photograph their lanky hollowcheeked models standing with their feet at an angle of forty-five degrees that he doesn’t get around to the kind of work he likes best as often as he would like.
AN AMERICAN IN PARIS: Hollywood hasn't turned out a better musical in years than this gay and handsome confection starring Gene Kelly, Oscar levant, and a delightful French new-comer named Leslie Caron. The tunes, by Gershwin, are as pleasurable as ANGELS IN THE OUTFIELD:
A closet is a funny place; Thee are bags in there, And rags in there, And if you are not careful There are snags in there. A closet is the strangest place; It is dark in there, Strange things park in there, And in many clossts Mice sometimes bark in there.
Not silver trumpets, drums and sleds, Do I remember now, But scalding tears a candle sheds Upon a fragrant bough... Nor rocking horse, nor jumpingjacks, Nor any gallant game— But sweet hot scent of wick and wax Which fed the arrowed flame!
THE Hon. Gilbert McMicken was a marked man. He had come to Canada from Scotland in 1832 and had risen rapidly to become stipendiary magistrate for the whole of western Canada. In this role he earned the hatred of the Fenians, many of whom felt the weight of his frontier justice.
The love affair is over; we have quarreled; our hot reproaches have rung slout and strong. And oh, I loved her madly and divinely! And oh, I loved her ardently and long! But if I find some meed of consolation in what you may correctly term our "rift,” it is in this: thank heaven that we had it before I gave her that expensive gift!
When holly dangles far and near; When turkeys hang their costly heads; When postmen almost disappear; When good behavior swiftly spreads; When shoppers yelp in bitter pain As though a savage reindeer kicked ’em, It’s here—and I am, once again.
Sharp repartee is not for me, I never fill the lull. There’s no applause during a pause— My stories are quite dull. My joke's a dud... falls with a thud, No one dissolves in laughter. The apt retort is not my forte, It comes to me long after. But let them yawn, for when they've gone, I’ve a consolation, which is— My wit burns bright through half the night, And I keep myself in stitches!
Beginning in the next issue: the two-part story of the biggest man in hockey, the tough little champ-maker of the Toronto Maple Leafs who tells his teams that if they can’t beat the other guys in the alley they can’t expect to beat them when they get on the ice.
I want first to thank you for the excellent publicity provided Sherbrooke through your wide circulation (Sherbrooke: Where Two Live As Happily As One, Oct. 15). However... most of the facts in the article were entirely misleading. Personally I object very Strongly to the last item in which the writer stated that the Archbishop of Sherbrooke, Rev. Phillip Desranleau, advised his people to vote for Armand Nadeau, as he did not want me elected.
Horses Never Die Broke—Horse sense is defined as that thing which prevents horses from betting on people.—Midland (Ont.) Rural Scene. The Earth Isn’t Ivory—You can send a message around the world in one seventh of a second, yet it takes years to force a simple idea through a quarter inch of human skull.— Kitchener Waterloo Record.
A DELIVERY VAN was parked on a Halifax street while the driver fed his horse. Watching the operation was a very drunk citizen who muttered, “You’ll never do it. You’ll never do it.” After ignoring his heckler for some time the driver turned and asked, “I’ll never do what?”