HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Exeter Times-Advocate, 1934-10-25, Page 6THURSDAY OCTOBER 25th, JUS4 THE EXETER TIMES-ADVOCATE
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Mrs. Frank H. Willis
4th
her
fol-
of
tactful ways, will be sorely pitesed
by all members of the club. She was
art adherent of the United Church, a
member of the Ladies’ Auxiliary
always faithfully interested in
work of the church, Since
building of tihe curling rink in
village she thoroughly enjoyed
sport. Not only was she active in
community .affairs, but in questions
of wider interest, .she was widely
read, and keenly interested. During
all this time tihe “Willis” home has
been known for its informal hospit
ality. In the earlier days it w-ais a
gathering place, and Jess and Frank
were one with all their friends. As
the girls grew up the young folk
were always sure lof a cheerful wel
come and many a young person and
older one too, who has dome and
gone from Sipringside will have very
happy memories lof kindly counsel
and sympathy from Mrs. W'illis. She
was pre-deceased by her fatihei' and
mother, and two brothers William
■Jaimes Anderson and David Graham
Anderson.
The funeral which was largely at
tended by friends of the deceased
from tihe village and community
and many more from a distance was
held in Springside United church,
Rev. W. H. Walker, officiating. In
terment was made beside her parents
and brother in the Theodore ceme
tery.
Those
•husband
Francis
Kathleen and June at home, and
three brothers Henry and Wallace
Anderson of Beaverdale and Stew
art Anderson, of Theodore and two
sisters, Mrs. Wm, Willson, of Beav
erdale and Mrs. M. C- Anderson, of
Springdale. Floral tributes were ex
ceptionally beautiful and consisted
over forty wreaths and sprays.
who survive her are
and three daughters,
Farrell, of Armstrong
best
Mr.
-was
first
the
of
she
the
the year
parents
Yorkton
Normal
and
the
the
the
the
of
ofMr. and Mrs. John Robinson,
West McGillivray, were pleasantly
surprised recently when the members
of the family and grandchildren met
in honor of jtiheir birthdays, at the
home of a. daughter, Mrs’.
Amos, of Lieury. About 1315 guests
were entertained at dinner, following
which the gifts were presented.
Oliver
Shingles!
WINS TOURNAMENT
The annual horseshoe tournament
was held at Monkton and the weath
er, which wag ideal for such .an event
contributed much to the success of
the sport, Eight teams including one
from Cromarty, two from Listowel
and four local teams comprised
full court and tihe -results’ were
follows: Harbum and Harbprn,
Cromarty; Fritz and Cockwell, Ins-
towel; Henderson and McCullough
Monkitton. A goodly number of spec
tators witnessed the contest and
good sportsmanship feeling
manifest among the players.
a
as
of
a
was
TARES OWN LIFE
Nineteen-year-old Roy
of Mr. and Mrs. Albert
found dead in the cellar
ents’ home, St. Marys last w/jk. The
boy had evidently died of a bullet
wound in the head which had
inflicted by a revolver an his
bands. Roy worked at Allen’s
cher sho-p and when he did
come for the evening meal a search
was started to find him. Roy was a
bright young chap, a promising pit
cher for 'the local baseball team and
his death cast a gloom over the whole
town. Besides his parents three
brothers and one sisitier survive.
Cook,
Cook,
of his
son
was
par-
been
own
but-
not
The West Country
Through Somerset, Devonshire an|d a
Bit ol' Cornwall. A Visit to the
City of Bath. Miss Elizabeth Eedy
of St. Marys Finds Devon the
Most Beautiful Fart in England.
(St. Marys journal-Argus)
In la,st week’s issue of the Times-
Adviocate mention was made of the
deatlh of Mrs. Frank H. Willis, of
Springside, Sask. The Enterprise
of Yorkton, Sask., on October
contains an extended account of
death from which we copy the
lowing excerpts:
The village and community
Springside were plunged into miourn-
ing at word of the death of Jessie
Isabel, beloved wife of F. H. Willis,
which occurred in tihe Queen Vic
toria Hospital, Yorkton, on Satur
day, September 29. Mrs. Willis, who
was in her forty-ninth year, passed
away quite peacefully, although for
some years and especially this sum
mer, she -had n'ot enjoyed
of health. The sixth child
and Mrs-.. W. S. Anderson,
born on November 2I3-, 1884
child born in .Saltcoats. In
1895 she m'oved with her
to tihe Beaverdale district ten miles
slouthwest of where the Springside
village grew up. Educated in .the
Beaverdale public sdhool,
High School and Regina
Scholol she taught in the Theodore
and Sipringside districts and was the
first teaciher of the village school in
Springside. On June 18, 1907, sihe
was married to Frank.Hamilton Wil
lis, and they established their home
in Springside where they have lived
ever since. All the’ years that she
lived in the village, eeceased has
been actively interested in tihe bet
terment of he community. An origin
al member of the Homemaker’s Club
in the organization of wlhich she
took an active part 2'3 years ago.
Her advice and counsel and kindly,
British Columbia
xxxx x
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Interesting Poem from F. W. K. Tom ”
2-306 Putnam St., Toledo, O.
October 14th, 1934
Exeter Times-Advocate
My dear Editor iSouthcott:—>
Your issue of October 11th brought to the writer a few re
flective hours, and I was compelled to drop ithe busy things of life
for a time and take a somewihat reflective inventory.
Your paper carried the obituaries of four of my boyhood
friends of fifty years: Hugh -Spackmaji, I. R. Carling, Fred South-
cott and Chas. T. Brooks, all men of character and usefulness, who
filled their niche in life quite above the average and the memory of
them rests pleasantly with those who are -stretching out our span
a little beyond theirs.
While the “muse” is with me I have permitted my contempla
tions to run into la few lines “The -Circle” which are enclosed.
Frank W. K. 'Tom
the chicle
The Fates have said “To live is but t-o die”
With Life’s first breath Death’s ’spectre dingers by,
To -claim again and take us back to dust,
As glittering steel disintegrates in rust.
All life is but a visitor on Earth,
A shadow cast, -o.f momentary worth.
The elements of moistened e'arth may rise
In towering elms that reach toward the skies,
With spreading branch and shimmering leaf proclaim
The full evolving force of Nature’s flame:
To yield, through transpiration’s hidden power
The cooling dews that fall at twilight hour;
Then dies, then falls, again with earth to merge
With quivering echoes of the forest’s dirge.
The ocean’s wave is lifted up in clouds
To ride upon the air, and darkly shrouds
The distant hills in cool reviving rain,
Then runs in singing streams to sea again:
To end it’s course, then rise again to see
Another circle of it’s ceaseless destiny.
To follow Nature’s law without release,
Where naught is left to Fortune’s wild caprice.
Where variations flow with strange accord,
For Harmony is Nature’s only word.
So take life’s full content in Nature’s span.
For all things surely end where they began.
Frank W. K. Tom
Dr. Wood’s “Only a Trifling Cough
I’ll Soon be Rid ol It”
»
JVonray
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Where are we? Oh, yes! we are
standing in front of tihe Grand Pump
Room Hotel in Ba-th, like all the
other buildings in that city, an im
posing Roman style edifee of grey
st-one. Wheel chairs trundle past us
on -their way to shake o-ff the rheu-
matiz in -the Roman baths across the
street. “Aristocratic”—no o-tiher word
can better describe Bath. So let us
be on our best behaviour.
Lunch first in the hotel. Our appe
tite steps up sixty degrees wihen on
entering the palatial cream, wine and
gold dining salon, we see an enor
mous table, ithe width of the room
laden with all sorts of food imag
inable—great pink hams, rounds Of
beef, cheeses wrapped in fresh green
leaves, beautiful fruits piled to -the
ceiling. Yum, yum, are we going to
have some of that? The regular ho
tel guests seeim to be eating plenty
even if they are drawn up to the
tables in their wheel chairs. One
old lady (we called her the Lavender
Lady) has been there for years and
I years and never speaks to a soul.
She is dressed from head to foot in
lavender silk, her cheeks are powder
ed a becoming shade
her hair is tinted to
sembie.
The Roman
Over the way, in the 'Grand Pump
Room, we are given a glass of water
from the hot springs to drink. This
water, temperature 120 degrees F.,
has been gushing up at -the rate of
thousands of gallons a day ever since
the Romans came here. The Anglo-
Saxons paid little attention to the
Bath hot springs. In- the eighteenth
century, however, the Roman baths
were discovered and Bat'h became a
well as a health resort, a. residential
centre for tihe people of fashion
from all over England.
Belowstairs, we -see the great Ro
man bath of warlm gray-green water,
the bottom still covered with the ori
ginal lead. It is surrounded by a
colonade and pillars which support
the street above. Excavation goes on
all the -time and more and more
baths, ovens and passageways are
forever being opened up.
We climb -up out of the hollow
which is the city of Bath and cross
over the hills of Somerset -to Wells
where we pay a shorit visit to the
Cathedral. It is a lovely cream stone
inside. On t'he exterior of the north
front stands a most peculiar clock.
When the hour strikes, toy knights
in armour come out and try ito knock
each other off their horses. After
watching this for awhile we walk
along through tihe cloisters of tihe
Bishop’s Palace. This is a circular
■building with a courtyard inside, a
moat and ,a drawbridge outside, quite
medival in appearance, especially
with it's loopholes in the towers and
swans floating in the moat.
Back to King Arthur
Shortly after leaving Weils, we
seem suddenly to coime to the edge
of a vast igihelf of land. Away down
to t'he south somewhere near the
English Channel we see the blue
mountains; to the right, lies the dim
shore of the Britol Channel; straight
ahead, rising out of the plain like an
island from the -sea, is a dark blue
mass of higher ground—the Isle of
Avalon. Cnee upon a time so the
legend runs, the sea used to come
right in here over the land, King Ar
thur drifted -hither in a boat and was
buried with his Queen on Avalon Isle
The English town of Glastonbury
has grown up in this spot and here
Joseph of Arimathea is said to havo
founded the first Christian Church
in England.
We go through Bridgewater on the
Barrett River to Minehead on the
Bristol Channel and start tip Por-
lock HID, the highest hill In Eng
land. Now the* climbing begins; The
round is very narrow with high bed*
gas and ta-H trees on both. sides. Our
bus has to back around nearly every
SALADA ■MFB ■!■■■»■■
. __________ _________ ___ <11
Orange Pekoe
Blend
Fresh from
the Gardens
ap-
Off
sweep of country—broad,
^plains—and what air, up here
-to the clouds. Woven into a
liant 'pattern are the colors;
green, light green, maize,
turn, but oh! t'he view! The sea
drops farther and farther below us
itil’l the ships look like toy boats in
a bathtub. The fields’, picked out
by dark -green hedges, have the
pearance of a patchwork quilt.
Lorna Doone Country
At the fop of the thill, Devon!
to the south, Exmoor. What a grand
smooth
close
bril
dark
pink,
mauve, purple ('bell heather), tile
red (the natural color of the soil)
deep red, brown and black, In de
pressions on the moor we see trees
and a nestling together of farm
houses—Lorna Doone lived down
there in a- valley. This is -the only
part of England .where wild deer are
to be found. v
Through more “deep Devon lanes”
we ride, the sides of the car brushed
by rhododendron blossoms and very
sweet-smelling flowers in the hedges
till we come <to Lynton, the loveliest
spot in Devonshire. We stand on the
Castle Rock there and watch the sil
ver blue waves beating on the*sand
2,600 feet below. Night falls and
beihind us the moon comes up over
the moor. But it’s -time for dinner.
What shall we eat? Dovnhsire
cream, of course, spread thick like
butter over -big lucious raspberries.
Three -times in the next twentyfour
hours, iwe repeat the dish, for who
could ever tire of it? There are signs
up all over Devon “Cream by Post.”
They send it out in little stone jars
to all pants of England.
Next morning we bid good-bye to
Lynton and head west towards Corn
wall. Over the moor to Barnstaple,
-the home of Barnstaple pottery;
through Instow, a broad flat sandy
place, to Bideford, a most pictures
que town, complete with river, swans
ships and sea. Buit then -we cannot
stop—we are on our way to Cl-ovelly.
A Tourist’s Dream
From the to-p of C'lovelly hill, we
see nothing but 'the opalescent waters
of the bay, and far out, a headland,
but wihen we scramble down the first
half-mile of the descent, we co-me up
on ithe oddest little village you ever
did imagine. “Quaint,” we say, and
“Quaint” echoes from all sides—
iwhat else can .you call it? There is
only one street, possibly just eight
feet wide. It is' built in steps, so steep
is tihe grade, and cobbled its entire
length right down to the sea. Both
sides are lined with shops and houses
of stone washed a most immaculate
white. Roses grow all over them,
and over the low stone walls. As
we pass, we can see just iVhat is go
ing on in each of ithe bouses. The
neighbors on. the other side of the
street can, too.
The village is looked after by a
lady mayor (ithe only one in England
we’re told). No automobiles are
allowed here. You go the street on.
your two legs and ride up on a don
key. There are quite a. number of
these little animals kept for
purpose. They clatter along
cobbles on their small hoofs,
when we see a particularly large
Tiding one of them, we feel like -tell
ing him (to get off and carry the
donkey up the hill instead.
Heading straight south from Clov-
elly we cut through a section Of
Cornwall. The little that we see of
•it looks just the same as the Devon
shire landscape—even the cream
they tell us, is of the same vintage.
We cross Dartmoor, a high, wild,
bleak region overgrown with fern
and heather where sheep and ponies
are tihe only living things in sight.
Another few miles and we reach the
south coast, the palms and sunshine
of Torquay. Glorious Devon!
that
the
and
man
1
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