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HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Brussels Post, 1981-10-21, Page 2Authorized as second class mail by Canada Post Office. Registration Number 0562. / Box 50, Brussels, Ontario NOG 1H0 A Andrew Y. McLean, Publisher Evelyn Kennedy, Editor WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 21, 1981 Member Canadian Community Newspaper Association, Ontario Weekly Newspaper Association and The Audit Bureau of Circulation. Established 1872 Serving Brussels and the surrounding community Published at BRUSSELS, ONTARIO every Wednesday morning by McLean Bros. Publishers Lim t 1872 4 Brussels Post BRUSSELS $13 a year 40 cents a single copy gSP4 PER „04' NE 'S 'APFN5 CO'' 519-887-6641 Grey township history A GATHERING OF RELATIVES — The Alcocks came to Canada in the 1850's leaving their home country of Ireland where a war was going on. This is a replica of the house they lived in in Ireland and was built on the north half of Lot 6, Con. 14. That house burnt when Jessie Engel was 10 months old in 1897. Standing in the picture third from the left is William F. Alcock (Jessie Engel's great-uncle) and to his left is his wife Mary. At the extreme left-hand side of the picture is their son George. Their daughter Kitty, is in the buggy with `their son-in-law Wes 'Yeo and in front are their children--Bill, Eva and Francis. (Frank) Beside the children is a hired girl Anna and two other immigrants Mr. Alcock had working for him--Charlie Hooton and Jack Roy. (Photo courtesy Jessie Engel) Part of a continuing series in honour of Grey's 125th anniversary Life is hard some days Sugar and spice By Bill Smiley Some days you can't make a nickel. This was one of them. After fighting off a last-minute decision to attend a fighter-pi- lots' reunion last weekend, I thought the gods might give me a break and start me off right this week. I secretly wasn't mad about going to the convention. Since I was attached to a R.A.F. squadron, with only \about three Canadians on it, my old fighter Oilot friends, are for the most' part dead, or scattered all over the world. On the other hand, I had two old buddies in the big city, and one of them dropped a line to ask if I were going. At the point of no return, I decided to go. At least I could tell them I was still flying, as the scars from my Crash-land- ing in the rock gikrden would prove. Still had tape on my forehead, a bluish-yellow eye, and a gashed nose. My wife, bless her, who had been covertly hoping I would forget it, fell into my enthusiasm, started ironing shirts and packing socks. I had insisted to her that I would skip the receptions, a euphemism for drunken cocktail parties, and get in touch with my daughter and gradboys, just across• the river in Hull, With,the lightning decision and immediate application of a former officer in His Majesty's Forces, I got on the phone. No problem. Bus to the city, fly with the boys to Ottawa, limp with my arthritic foot to thel Cenotaph, plane back; bus home. I won't* only take four days, and I have 316 days sick leave coming to me. And believe me, I would be sick. Phoned the bus station. No answer. Several times., Phoned the buddy who had called roe: N4 answer. Phoned the other old buddy. He was half-sloshed, introduced me to his wife (last time I saw him he was a 45-yea;-old bachelor), had a nice talk with her, invited them up for some cross-country skiing, was invited to their place for dinner, rind discovered he wasn't going to the convention. First one he's ever missed. That's wives for you. I decided to give it up. By this time my wife had four shirts ironed. A real bonus, for both of us. Then I started rationalizing, as we do. "Who wants to see all those old guys with white hair, pot bellies and imaginations that completely distort the fact that they were never great fighter pilots, like myself, and remember in vivid detail things that never happened?” O.K. Let's get back to the theme, as I constantly snarl at my senior students. This was supposed to be a good week for me, after resisting the devices of Old Nick, through sheer purity of spirit. Today, I was up, dressed, fed, clean of mind and pure of Spirit. Went out for my morning paper to read with my habitual peanut butter on bread and, half of a banana. No paper. Mildly irritated. The contract I signed said that the paper will be placed between the doors before 8 a.m. It is hurled anywhere within 40 feet of my back door. When it arrives. Got in the car. Turned the key. Zilch. Discovered I'd left the lights on all night. Not time for a booster from friends or neighbours. Set out on foot. Eight long blocks,, all uphill, and my new arch support killing my foot. Nobody even glanced my way as I looked pitiably about every time a cat came along behind. Arrived as the national anthem was grinding to a close. Thirty minutes later, the old lady phoned and said the furnace was on the blink, what should she do? I felt like telling her, in no uncertain terms, but restrained myself. It's difficult, with an entire furnace. Vice-principal wantsfour pages of data by. yesterday. Heaps of essays to mark. Teachers whining about stupid administration decis- ions. Students, all agog because the sun is shining and half of them will have the afternoon off, because the vultures from the universities will be here, looking for anything that breathes and is still warm. By great good luck, catch a friend, Ray Holt, who will not only drive me home, but has battery cables. Does so. He pushed car out of garage. He's too strong. Car goes backwards like a jet. I leap,' open door, scrape leg in doing so, drop glasses and step on them, in doing so, hit brake and wind up three inches from telephone pole. Bless him, he gets me going. Run up the car for five minutes to charge battery ,.Put car in garage. Restart engine, just to be sure. Ar-ar-argrunt-silence. Phone Ray. Not in yet. Rush to typewriter. Column day. Sit dazed , before typewriter, thinking a few nasties about the gods. Ray comes back, gives me another battery boost. By ,this time I need either a tranquillizer or some speed. Roar car around 10 blocks, charging battery. Wife thinks I've gone berserk and just headed off to slam into a tree or go over an embankment. Honie. Stop car. Tuin key. It star ts. Don't believe it. Detail wife to run out every five minutes and start car. Rush to den and start writing this. Tomorrow the brick Man comes. Last job he did was $1,600. Have a nice day.