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The Brussels Post, 1962-07-19, Page 4.. . • ..... k.j oete4V .V.k's aaitee2e: eat eelana Soelcirk A Willing Worker ILLUSION AT SEA near Bremerhaven, Germany, is only 40-foot-long model At first glance two ocean liners appear to be plaairg each other But a closer look will reveal that the ship in the foreground of the old liner "Bremen," destroyed by fire In 1941, with her latchkey, and entered into a silence, Mrs. Ellwood was in bed, a faint, fixed smile on her face; and the room was very cold, as cold as the hand that lay stiffen- ed on the bed cover. "Died in her sleep," said the doctor. "Heart just went." Miss Josephine went to see the lawyer. "We must take steps to find out whether there are any relatives," he said, Miss Josephine looked at him directly. "You won't need to search far," she said. "My real name is Josephine Ellwood, I am her daughter," "Many years ago, I had an"il- legitimate and, She turned me out of the house. But that was a long time ago," She regarded the lawyer plac- idly. "He was brought up at Elmers Hall," she said. "I'm glad they are getting the money," "But," said the lawyer, slowly recovering, "do you mean she didn't know who you were?" "Of course not," said Miss Jose- phine. "If she had known who I was, she's have sent me packing —and then she would have been all alone . ." From "TIT-BITS" Only Just The Ghost Of A Love rne, large-Led, Her strange, sad beTauhteynbexernt nuisgehdt kissere her and her lips were warm. But the ghostly pallor stayed with her, Although I thought her caresses would be limp, I was so wrong * "Mylittle ghost!" I said to her, for that was what she was, a lovely shadow falling on the life of a man who until now had not known a romantic interlude. As I confided in her she listen- ed, sad-eyed. But always it ended at dawn, with the sound of the cock crow- ing and apricot pickers I* the lane. There was a last time; there had to be, for I had to turn back towards the coast. Only when she had gone did a realize we could never meet again. I packed my things together sadly. I spoke from the window to the student girl walking past. "I'm off this morning." Then, in a whisper: "The loft is haunted." She nodded. I went to pay madame, but when I brought out my wallet, it was empty! I stared dismayed. "What do I do?" I asked. Coolly and, I thought, very amiably, she said I must post the payment on afterwards. If I would leave my signet ring, she would give me a receipt for it and return it to me the mo- ment I sent on the money. There was absolutely no need for me to worry at all. I had, to do this with a wry face. What choice did I have? A ghost! to think I had been bamboozled that way , that. I could have been such a fool. Madame was kind enough to give me a bottle of wine as a parting present. "It is all right m'sieur," she said with a smile, for she saw how furious I was. "it is — how you call 'tick'?" And she tapped her brow. "Ticka, ticka, touch- wood." Then she laughed, She was right, you know, . . The whole lot of them must have been in it, and •looking back, I suppose they did it very well. A ghost, in flesh and blood. A pretty dream and a romantic, sentimental man. Ticka, ticka, touchwood was just the right answer, —From "Tit-Bits" A, Complete Story ldy CUAULES OWING Friday was always a difficult day. Miss Amelia,, stern and an- gular, sat behind a large desk and consulted complicetnd chart s. Miss Josephine, fluffy and be- spectacled, sat behind a smaller desk, with a big ledger and a large cashbox. Women of all ages came in and were paid, argued and grumbled, and at length went out again. It was Miss Amelia who teed started Homehelps Ltd, She had heard of agencies which provided domestic help to those willing to pay for it, in her particular clis- triet, there was, as yet, no such ageeay. So she started one. She found that there were a number of women willing to earn so many shillings. an hour "charring" She found that there were a number of other women who were willing to pay that little bit more-for these services, The margin, for profit and op. erating expenses, seemed suffi- cient. She got Miss Josephine, whom. she had known for years, to help her. They ran the office effie ciently and made a living; but it was hard work. The trouble was the eternally feminine char- acter of the helpers — and the helped. "I don't want you to send me that girl again, she doesn't work fast enough" . . "I wouldn't go back to work for 'er not for all the tea. in China, the stingy old thing!" , "I must have some- one for two hours on Tuesday!" So went the voices on. the tele. phone and the voices of the women as they stood in front of Miss Josephine's desk. And so, Friday was always a difficult day; so many of them had to be switched round to work for somebody else. Miss Amelia frowned over her charts, "That's everybody fixed up," she said, "except old Mrs. Ell- wood?' "Who is she?" Miss Josephine said, putting down her pen. "Thirteen, Grippleford A v- enue," said Miss Amelia. "Big flat. Full of old-fashioned fur- niture• and knick-knacks — and the won't pay for more than Tuesday and Thursday after- noons, two hours each, "I've tried everyone we've got, and they ail say they won't go back," She tapped her charts with a pencil. "I don't know what to do," she admitted. Miss Josephine gazed at the opposite wall. "The poor old thing's very nearly blind," Miss Amelia went on. "She must have some help." Miss Josephine's mind snap- ped back to the present "What about Mrs. Orookea she's very good- tempered?" "We tried her a month ago. She broke a vase, or something. The old lady shot her straight out," "Oh, dear," said Miss Jose- phine quietly. "Perhaps I'd bet- ter go. if it's only Tuesday and Thursday afternoons, you can do without me." Miss Amelia got up, and came across the room. "Jolla darling, you mustn't let this conscience of yours get the better of you. I know you had some trouble, years ago, but that's all over how." Miss Josephine nodded. "; must help her, Amelia. When people need help, you most help them." And so, to spite of Miss Ame- lia's protests, it was arranged, And it seemed to work, There were no more protests from Mrs. Ellwood. At first Miss Amelia asked questions. She learned that Mrs, Ellwood was indeed almost 141A and could not do much for her- self, Everything always had to be replaced in exactly the same spot —otherwise, left to herself, she could not find it again; and it was this that had led to trouble with previous "helpers," But evidently Miss Josephine had mastered the technique; and after a time Miss Amelia accept- ed the situation. Mrs. Ellwood, however, some- times talked about herself to the "servant" she eoeld not see. "I must say, you're much bet- ter than those other girls they used to send me," she remarked one day. "Yell must have been well- trained, 'When my husband was alive, we had four servants But I have to be careful of my money nowadays," But this, as Miss Josephine dis- covered accidentally, was not strictly true. She arrived one afternoon to find the old lady sit- ting with a thickish envelope in her hands. "Open this for me," she snap- ped. "They have stuck the flap down so hard that I can't undo it." A bank passbook slipped out, and flopped open at the current page, Miss Josephine had good eyesight: the figure staggered her. When informed of what the package contained, Mrs. Ellwood seemed indifferent: "I don't know why they bother me with these things." Then came another problem. Some chance remark in a radio play convinced Mrs. Ellwood that she ought to make a will. "I haven't much to leave," she said untruthfully. "My husband died years ago. I had a child, once, but . . ." Tactfully, Miss Josephine ask- ed no questions. She consulted a lawyer who assisted Homehelps Ltd. "I'll draw up a will for her," he said, "and I'll only make a nominal charge. But you'll have to find out where she wants the money to go." When this problem, was put to her, Mrs. „Ellwood spent a long time making up her mind. "Perhaps I have not always been as charitable as I ought to have been," she confided, "i have heard there is a Home for the Children of Unmarried Mothers, at Ehnersdale. I suppose that is a worthy oause. "Sinful and wicked these girls must be, but perhaps the unfor- tunate children deserve some care." "Elmers Hall, it's called," said Miss Josephine helpfully. "I believe it is a very good place. If you like, I will make some in- quiries.". And in the end a will was drawn up and signed, leaving everything MrsaEllwood possess- ed to Elmers Hall. And so it went on, week after week. One column on Miss Amelia's chart remained as steady as their bank balance: Mrs. Ellwood, 2 hrs. Tuesdays and Thursdays. Until it happened, as Miss Jos- ephine had known, subconscious- ly, it soon would, One Tuesday afternoon she opened the door • Hoyt's annt4ance. The ceinpay gets two high-salaried act ac s pays them about $L500 a miruto Mine they laugh their heads ulr, Re said we could sio.p it we wanted to. he did no tbelleve were trying, Ile did is t think it was funny, Bullies, lin wasn't feeling himself. He called 101104 A long one, I could have cried. Se could Lloyd, Wo came hack a very chastened pair, Then Mr. Hoyt got up to show us one particular reaction he wanted to, get in the scene, He got to our laughing place and started giggling. Re could net stop. He tried to talk to us, ""Why, isn't it sill—" but couldn't, Every time he started to Speak he beret out laughing, He walked away from us, hold- ing his sides, laugh tears running down his cheeks, Now he knew, I used to believe that location films should be made 'on the lo- cation described, as they are to- day, trotting off to the Sphinx— the real one in Egypt — or hob- knobbing with a Zulu chief in his own private kraal. Even to- day most of The Lost World looks real, a feeling of romance, dripping moss and leaves and danger. It was shot on the back lot of First National — what is now Paramount Studios in Hol- lywood. In one scene the canoe I was in had to glide under an over- hanging -prop "tree" with a py- thon. coiled around it. A python—like anyone else— if given enough beef steak, is quite friendly. I've heard of one being kept as a pet around a hotel in the interior of Mexico to 'keep down the mice, I was also told, that it was disconcert- ing to come in late at night and find it beddy-byes threaded through the banister, But pythons are also water snakes. And this jolly girl must have been a bathing beauty in the bayou back home. She took one look at the water flowing underneath and her one object in life was to unbraid herself from her lookout post and slip into a bikini, The long shot of us 'sliding toward the camera took so long that no prop man could remain in the scene long enough to keep the snake in the grass. I told our "native" Scouts about this, Our "natives" were. Mexi- cans, very kind-hearted people. They assured me that the prop boys were only teasing me. The idea of a real snake being used. in a film sent them all Into mel- odious Spanish laughter. I did not want to frighten my guards but I had seen Polly Python un- loaded. They had brought her in a very large gunny sack, There was a great deal of her and it was all on that tree under which we were to glide so smoothly. The scene started off and so, of course, did Polly, We gently paddled toward, then shot under and past the swinging live rope, The only thing that kept One. Eyed Juan from diving overboard was the fact that he could not swim, Our unit became as close as a family — oh, closer than that! Like all actors we bitterly com- plained about the long working hours. They were long, too, But like all true actors, when the night came that the last shot-was taken of the captured brontos- aurus escaping down the River Thames to the sea and freedom, thereby releasing us to go to other jobs, did we go home? Rush to get off make-up? Catch up on sleep? Certainly not! Everybody came to my dressing room and we sat up the rest of the night complaining about t h e long working hours, the income tax, our agents, and hilariously rem- iniscing. Sight on door of a Mimic() ani- mal hospital: "If after hours] please growl." The first mistake in politics is the going into it, Benjamin Fran- kiln. also a giant mother-rhino sort of animal with an armor-plated turned up pageboy haircut and it businesslike horn on the end of her nose, Suddenly from under her protecting tummy trots out e little baby rhino, same page. boy hairdo, The tender, nuzzling affection they managed to get from those rubber, animals is most tenoning, They had tiny bellows inside so that they "breathed," After they had. warmed up under the lights for a while, it felt most odd, In handle them, There is a scene where an ape- man jumps down from a high bank, sees a human being foe the first time and jumps back again as a lot, of u$ would like to do very often ,-- only, not being apes, we can't, It would be con- sidered rude. Bull Montana, the wrestler, played this part kind, gentle Bull Montana equip- ped with lots of false teeth. Wallace Beery was a jokester, When we discovered that the "cannibals" were on our trail we were to break camp hurried, V and make for the canoes. On "Camera!", I flew into one sleeve of my cardigan but was securely pinned to earths thresh- ing the air like a windmill, try, ing to find the rest of the gar- ment. It was Wally, He was hold- ing my other sleeve, hidden by My body, looking most inno- cent, with his free hand packing enough. provisions for a dash in- to space, Next time I ducked when he grabbed. He took a header and I left him pad, pad, padding around among the groc- eries. There was a shallow tank in the studio ivhere crocodiles, alli- gators, and an extremely foreign. looking wild pig were running around loose. I dropped my pen- cil through the slats of a walk built over this pond and, like a fool, reached for it, Fortunately, the alligator was way ahead of me. He snapped the pencil in two, leaving me with my hands. I had just had a still made sit. ting on the back of that gentle- man. I have it yet, It gives me the creeps to look at It, When first I got made up for the part, I got dressed in the us- ual Hollywood conception of a secretary -- English or other- wise if she was the heroine — going anywhere, whether, rough- ing it in London's West End or the jungles of South America. I can remember a very pretty silk blouse trimmed• in ruffles, pleated ones, This was before permanent pleats, remember. I do not know how we thought a secretary would keep 'those pleats in a rain forest. Perhaps she would have, very neatly tucked away in an enormous trunk for such necessities and strapped to the back of a patient llama, a dear little pleating Iron, You know the kind? With all those tiny metal strips, if mem- ory serves me right. And my hair was as glam as Pers Westmore could make it, That's right. Percy Westmore, the one who has his own Cosmetic Television program, was my hairdresser. Beatrice Fairfax, the same "Dear Miss Fairfax" confi- dential columnist and wife of Tully Marshall, was the pro. ducer. She took one look at my silk pleated get-up and said, "But you look like you are made up for The Follies, dear." When our technical adviser was asked what I should wear, he said, "I don't know about her. I wore my pyjainae." We settled for something plain and a couple of braids. One time Lloyd Hughes — he was the leading man — and I got the giggles. I cannot remember whether it was a love scene Or where we found the skeleton of my father, still wearing his watch and chain, Anyway, it was very serious. In rehearsing it, each time we got to a certain spot in the dia- logue, at first simmering, then bubbling, then boiling over, we laughed uncontrollably. You can appreciate the director Mr. Harry An Actress Recalls Great Days Of Yore Old-time movie goera will re- call with fond affection one of their idols Bessie Love. In a recent issue of the Christian Science Monitor Miss Love tells about the making of one of the most amazing films of all time. We pass it along hoping you will enjoy it as much as we did, * * Dr, Vilhjalmur Stefansson, the Arctic explorer, wrote me not long ago saying that when he was once visiting ' Sir Arthur Conan Doyle a cheque arrived in the post from a company for his book The Lost World. Sir Arthur said he did not know why they had bought it because it had a sequence about pre- historic animals still living on the 'earth and he did riot see how they could pessibly make it, I played the leading lady in that film, I have often wondered what Sir Arthur thought about that. A leading lady in The Lost World was news to hint There was none in the book, The pie- tune was made as a silent about -195, and it WAS a niasterplece of its. day in stop action photoge raphy with miniature animals and sets. ft is still in existence as 16 'mill, and since the coming of television I do hot think the Suit has ever set on copies of it, Lewis;, stone and Lloyd Hughes' Were the Older and younger lOvera in the piede, Wallace 8601 and Arthtit Hoyt were the tiegnitentative ProfeSeete. A few` derbintirdua Mileage as tall AS the tinpire State building Or the don* of St, •Patilq spent their' chewing dash, ether tip hi the film, then t 'eed their' teeth,• Spots of It were pretty gain, must say, tut thete' as story was the girl had died in prison, Her parents had mourned her deeply. Now they let the loft, where once she had slept, to pass- ing travellers. "Some say it is haunted," she said, which I must admit was a nice, cheerful remark last thing at night. "But I don't believe in such things." I said nothing, There is enough of illy mother in me to know that i have a nasty, sneak- ing feeling that ghosts are pos- sible, I went to my comfortable bed, with the moon shining high be- yond the windows. Sleep came quickly, but I was awakened by a stir in the room. I must have been on edge, for in an instant I was wide awake, and the hair on the back of my neck was , standing on end. A girl in a black cotton dress was standing there. She looked at me in some alarm as though she had not ex- pected to see me, Her dark hair was like a veil twisted round her head, and her face was so pale it reminded me of the Madonna lilies in the rec- tory garden at home. When I could, I asked; "Who are you? What are you doing here?" "M'sieur." Her voice was low, a little hoarse and almost a whis- per; "This is my room, . „" She's come back, I thought. She might have been a living person, save for her pallor, which was of the grave itself. I pulled myself together, as best I could. "What do you want?" I said. My voice was throaty and my heart slipped a beat in apprehen- sion, "These are my people, in'siour," "You are Jeanne?" She dropped her head low, so that I saw only the shining, dark hair, "I am Jeanne, and I ran away. This is where I belong . . this is me," "But what do you want?" She came nearer to the bed, and for the first time I noticed the extreme beauty of her hands. "I long for Maman. We were such friends. I am unhappy, so unhappy." She waved those sweet hands with a little deprecating move- ment. "I ask for nothing but to see Maman once again." Then a cockerel began crowing in the yard beyond my window and I heard the sound of the ap- ricot pickers approaching up the road to start the day. in a moment the ghost of the night had gone , That morning when Maman was shelling peas, sitting oil a low stool which one would never have thought could have accom- modated that capacious rear of hers, I said: "You had a &ugh- ter, madame?" Instantly she but- toned up her mouth, showing all those little lines Which made a phantom moustache along her upper lip. "Pardon m'sieur?" "Her memory still lives?'!. I queried. "I do not wish to talk," she said severely. So we discussed apricots Instead, arid believe me, on any apricot farm this Is the unending conversation. I tried her swath in the eve- ning before we all trooped out to eat under the fig tree, with the fantails cooing, I said: "In life, madame, there are destroying memories that can hurt us, Is it not wise to learn to live with them?" Grimly, she said: "lit this house there are secrets, and if you Wish to stay here you Will respect the 'secrets, Jeanne has gone for ever, We act not speak of her ." The lovely wraith returned that night, SorriehoW i had known she would arid had been waiting expectantly throughout the day. I fell asleep and awoke to see her there, Withent a sound She Walked across, to My bed and stood looking etWn at ine, "Yeti tried?" she 'Miceli, Plained that MaMati did not Un- derstand, but instantly she qUie.t. etied is with: "But you do, m'sieur?" I told her about my inettiet my early days, and she Watehe B y4 tiCitoSniAl leAt e Story M My mother was psychic, and impressed me — as a child — with the reality of the unknown, She held seances in the rectory di:awing-room, which always up- set my father, who lived in a con- stant state of panic lest the bishop found out. I never mariied. At forty I thought I never would. i had a good job as an accountant, and spent pleasant holidays abroad in my small car. I don't like fashionable spots and usually preferred to sleep at a farm or a small inn. So when, one year, in the south of France, I was approaching the little town of Cantelot, I put in at an ap- ricot farm. They were picking apricots late that year. The girls were singing and giggling, and in the house Maman was making bread. She was a rotund little French- woman with beady black eyes and wore the inevitable black cotton dress. A room for the night? "Why yes, indeed," she said, "if m'sieur would not object to the loft." She must have seen some ap- prehension in my eyes, for she smiled. "I show you, m'sleur," she said. We'crossed the cobbled yard, entered the open barn beyond anal. went up a ladder to the loft, It was recently painted, beau- tifully clean and comfortable, and with hot and cold water. Ob- viously it had been arranged for letting. "Mais, our," said Manion, "we hake no children now, to I let the room." I took it for the week-end. a washed, changed my shirt and as night fell I went out to see how the Workers were get- ting on In the orchards. It was a glorious spot. We all fed in the yard, at a long tres- tle-table. And haw Martian could cook! Nobody seemed anxious to go to bed, even though they had to start picking again at dawn, There Was a young Etiglisli stud dent among the workers, a girl who always spent her holidays this Way. We were soon erigroSS, ed in conversation, "They're nide People, Have they any family?" asked her, They had a datighter, she told mai arid laid a cautionary finger on her lips. I gathered that the daughter had been iinPothotia, amorous and difficult She had get into some atrocious idtalati in WW1 a man died, The horror had caused, the Mail of the house td Stiffer a loved Stroke, and he Wait Still eriiiplect "Vett tan *et. how lie wallcs,° Said my inglish itiend‘ I dotild indeed. litikierta ed to the girl?" Itt t law Wet Alit Said the ISSUE all II‘a ONE 00UNDATION A strange new titope tieridng West Germany's religious structures, the f4otite of bevatian of the Bohai religious tbrrirtiutiify roites ifS dome, hecilr LatVerihdiii in the TaUhLIS Mh utitiiiris' hat* of Ffalikkitt. Oahe seems to be rncikinn d ordsh landing Oh top of pile of junked catt hi Vieilha, Auttelai AdtUally the plane is being used as aCeierhettidl Sign foe the jaiiikacliti and is perched on wall looted d few yardi behind the. tat igaveycird.