HomeMy WebLinkAboutZurich Citizens News, 1973-10-11, Page 4PAGE 4
ZURICH CITIZENS NEWS
THURSDAY, OCTOBER 11, 1973
We had a casual drink togeth-
er, and he was friendly. I
swiftly learned that he was 58
(he looked 42), had been in the
Cameron Highlanders, was a
retired Brigadier, had been
with British intelligence, "But
we mustn't talk about that, of
course."
That's when I began to susp-
ect. When he told me he spoke
Hungarian, Roumanian and Pol-
ish without an accent, my susp-
icions deepened.
When I said, in my blunt
Canadian way, "How come?"
he answered airily, "Part of the
job, old bay."
When I asked his name, he
said, "Just call me Cameron, "
It seemed he was the Lord of
Lochiel, and he muttered about
the Camerons and their feuds
with the McDonalds and others.
He hacl an unnerving habit of
drinking six Pernods while I
was worrying through two half
pints. Then he'd get quite
stoned and mumble on and on,
"I'm as drunk as a lord. But of
course, I am a lord, so it's all
right."
We parted after several en-
counters, and I asked for his
address. He wrote down, "Cam-
eron" and an address in Edin-
(Continued on page 5)
The st• Irvin rich!
One of our school teachers in the distant past had a little
story that is worth remembering today. It had to do with the un-
happy orphan who was given grudging shelter by a woman who
had a large family of her own children. Food was not scarce but
the mother made sure that her brood got the best --the orphan
was left so subsist on the peelings and the water in which the
foods were cooked.
The punch line revealed that the neglected child grew up
with a healthy body and a keen mind, while the pampered kids
turned out to be flabby slobs with no stamina.
An exaggeration, perhaps, but an illustration of a fate that
many of us have inherited in an age of soft living when our
parents could afford to give us nothing but "the best."
Nutritionists are now warning that we may well be starving
ourselves into ill health because we eat only those foods which
are refined to the point of near worthlessness. Examples
are white flour foods from which the wheat germ and other
vital food elements have been removed. Foods so loaded with
preservatives that the important vitamins have been neutralized
There is much evidence to indicate that even the whole
grains and meats we consume have been so altered by the use
of chemicals on the farm that they no longer supply the nutrit-
ion which once fostered a race of hardy pioneers.
If you have ever looked at the suits of armor in a museum
you will have realized that the big men of the Middle Ages
were five-foot runts. The average height of army recruits in
England increased by two or three inches between 1914 and
1939. More and better food was the reason for that sort of
physical development. We have long since mastered the prob-
lem of providing adequate amounts of food, but now we may
be in danger of sacrificing most of the benefits because we
insist on catering to the demands of our appetites for the sweet,
the bland and the easy -to -chew foods.
More detailed knowledge of nutrition on the part of those
who prepare meals might well be the key to better health.
(Mt. Forest Confederate)
oteI y e dog pounds!
Under the heading of the "Well I'll be damned" column is a
ruling by the provincial government demanding dog pounds be
the next thing to palacial for strays and muts no one wants.
• This carne to light at the September session of township
council, when the cle44' reported a provincial government insp-
ector ruled the dog pound the township patronizes does not
measure up to regulations. Obviously, this was pretty unnerving
stuff to council and the pound operator who considered facilities
quite good for a few stray dogs which only have a few days to
live unless their owners or others come along and bail them out
by paying their keep.
Most dogs caught and retained there are those which have been
obtained from city pounds by hunters who want a dog they hope
is smart enough to startle some game in its sniffing meangerings.
Most often the dogs are left in the township because hunters no
longer require them and because they present a problem in
keeping them until the next hunting trip.
When it is considered many dogs are kept in doghouses with-
out floors, and the doorway open to all kinds of weather, are
fed table scraps, or whatever, it is difficult to understand why
the government has gone soft headed over a few stray dogs and
demands almost motel type facilities.
Obviously, the government wants to be kind to the dogs which
come one day closer to their final end each day they are
retained. Maybe it's because some softheaded civil servants,
who own lap dogs, demand that all dogs all experience home
and apartment style living. But forcing the township or the
poundkeeper into keeping $8, 000 or $10, 000 to be eligible to
keep a few stray dogs is asking a little too much. If pound
keepers want to spend the money and go into the dog boarding
business, that is different, but when the new "homes" the
government demands for strays, almost have to be palacial, that
is bordering on lunacy, and no doubt will result in more stray
dogs being shot on sight than boarded.
ZURICH Citizens NEWS
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A BOB,
A BARMAID
AND A BRIGADIER
Last week I was talking of the
fun of meeting people when you
are travelling. It's not that your
friends at home are dull.
They're probably more inter-
esting than some of the types
with whom you become bosom
buddies on short acquaintance.
But the people you meet on
holiday are a refreshing affirm-
ation that the earth contains an
infinite variety of creatures of
the human species.
This week I'd like to finish
these thoughts by introducing
you to three greatly different
people we met in England; a
Bob, a Barmaid, and a Brigadier
Hurtling from Edinburgh to
Chester on a train, we picked
up at the ancient and bloody
old city of Carlisle, near the
Scottish border, an addition
to our compartment.
I didn't mean that Carlisle
is bloody in the sense of bloody
awful. But it did change hands
several times in the bloouy bord-
er wars. And it was then: that
William Wallace, theJreat
Scots rebel, was put on public
view in a cage, before he was
hanged, drawn and quartered,
and his parts.affixed on various
pikepoles about the city, as
a lesson to the Scots "rebels, "
in the fourteenth century.
Anyway, Bob Mitchell proved
an agreeable travelling comp-
anion. Ile was interested,
interesting, and affable.
We'd been in the same war,
he on corvettes in the navy, I
in the air force. We nattered
about taxes, housing costs, com-
parative incomes.
As we rattled through the
Lakes District, he went to pains
to point out things and sights of
interest. He suggested a good
restaurant in London. A veritable
gentleman, in this age of boors.
He proved this when we stop-
ped to change for Chester. I
started wrestling with our lug-
gage and an incipient coronary.
Before I could say, "Bob Mit-
chell, " he had whipped the two
big suitcases off the overhead
rack, nipped out and put them
on the platform. You'd have to
be a basket case for this to hap-
pen to you in Canada.
During our earlier conversat-
ion, he told me he had a cousin
in Neepawa, Man. I told him
my column was in the Neepawa
Press. So here's his message to
his cousin: "Ask if Fred Crook
remembers his visits to the
Roman Wall area of Cumberland
and Northumberland and his
walks along the beach at South-
borune." There you are, Fred
Crook.
The Barmaid, I'd been telling
my wife for years about the bar-
maids of Britain. They are NOT
the busty, blowsy barmaids of
fiction. But they are a breed
of their own, with their, 'Wot'll
it be, ducks?" and "Ta, luv."
Ta means thanks.
But they seemed to be a van-
ishing breed, supplanted by
young women with too much
make-up, wearing slacks and
a bored expression.
I was beginning to despair
of finding a real English barmaid
But we did. She was Heather,
in the Tudor, Westminster Hot-
el, Chester. She was 100 per
cent proof of everything I'd
been telling the Old Lady.
She ran that bar like the ring-
master of a three-ring circus.
Excellent service, a joke or a
personal word for all the regul-
ars, No play for tips. Peanuts
or potato chips for anyone who
looked as though he needed it.
And all the time humming a
song, pirouetting behind the bar,
actually enjoying life. A delight
ful person.
And nobody, but nobody,
got out of line in that pub. It
was not a matter of rules, or
threats, but of personality.
Then there was the Brigadier.
He was another kettle of fish, a
horse of a differnet colour, or,
rather, of a number of different
colours, like a chameleon.
He was either a Scottish lord
or the biggest liar in London,
and I lean toward the latter.
.5.11111.0.4
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