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The Brussels Post, 1960-07-28, Page 5eee rsur . 4 1 THE QUIET SUPERJET --- This is a drawing of the arittsh Super V.C. 10 jetliner which will be ,oblo to carry 212 passengers. B4O.A.C. has ordered 1 0 planes from the Vickers-Armstrone corepony for 1965 delivery at a cost of $70 million. Its makers eleim it Will be quietest jet. Jackass Had. 4 The Last Laugh. 4 4 4 1 4 The kookaburra hunched, un- moving. He had to wait; wait until the snake was clear Of the tog. Its head had to be upright, poised on settled coils, before he could swoop. His dive had to be lightning swift and sure, If he missed, life ended with the poi- soned fangs that would fasten on his throat. He had to be sure of his timing and speed. Generations of his forbears had fought the same fight, dived the same hurtling dive. Instinct guided the brain that schemed in Ms bill-hooked head. He waited confidently, craws viced on the yarran tree bough. Twisted close to the log, the snake stared stony-eyed. The boy's snore lulled it; the drone was slow and rhythmical; each beat welled up in the boy's chest, then droned out through his mouth, The snake listened raptly, swaying to the -sound. On shin- ing, scaled belly, it inched slow- ly forward, writhing close to the log. Near to the boy's trousered rump, it rested for a moment. Its head flickered lazily, rubbing on the boy's belt. High 'in the yarran tree, the kookaburra stared, anwinking. He saw every writhing move, heard every whispering sound. Braced on his straining claws, he waited, Wait- ed. The snake grew more inquisi- tive, It coiled and uncoiled, sli- thering over the boy's stomach, On the other side, it writhed up to the boy's chest, then looped over his shoulder, It hung there for a long time, staring at the boy's freckled face. Its evil head hovered inquir- ingly, wthin inches of the boy's mouth. Then it slithered away, back along the boy's side. Near again to the log, the snake stretched in the dust, shaded by the log's thin shadow. The boy's body and arms were still, stiffened by deep tiredness. One Move -would have startled the snake, maddened it' into striking. But the boy slept on, unmindful of the horror. On the yarran tree bough, the kooka- burra waited, immobile and line seen. Triing• of its position, the snake wriggled slowly, worming round the end of the log. Its bony head reared, staring stony- eyed at the ashes, and the black- ened, squatting billy. Some- thing about the fire-glow at- tracted it. Head flattened in the dust, it writhed away from the log and slithered towards the ashes. On his rough-barked, shaded perch, the kookaburra braced instinctively; braced his aching, straining claws, and knotted wing muscles, ready for the downward dive. Suddenly the snake swirled in startlodness. Above its head, the boy's feet twitched jerkingly, jiggering the stubby toes. His slim, leg-shanks jumped in uni- son. The snake coiled viciously. Its head rose high to strike, and paused for a fraction of a sec- ond. Keyed to vibrant, frantic accuracy, the kookalettra hurtled downwards, Faster than light' faster than sound, his hooked beak clamped below the snake'd hissing jaws; his hawk-wings whirred, driving his straining body, In a flurry of frenzied wings, he tore 'the snake from the ground and bore it aloft; hurtled with it up into the brassy sky. Down on the ground, the boy stirred uncomfortably; sweat trickled on his neck; it made him itch, when it mingled with dust coated on his skin He sat up yawning, and scratched the raw, rod thee. His eyes Were sleepy, puffed with tired- ness, He knuckled them gently, testing his head between his knees. A speck against the sun-glare, the kookaburra flew higher; flew until the yarran tree was -a tinys stunted bush, In his elasee, he held part Of the snake's writhing• bedyl itt his liostieg,• he held the jaws clainged When hit judged the distance right, he dropped the snake; flung it away from him, in mid- air, Then he hurtled downwards, Staying close to the snake's whirling body. As it thudded heavily, bouncing up from the ground, the kookaburra swoop- ed low, fastening its jaws again. Again he swirled aloft, beating up with his wriggling, struggl- ing load, And again he dropped the snake; tossed it away in mid- air, then hurtled down after it, His beady eyes flashed; his beak curled with sardonic laughter, Time after time, he repeated his performance, until the snake was stunned close to death, Its body hung motionless each time it was borne upwards. Finally, the kookaburra grew tired; his wings ached as he struggled skywards. Down on the ground, the boy glanced up- wards, and saw the final •effort; saw the bird beating his wings, with the snake trailing under- neath. Then the enake dropped limp- ly, to thud on the dusty earth. Its lifeless- body rolled, turned belly up to the sun. The narrow have was battered into pale. The boy rubbed his tousled hair. His eyelids wrinkled, squinting against the glare. "Caw!" he said, "Now look at that. 3 wonder what happened; where he got that crawlin' snake from, If there's one thing I can't stand, it's havire a snake near me." He picked up Jets 'boots to pull them on. Back hi his yarran tree perch, the kookaburra suddenly laugh- ed. He laughed, and laughed, and laughed. The boy grinned, too. There's something about a kookaburra, when he laughs like that; he seems to know everything. The boy hitched his swag, and swung the billy in his hand. He was a long way along the track when he glanced back at the yarran tree, His eyes were sore from the dust, but his ears heard every sound. The kookaburra was still laughing. — From "Tit- Bits," Duke f Windsor Richly Paid Author The Duke of Windsor, just turned 66, could count among his presents a princely stipend from McCall's, which paid him $75,- 000 for a two-installment extract from the duke's forthcoming book, "Windsor Revisited." Part one, now on the stands, devotes itself largely to Windsor's ward- robe (twenty suits, a dozen sports coats, two dozen pairs of shoes, etc.; he always dresses for dinner in his own home — "even if it is only in a velvet cord dinner jacket") and to contented .backward looke: ". . . the insti- tutien of monarchy is no longer a sealed house in a storm. I think I may have helped by opening the windows and letting in a little fresh air." 4 catering to show people, fie moved to Hollywood to manage the Andrews Sisters and Tvlitahelf Ayres. Then Devore opened is restaurant fronted by actor. prizefighter MaXie Ftosenbloona, When the restaurant went broke in 1945, Devore returned to his roots, opening a haberdashery to exploit his promotional talent* and his first.riame acquaintance with almost 'everybody in film« dom. "Eddie Cantor, George Raft, and Tommy Dorsey all stole, ped by the first day," says De. yore. 'I had only 35 suits 111, stock, but I sold 90 by getting people to choose from the •recto', and having them delivered latent" The upstairs floor at Devore's complete with plush carpets, bar, end clubliice atmosphere, is a celebrity hangout with prices to match. (Custom-tailored suits run from $225 to $400 each,) Doweetaire, the pitch is to the Masses, with liholeurnscovered floors and ready made suits ($6i$ to $110) on racks. Devore reaches his biggest audience by getting his etylee on the backs tif stars and in front of the cameras, His recent list of movie credits includes Dan Dailey's clothes lot "Pepe," Dean Martin's and Sammy Davis jrea for "Oceans 11," and the men's wardrebe — considerable, des- pite the title — for "Go Naked Into the World."1-le also design- ed Liberace's gold lame tuxedo and Tony Martin's "After Six' tux, and is currently designing a suit for Crosby around a hands ful of antique gold coins that ha will use as buttons. Devore has opened a women's sportswear corner in his Roily- wood store (sample customerst Doris Day, Dinah Shore, Kim. Ne,, vak) and has started a mail. order. business to handle requests for his clothes seen on TV. And while most of his styles, with their elanted pockets, braid, and. tricky lapels, are probably too zooty to stir up any big demand east of Las 'Vegas, he has no worries about future business, "Take the previeee of 'Bells are Ringing' the other day," the master says. "bean Martin wore one of my dinner jackets in the picture, with narrow lapels and satin duffs — a single-breasted design. Within 24 hours, I'd sole eight of them to people who at- tended the preview." — Prom NEWSWEEK. Male Movie Stars ,Really Doll Up. In the upstairs cutting room of Sy Devore's haberdashery and tailor shop, a few „Step from the corner of Sunset and Vine, six- teen 'tailors Were allIPP.tag Pat- terns to prepare for a sartorial and pOlitical spectacular, With 4,518 delegates in Les Angeles recently, for the Democratie National Convention, and cele- brity-paeked parties planned all over town, the scissors men were in the throes of a crash progrem to su:;pply visiting and home- town politicians with the Cala- fornia-style clothes they would require to hobnob with Holly- weed's stars. Significantly, no one seemed to have the slightest doubt that the Detuocrats would swing to Sy Devore. ells shop is the place to go in a town where everything from bars to bookmakers is at the mercy of faddists, "Sy has the swingingest threads in town," says Bing Crosby, who had a Set of tails made up at Devore's to wear to the last Academy Awards din- ner, "I feel properly dressed in Sy's clothes in Geneva, Hong Kong, or Nairobi — they're in- ternational," says actor and world traveler William Holden. Best customers of all are mem- bers of The Clan, the bibulous, bumptious brigade field-marshal- ed by Frank Sinatra and Dean Martin and trailed by innumer- able fawnihg camp followers. When Sinatra decreed not long ago that alpaca sweaters were "in," clique and claque rushed to Devore's to buy them at $35 each, Members of the inner circle picked up as many as 40 apiece, all in different colors. For owner Seymour (Sy) De- yore, all this high-flown haber- dashery adds up to a gross of well over $1 million a year (in- cluding sales through two branch stores in Palm Springs and. Las Vegas.) • A slim, -natty 50-year-old, who guards his own waistline as an essential protnotiOnal asset. De- yore is a tailor's son with an ideal background for cloaking celebrities. After attending New York University, and taking a brief fling at Wall Street, he opened a Broadway haberdashery A Complete Story by Reginald L. Ottley • The sun glared down from a brassy, inland Australian sky. Under a knaried Yarran tree, a boy snored loudly. He was tired. All morning, and indeed for sev- eral days, he had trudged across seemingly endless plains that stretched in a continuity of sand, grass, and dust, Now he was flat on his back, his bare feet up on a log, sleep- ing through the mid-day heat. Close to his head, stood his cracked, sun-curled boots. On their battered, dusty uppers, the boy had spread his socks, "Ta- kin' the damp out of 'em," as he called it, He was a lonely little chap who talked a lot to himself. Under his tousled head, he had a blanket rolled swag-shape, using it for a pillow. All in all, the boy was com- fortable — except for the sweat trickling down his neck, But at the moment he was oblivious to sun, dust and sweat. His snores told the story of a boy deep in sleep. On the other- side of the log, a billy half-filled' with tea stood in smouldering ashes. A thin wisp of smoke clung to the billy's blackened sides. Against the log rested the boy's tucker bag. It was almost empty, but a piece of meatless mutton bone poked out from the top. The boy travelled light, as do all those weary men who travel the roads out-back, And at the end of the log, the crumbled, weathered wood had !formed a rounded, mouldering hole, pierc- ing right into the centre. In the hole, sounded a restless, slither- ing scraping. Little whispers of scaly skin, rubbed just inside bhe log, about •a foot from the boy's legs, The air was still stunned in a stupor of heat. Not a cloud wan- dered in the brassy sky. Far on the horizon, haze welded the plains into one-ness; one-ness of earth and sky, Above the boy, merged with the grey of yarran leaves, perch- ed an old Kookaburra—a laugh- ing jackass. His feathers were fluffed, shrugged up round his shoulders. The big curve of his beak pressed against his breast. He had his head tilted to one side, listening to the scrapings coming from the log. His beady eyes glittered; his claws viced into the yarran bough, holding his body rigid. He was wise its the ways of hunting the things that slither. Day after day he had welted; welted for a chance to swoop. But the things that slither are cunning; they wait for the sha- dows, or stay close to log or atone. Slowly the minutes curved away; envied on the sun's wide aro. The glare beat down, filter- ing through the yarran leaves. On the bare, dusty ground, the boy slept heavily. Wary, in the still, heat-flatten- ed air, a thin black head flick- ered from the hollow. It flick- ered for a moment, then disap- peared again. Taut on his bough, the kookaburra waited. Spread- eagled on the ground, the boy slept. High in the heavens, the sun poured down its heat. The head flickered again. This time, six inches of writhing coil *sheaved with it. It hung, poised, for a moment, then 'disappeared again inside the log. The kooka- burra sunk his beak deeper Within his feathers; his body shrunk lower, pressing down en the bough. The boy Stored peacefully, twitching his tired feet, A pile of ash tumbled in the fire, The tith Wits Oft and, soundless, The head Whipped again from the hole. For long nil:mites, it sway- ed on sinuous vertebrae, quest- ing and seeking, scenting the torpid air. Then it writhed out teethe the hollow in a sit-lecit ribbon of blackness, sleek with deticliar horror. Free of the held, it coiled against the log. 4 1 4 4 open for pests in two days, and at three o'clock there was no way of knowing how many would show for supper. I think house' wives will want to ponder on this. I3ana had been explaining how Napoleon Comeau used to launch, a boat on the surge tide, and she got up from her rocking chair and said, "Well, I might's well start supper." A back hall, or at least this one, is a log building completely circled With wooden clothespins driven into bit-holes — so every- body will have room to hang clothes , wet or dry, heavy or light, Over the stove are wires for drying mittens and socks. The stove is a Kineo, at least a century old, and up on birch blocks because the stovepipe was too short. This model was made in a Bangor foundry since long- gone, and is noted for the oven doors on each side. It's a bilat- eral stove, and such a good heat- er that the legend persists that you could pass a pan of biscuits through from side to side and they would be browned, It burns wood, and has a wide hearth. Bana began. No hurry, she continued the conversation as she went. She reached down dishes and finished setting the table. Back hall etiquette is tra- ditional — all plates get turned bottom-up, with a cup and sau- cer on. top. Hardware means a knife and fork with the dishes athwart, but the spoons are in a spoon-dish, to be reached for. Salts and peppers, sugar, mo- lasses and syrup, mustard, and such things are at intervals. All food will be in platters and bowls, each to serve himself. And at the end of the meal everybody picks up his own dishes and carries them to the sink, Bana had a ham baking, and began, on the vegetables. She got the potatoes ready, and the green beans and peas, She had a gravy. She opened cans of pears for dessert. And all the time, as the clock wore on, Bana got news of new arrivals. Peo- ple were coming. Each time, she'd turn toward the long trestle-table and count off plates. Mentally, she was keeping track. But, it was nearly five before the count went to 20, and it was 32 when supper was ready, Bana's last contribution was hot sal'ratus biscuits, piping from the oven, acre upon beauti- ful acre. When she placed a plat- ter of them on the table, you'd see a great waving of hands, and then she'd remove the platter to fill it again. "Got enough for me?" I asked, and Bana said. "There's always enough." "You know," I said, "the Waldorf-Astoria wouldn't know how to do that!" "No, s'pose not," said Bane, Then she said, "I was there once, though, and they feed pretty good," I think, coming from Bana's back hall, the big hotel never had a nicer compliment. — By John Gould in the Christian Science Monitor. soakings Supper In The "Back HIall" The lad found himself a job for the summer up in the wood; which I think is a good thing, and he asked me to drive hint in, You always go, into the woods, and come out. You can spot the casual acquaintance by this — he will say he is going "in to town". But you don't. You got out to two. Then you came back in again, This rides on a special, somewhat selfish, conception gall true woodsmen have: That everything important is right there, and the world is remote. This is entirely contrary to the reverse, of course, Anyway, we threw his gear in the conveyance and in three hours we were approaching the vacation resort where he will preside for the "season," In the Maine woods, from old logging days down, certain tra ditions prevail, and certain old terms are kept. For instance, the "dingle." The dingle is a shed, often open-sided, adjoining the cook camp, And an important term is the "back hall." The -back hall is the dining and lounging room for the help, and it is a sacred precinct jealously guarded against encroachment by "sports." People may come as guests to the resort, ready to spend any amount of money to enjoy the pleasures of lakeside and pine scented proximity — but no for- tune can buy the privilege of eating in the back hall. The greasy mechanic who comes in to repair a water pump can eat there. So can the game warden or a telephone lineman. Even a passing timberjack, maybe an alien sneaking the border and shortly to be picked up for ille- gal entry, can eat there if he chances by on purpose at meal- time — but Wall Street money isn't green enough to buy a seat. The rule isn't unbreakable, of course. Occasionally a family will want to start a hike early, and instead of waiting for the guests' dining room to open they will be fed in the back hall. All sum- mer long, after that, they'll brag hbout it. "We ate in the back all!" they'll say. But they had to be invited, first. We arrived about three in the afternoon, and while the lad was stowing his gear in the cabin he'll use this summer, I sat in the back hall and talked to Bana, Bana is a great-grandmother, and has been woodswise since she was a tot. She traveled the north Lountry, even up beyond the St. awrence, when she was a youngster, and says, "I was too young to remember some of it." She has cooked and chorecl in lumber and sporting camps ever aince, and naturally many people meet her and think she's fairly local. But if you draw her out you'll find she can talk about Bombay and Cape Town and many other places she's been off and on, Bana wouldn't be fazed e. bit if she got appointed to the Supreme Court tomorrow — she'd just pack up and go, and do a good job. Neither does it faze her to cook for a back hall, which is what she was doing then. At three o'clock, nobody much was .lround. There was a man fixinif planks on the wharf and a fellow painting canoes, and two women putting linen in the cabins: The kitchen staff was due, and the waitresses were ex- pected. The roster hadn't as Sembled, but the place would I 4 4 4 4 I Q. Are you supposed to put your knife on your plate when you have finished eating, even If you haven't used the knife? A. It is not at all necessary to pick up any unused pieces of sil- ver. Whoever clears the thble should clear the surplus silver before serving the following course. 4 Obey the traffic signs — fli7y are placed there for Y 0 UR SAFETY. IN THE HANDS OF GREAT ART -- tee Geeslin, i1.. gives up her wallet to a grasping, faceless giant in the Witte Museum in Son Antonio. Painting is called "Our Present lmoge." 4 4 4 4 4 1 I I MUGS: MAGNIFICENT: q333 COO rep4. . . , .„ • .iieitirted tit thts seelleatien beer' steins bilspittyed Seie Cherie, Debt, 'Dent spent 1 5. yeaes wilherifig' hear* than 200 Meiji. front it awes the' Wdelds The &deg if en it dieted 059 teed WO ilk& tdo014*.jiniy-s I NOT EVEN A DROP -3- This steel oil store ge tattle Weil crushed iliac a pap-6f tub Ixikitgi lit Wa s -even need. The 10 000 kink, untie? Consiteuttion WilliConsp6tit, PCL, cruxf .016c1 by the sucideri violence of a atirrinier ifdtti4 • :0 • • ' ' „ „ .„, „ „ . • . . . . . .