Tárogató, 1942-1943 (5. évfolyam, 1-12. szám)
1942-07-01 / 1-2. szám
14 TÁROGATÓ mail-carriers! By sea, by land, and by air, our letters come to us with astonishing regularity. Modern science has worked wonders to speed up the country’s mail, but it rests with the postman to bring our letters to our doors and distributing points. Every day, rain or shine, we look for the postman. In the far North the intrepid air postman risks his life to be faithful to his duty. It is interesting to notice that there is one branch of the service that modern development has left untouched. Strange to say, it lies at the very heart of our vast Empire, where the famous Tower Bridge looks down on the Pool of London, the greatest harbour in the world. There we find every variety of craft, often carrying freight of untold value. Communication with the shore is frequent. The Pool has its own special postman, and the rowing-boat is still the only mode of conveying letters to their various destinations in the harbour. The postman has a daily row of five miles, just as his great-great-grandfather had before him, and since 1806 the position has been handed down from father to son. Old Father Thames owns another postman, Herbert Fothergill, who began his career as a boy of fifteen, helping to deliver letters to incoming boats off Gravesend. When still very young he obtained the sole contract to deliver the mail at that point. In those days he thought nothing of loading more than thirty bags of letters and parcels into his boat. Threading his way in and out among the vessels, he has sometimes been in danger of losing his life. It was strenuous work studying closely arrival times and watching for the appearance of the ship. Sometimes he had a hard pull against a fast-running tide to reach it. Mr. Fothergill, now seventy-five years of age, has been responsible for fifty years. Letters are fewer, but his little skiff still shoots out into the river at an early hour every morning. (October 19, 1941) —ONWARD. AN ATHLETIC CREED “The cleanest language and most sportsmanlike conduct in city sports were seen and heard in the Tuxis-Trail Ranger softball and hockey leagues.” This was an unsolicited tribute from the sports reporter of the daily paper in an Ontario town, when he wrote a review of the year in city sports. The Trail Ranger code requires among other things, that a boy shall believe that to play the game is more important than to win. With this in mind, some British Columbia groups gave expression to their convictions by issuing “An Athletic Creed.” This is how it reads: We believe in athletics. We believe that every team should receive loyal support. We are opposed to unfairness and crookedness on the field or on the ice. We believe that courtesy and gentlemanly conduct should mark all sports. We believe that it is better to lose a game honestly than to win dishonestly. We believe that a player who starts a “rough house” after a game or who causes bad feeling during a game is a menace to sport and a discredit to his team. We believe that, after all, the big things in athletics are the development of health, quick thinking, self-control and true sportsmanship. Shall we put British Columbia on the map in athletice? Then let us play the game squarely. LETTERS FROM THE OLD COUNTRY By R. S. LAMBERT (This article is published by courtesy of the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation) There is an ancient ceremony of the City of London which takes place early each November—that is the Lord Mayor’s Show. Usually a spectacle of pomp and ceremony, the war-time substitute is here described by a lady who witnessed it from the steps of St. Paul’s Cathedral. She says: “We knew there was to be no pompous show this year—but, oh, what a spectacle it was! Do not forget that the best part of the city lies in ruins, some parts just razed flat to the ground, other parts just gaping walls, looking as if they would totter at a breath. You heard the march of feet in the distanceno caparisoned horses, no mounted bandsmen, as in other years: in their place through those brave ruins came steadily - marching grimfaced men and women—faces that looked ahead with determination to march if need be right on to Berlin. The National Fire Service led with their band; the wardens with their white-painted helmets came next, followed by the Auxiliary Fire Service men and women. Around us were the Demolition Squads, pulling down walls with great hawsers attached to engines; they stopped their work as the pro
