![[Editor's Desk]](../../rds/photos/rds28-64.jpg)
PEAT PILE NEWS
28 RADIO DETACHMENT - CAPE ST. JAMES, BC.
November 1944
Volume II - Number I
November 1944
Editor - LAC Powis
Barrack Representative - Eddie Tull
Assistant Editor - LAC Hull
Sports Reporter - Duane Onstad
This issue we will use this column to say a few words about contribution to the P.P.N. There are a lot of new fellows with us at the Cape now, and judging by the rate at which postings are coming and going there will be many more in the future. Although most of the original 28ers are no longer with us we still have the staunch and faithful P.P.N. supporters Bill Hull, Eddie Tull and Duane Onstad. These chaps kick through regularly with their respective columns and articles, but we still went you and you to throw us something as often as you can.
There are several who, although without permanent columns, do much to fill out the P.P.N. and as everyone knows who reads this paper their contributions help keep the Peat Pile from going on the rocks completely. I know all of us also look forward to Mr. Parker’s Flat Hat Chat and in the future will be reading Mr. Fox’s column with equal interest, as it appears that he will be climbing aboard the Peat Wagon with us henceforth.
But why be content with reading someone else’s stuff? Write your own anecdotes and news items. Certainly there are enough dopey doings here to warrant the penning of a few lines now and then.
So let’s go - all you new members of the 28 club, and the old ones as well. Let’s have your views and news. Submit your stuff anytime, and submit it often. You don’t have to be a literary genius - a glance through these pages is proof enough - this for instance.
As long as it is original and of your own doing it’s O.K. with us. Occasionally we print a story, joke or cartoon from commercial magazines etc., but not often. However, if you come across an unusually good item we’re not above throwing it in. Need something to brighten up the pages now and then.
Well, I’ve had my say, now it’s time for you to have yours - but say it on paper and drop it in the orderly room.
Incidentally fellow, we carry a column in the Peat Pile called Personalities in which we say a bit about all newcomers to this unit, as well as giving the personal statistics of the new arrivals. We try to get everyone in as soon as possible, but at the rate at which new postings are coming we’ve found it impossible to get around to everyone as quickly as we had hoped to. However, we will get around to you - even if we get you just as you leave on posting. You will now when the time has arrived, needless to say, because Bill Hull will approach you with a pencil in hand and a fixed look on his face.
This issue’s cover is by Hugh McCrindle, who has been doing some mighty fine drawings in his spare time. Unfortunately we couldn’t do justice to the cover drawing because of the difficulty of cutting it into a stencil. Anyone who has worked with stencils will know what we mean. However our sincerest thanks to you, Hugh. We’ll be seeing more of your work in the P.P.N.
If my thoughts seem to be wandering it is due to the shock just received. On Walking into the Traffic Room, better known as Sam’s Seminary, I was accosted by a complete stranger. No boat having been in for some time and convinced I had seen all new arrivals, I was somewhat taken back. “Mac” put my mind at ease by calling the new face “Dingie.” At last I had the opportunity of viewing this “ace” (editor note the spelling) of WOGS. No longer were his features obscured by locks or rather bundles of hair - there at last was the real thing - I looked closely. That will explain my shock!!!
To start with I will answer Greenberg’s usual question - “The boat will be in one of these days, Sid.” - of late, I have noticed “Bates and Yates” O’Neill actually running up and down the escalator - what are you up to Peter? - trying to crowd eleven months into two - you lucky such and such. Some cover eh chums? Thanks a lot Hugh for this and future efforts - it sure is tops. Things are expected to quiet down somewhat with two-thirds of the Hooday boys gone - however, that Greek feller (who lives at the right end of Cordoon) is expected to take over sole ownership of the cab. (advertisement) - poor Bob Warner he is still uncertain about that trip home. Never mind, Bob, it will be darn cold back there. Our former distillery expert “Butch” Miller has at last come into his own - yes sir! - he is remustering to high-rigger “S” grouping - “Hold tight, Butch, we’re going to try to bend the main mast a little.” - Brother Giles was just about the happiest man hereabouts, the day Rae arrived home. His celebration consisted of 48 straight hours in the “well-known” sack. Our equipment Joe is becoming quite a volley-ball man - he even has that killer look in his eye and he can climb a net even better than “Major Blues” Bibeau.
Time for late coffee and if I should miss the kitchen staff would worry (at least they all say “We should worry”!) Prompt postings and fancy furloughs until next month.
Boss: I had to fire my new stenographer this morning.”
Clerk: “No experience?”
Boss: “None at all. I told her to sit down and she looked around for a chair.”
Then there was the girl who wore only a cluster of strawberries to a fancy dress ball and got herself into a hell of a jam.
Not long ago we were honoured with a visit from the Installation party, consisting of F/S Foster, Cpl. Turner and LAC Moskowitz.
One night as arguments were waxing in the Mex Inn, Mr. Moskowitz interrupted a very interesting conversation to say he was a bit of a poet, and had some of his work with him to prove it. As we weren’t talking about literature at the time it took us a few moments to become adjusted to this new trend, but finally we ventured to ask him if he could show us a sample. Which he did. We read it and considered it good enough, or as the case may be, bad enough for the Peat Pile News. However, he refused to permits it’s publication without an accompanying story which explains this poetical work. So here is the short story, with poem, that Mr. Moskowitz wrote for us.
“The trials, aye, and tribulations of the Installation Crew.” You fellows of course envy us on being “stationed” in Vancouver, but it isn’t as good as you think. (don’t get me wrong I don’t want to trade.) In the little time we have in Vancouver we, like all other humans, make certain acquaintances and thereby have certain obligations. To whit - writing letters. On this last trip, after being away for over a month I hadn’t written my current “friend” so feeling very bad about it, I immediately sat down and proceeded to get inebriated. After getting to feel quite good I decided to write her a few words. Anticipating her wrath I not writing sooner, I thought that a poem might smooth things over - and so to make a story shorter this is what I wrote:
BOYKO and IRWIN say hello to SOUTAR at Alliford Bay. Will be seeing you in Alliford whilst passing through on our posting to Ontario (effective - 1945?)
Hello GOLDIE at 26. What’s cooking, wood or bread? (SLIM) COULTAN at 28. Best wishes for Christmas.
Hello BOB BROOKS at 26. Greetings and Seasons best - should be in Van inside of a month for leave. Say hello to the fellows from 28 there, REX.
Hello BUCK at #26. Have you got there yet? EDDIE & LUKE. Give the boys a nice smile Buck.
Saying hello to GORDON TRAVERS at 26. “Sure wish I was back on the prairie - pretty wet here.” MIKE KUMKA.
Hello SLIM SOMERVILLE. You arrived at 26 eh. Greetings and best wishes. BOB SPARROW.
Hello #26. “Luke says how ya all Banks…will shoot a few your way any day now. Don’t forget to vote Moorhead.”
Hello to J.R.H. at #26. See you at #33 maybe. EDDIE.
Hello to IVOST at #10. Did you get married yet? BOB.
Hello LES at #10. Ever coming up this way? HARRY [H. Dow to brother Les.]
O’NEILL says hello and be seeing you soon WEBBY. No doubt you have heard I will soon be your next door neighbour at #33. Hang on to your next 48 and we may be able to arrange a bit of a “Do” with JOE from #8.
F/L CLARK at #7. Hello SIB. How are things at #7? I have been searching for a containter to ship that Japanese breath to you; haven’t had any luck yet but hope to get one soon. I found one of your old socks in my room the other day - do you want me to mail it to you? Don’t forget to scratch another line when you have some time. So long for now. FRANK.
Helloe LOU PEKOFF at 26. I hear you had a pretty good leave. Too bad you couldn’t get across the border. We miss you when it comes to Volley Ball and those shovels are getting rusty. I’m off to civilization - see you at 2 E. D. some time. JOHNNY NEUFELD.
F/O POLLOCK - Overseas. Hello Dave : By now I’ll bet you cant speak a word of Canadian! As you can see SIB is now at #7, without his Japanese glass ball! At last we have a pool table and combination radio and phonograph - beat you in ping-pong next time we meet! Write soon. FRANK.
Well folks, I guess that winds it up for another issue, so we’ll fold our tents and shove off. Remember, we’re looking forward to seeing replies to our voices, so shout us a word or two wont you?
[7 was Pat Bay; 10 - Cape Scott (Harry Dow greeting his brother Les); 26 Langara and 33 Tofino.]
Are your feet extra sensitive lately due to a hot-foot? The built-in coil springs to these muscle-absorbing garters relive the bone-breaking fatigue caused by over-acidity in the swivel chair, merely by applying a 50 lb. pressure per square inch on the Yorarch nerve. Thousands testify to the extraordinary success of the Elastic Plastic punch-proof garter. One happy man writes: Another satisfied customer writes that, when at the movies, he had trouble seeing the stars. Then he tried Elastic Plastic and sees stars all the time now. So get into the Home-Stretch - we guarantee you will do a stretch at home - in bed! Just mail the handy magazine attached to the coupon and we will really relieve you - after we relieve you of the ten bucks. Remember our motto - L.S/M.F.T. - “Lola say - me feel terrible!” Lola should - she’s a customer of ours! FLAT OVER THE TOP AGAIN ! Western Air Command sets the quota and Cape St. James digs in its heels (non-personal) and starts to push and gain we topped our quota! Many thanks to all those who so wisely invested in War Bonds. I sincerely hope that in post war days the Victory Bond will serve you as effectively as it is serving the Allies in crushing the Axis. Roll on “V” Day. A special note to Sgt. “Pete” O’Neill and LAC “Stew” Dingwall for their assistance in the campaign. FEP Girl: “So, you’re on a submarine; what do you do?” “You should be more careful to pull down your shades at night. Last night I saw you kissing your wife.” “Ah cain’t come to work tomorrow, Mam
mah little boy is sick.” A little boy from the city who had been to the country, was describing to another boy friend the big pig he had seen. “It was in a little yard with a fence around it,” he explained. “and it was afraid of the little pigs . They’d chase the big pig around the yard, and after he fell down, the little pigs pounced on the big pig and ate the buttons off his vest.” A bee was sitting on a clover, taking a nap. Along came a cow who ate the clover and the bee. When the bee awakened he was inside the cow’s stomach. The bee was very mad - “Why I’ll sting this old cow,” he said. But being rather sleep he decided first to continue his nap and then sting the cow. When the bee woke up the cow was gone! The seven ages of woman - the infant, the little girl, the miss, the young woman, the young woman, the young woman, the young woman. Well, here ah is agin! And as I have a lot of scandal to write youse guys, I’ll not tarry here with too much prelude. So here goes---- into the PASSION PIT. And the first scene to greet my searching eyes is Loquacious Quinn in the midst of packing, prior to leaving the station on a trip to the parent depot. He is surrounded by piles of ‘debris’ hauled out of the con- fines of his lockers - a collection that has been assembled over the past few months. This collection includes such noteworthy items as: a flashlight, consisting of 526 essential parts, every single one necessary for efficient operation; the remnants of a varnish jug, the contents of which looking like a new kind synthetic rubber; a coil of frayed wire that would do justice to any short circuit; two lbs of flour that would serve only as palatable pastry for a polluted person; a pile of sea shells that would make a barnacle look like a display from a flower show; boxes and boxes and boxes that make the place look like a department store on the eve of a bankruptcy sale; and…….Well that gives you some idea. Anyway, it proves that Stan doesn’t believe in wasting things. Around the table are seated four somber characters - “Rollicking” Rabkin, “Fresh as a Daisy” Henderson, “Sarah” Greenberg, and “Against the” Law. The boys are playing bridge and using systems that would put Culbertson to shame. After each hand is played, the boys hold a post-mortem and it is really exciting to hear what might have happened if such and such were done. I feel sure that if Webster could see the boys going to it, his material worries would be solved for years to come. Over in another corner of the room, sound asleep lie “brothers-in-arms” Elliott and Triad. “Blackie” Blackwood is standing beside “City of” Hull, looking at the sleepers and remarking that Triad is so stupid of late that he even follows Hull around. “Stand Pat” Nisbet is lying on his bunk grumbling something about what a hell of a place to send a guy. As I leave the barracks, I bump into “Wrecks” Robinson who goes dashing inside carrying a couple of fire extinguisher cans and an axe. As I continue on to the Bull Pen, I decide that Rex is not nuts but, perhaps, just brushing up on his fire-fighting technique. In the Bull Pen, I find “Scholarly” McRae trying to explain some psychological facts to “Hard Working” Bibeau and the latter seems to understand although it is all too deep for me really know. Mike Hyde is discussing the intricate workings of poker playing with Ben Guest ands I, here and now, decide to avoid any card manipulations with these two gentlemen. McKee is lying on his bunk with a fixed stare on his face. Cliff Sneider mentions that “Upchuck” is like that quite often of late. It must be that leave with all it means the very near future that affects him so. Johnny Johnson and McCrindle are discussing the great history of the Scotch race and inasmuch as there is none of the beverage that makes this race famous, available, I take leave of their presence and pay my regular visit to the Odd Fellows Home. What a home! It seems really odd, fellows, that living quarters can become so “comfortable.” It must be real handy in the morning. All you have to do to dress is reach out in any direction and there’s a pair of pants, or a shirt, or a pair of socks. At the moment, McGoey, Butch Miller, Al Boyko, and “$10.00 a day” Poitras are performing physical development exercises. At this point in their development routine they are doing deep breathing exercises while lying completely stretched out. Of course, they lie on their bunks in order to avoid bruising their backs. “Fats” Coultan seems to be in another stew. At least, he is chewing a lot of fat with “Good Natured” Kumka, who seems to have some beef of his own. I say a fond farewell to this happy gathering and wend my idle way to the Mex Inn. Upon entering, I see a group consisting of “Ping-Pong” Powis, Slim Schmidt, Eddie Tull, “P.J.” O’Neil, both Al Lucas’, T.P. O’Hara and bob Warner all gathered around “Naughty” Buckley who seems in a veritable dither relating the events of the previous night to the gathering. It seems that strange, water-filled balls were bounced off Buck’s noggin during the wee hours of the morning. And Buck doesn’t seem to understand why such strange looking rubber balls should be directed his way. After all, he says he seldom requires a drink in the middle of the nite and when he does he has much better ways of satisfying his thirst. However, Buck and the others seem to take it in good spirits but any nocturnal prowlers had better beware in the future (ha!ha!). Al Lucas (the second) “that crazy fellow from Vancouver” doesn’t seem very interested in the previous discussion and stand glaring with deep piercing eyes at me. I decide to vamoose before he lets out his usual blood-curdling scream. Down the stairs I go and am almost brushed off the walk by the O.C. who dashes by shouting that he is going to see what’s happening to the voltage. I continue on down the stairs and into the Admin Bldg to see if there any more postings in. In the traffic room, I find Samels and Dingwall hard at work putting dits and dahs together. I hear Sam grumbling about some guy going too fast for his own good but I don’t quite know what he means. I find Mr. Parker in his office, and upon enquiring about postings, he replies, “Yes, it is rather nice out today.” I feel like I am slightly tetched in the ‘ead and leave his presence immediately before he has a chance to discover my condition. Over in the Rec Hall, I find “The Great Lover” Onstad, just back off leave, getting in his daily practice on the pool table. After watching Duane perform shots that would make Willy Hoppe hesitate to attempt, I walk down to the other end of the Hall to join Ray Houston and “the new” MacDonald in listening to Ludwig Van Beethoven’s 5th Symphony in C Minor. After listening to this inspiring music for a while, I walk into the back room to find Messrs. Sparrow and Dow “a-fixin’” the M.P. projector. It seems that, of late, the gremlins have been making off with the output and the aforementioned gentlemen are determined to put a stop to it. There is an awful bedlam emanating from the inner sanctum of the canteen storeroom and I learn that Rousselle is taking inventory. It sounds like he is doing a good job. On the way into the “coffee shop: I notice O’Sullivan scurrying down the boardwalk with a bundle of lumber on his shoulder. He and “Fireman” Rex sure keep the hammers flying these days. In “the” restaurant, I find “Junior” and “Squeaky” hard at work drinking coffee - no doubt sampling it, of course. I drink a cup of Java too and then hurry upstairs to keep my appointment with Morpheus and those swell blondes. I thought I was through for the month when I handed in my copy for “Around Camp.” Then Editor Powis gave me the blast. “Write a sports column,” he said, teetering back in his chair and dangling one foot while he scuffed the desk in the orderly-room up with the other by using a steel-plated issue boot to advantage.
“Sorry,” I countered, “There’s nothing to write about along the sporting line this month.”
“Write a column,” said Powis, repeating himself ominously.
“No chance,” I returned, “and that’s final.”
“You heard me” came from Powis.
“Yeah, I heard you, and the answer is still no.” ---that from me, of course. So here is the column. And I hope it is very dull. As things are very casual in all sports these days - casual volleyball, casual pool, casual ping-pong etc., now would be as good a time as any to give you the dope on a couple of basketball stars who are spending their time with us here at the Cape. They are Ernie Fox --- O.C. here, by the way - and Al Lucas, the mad Greek. Both men have played with the best of them in Canada. Flying Officer Fox --- oh, to hell with it --- Ernie, did most of his playing for Broadview Y.M.C.A of Toronto, a team which captured a Junior and a Senior High School championship, two Intermediate “A” championships of Canada, and then graduated to Senior Company. The team wound up second best to Windsor a few times in the Eastern playoffs. (say, where was Hull when all this happened?) Ernie sparked the Ucluelet RCAF team to several straight wins the past season, and was also present when his boys got - Cont’d on Page 12 Having returned from leave recently I have again taken up my living quarters in Mex-Inn, where I find several new faces have appeared among the personnel of this noble hostel. Among them Jack “88 Keys” Macdonald, a WOG from the Odd Fellows Home; Lucas, A. our latest Mech. arrival; Harry Dow a WEM just recently arrived at the Cape and then of course the N.C.O’s room is now occupied by Sgt. Pete O’Neill and Sgt. Bob Warner. We were glad to welcome back a former Cape St. Jameite in the person of Flight Sgt. Foster, who has spent a few days with us at the Cape. With him were two other Mechs. in the persons of Cpl. Stan Turner and LAC Morris Moskowitz, who although they were unknown to many of us before arriving, certainly livened up our evenings with their many arguments and banter with our friend Buck. Mex-Inn has suffered a severe set-back with the loss of Tom Bellamy who has gone on posting to #13 Det. Tom has always taken a very keen interest in station entertainment programs and has kept us entertained with his musical abilities. He also favoured the P.P.N with several articles during his stay at the Cape. Best of luck Tom in your new surroundings. Nother posting took Bus Phillips, the Coca-Cola Boy, to #26 Det. some time before yours truly returned from leave. Harry Dow, our newest arrival to the Mex-Inn, hails from Keeler, Sask, where he was engaged in Farming before enlisting as a WEM in the RCAF. Harry is 23 years old and has just finished an eleven month term at Sea Island. Harry also has a brother, F/S Les Dow, now serving at #10. The Mex-Inn is now saying goodbye to two ops. One posted to #33, the other to #26. Pete O’Neill, an occupant of the Inn for the past two months, has been posted to #33. Frank Buckley, an old timer at the Cape, has finally been posted to #26 where he is looking forward to meeting all those old friends of his who he enjoyed arguing with so much. Watch yourself J.R.H. Well, it has finally happened - a posting for yours truly to #33. This being the last issue of the PPN that I will have the privilege to contribute to I would like to say so-long to all of you still at the Cape. Although there have probably been times of good-natured grousing there have been many more pleasant hours spent at this unit. With that I turn the Mech-Antics column over to my successor and will look forward to reading news of the Cape in future copies of the PPN. However, before I shove off I’ll toss in a couple of Unreasonable Rythms which I overheard a brother Mech. mumbling and swearing over up-top, Mary had a little lamb, Mary had a little goat, So it’s Mizpah until we cross the same road again. The ultra-rich man had gone to the seaside for a holiday. His wife, who went out swimming, was nearly drowned, and was rescued with difficulty.
She was unconscious, surrounded by a crowd, when her husband puffed up to ask how she was.
“Pretty bad,” said the doctor. “I’m, afraid we’ll have to give her artificial respiration.”
“Artificial respiration be blowed,” said the man, excitedly, “you’ll give her the real thing. I’ll pay for it.” We don’t know yet how this issue will look when it returns from Alliford Bay - in case you don’t know it we owe Alliford Bay a lot in connection with the P.P.N. If a copy turns out good a lot of the credit is theirs. But a lot of it also belongs to the 28ers who cut the stencils. Stencil cutting is not as easy as one would suppose, as anyone who has ever cut a stencil knows - especially with the temperamental typewriter we have. However we got these few words together to thank the chaps who cut the stencils for this issue so we might as well get at it. Our sincerest thanks to Al Lucas (1) and Jack MacDonald, who spent their days off and their spare time to work on the Paper. We want to let you know that we appreciate it. [‘Editors’ note 2003: #10 - Cape Scott; #13 - Amphitrite (Ucluelet); #26 - Langara; #33 - Tofino.] GORD WEST (OP) Born in New New Westminster in 1923. Spent most of his life in Vancouver. Worked for Fox Films there immediately prior to the war. Joined R.C.A.F. in April ’42 and has since served on both coasts (#1, #8 and #28). Chief hobby is Home Movies. Enjoys all sports, particularly Lacrosse and Basketball in which he plays stellar games. He says he is very fond of outdoor life and he is at present enjoyably satisfying this love. His post-war ambition is to own a theatre of his own. (Famous Players and Odeon please note.) BILL ELLIOTT (OP) Born in Bracebridge, Ontario in 1919. Completed his schooling in this city and then worked for his Dad in the jewelry business up to the time of his enlistment in the R.C.A.F. since enlisting has been employed at #8, #9 and #28. Hobbies, Woodcraft (building model planes, boats, etc.) fishing and hunting. Also follows sports very closely. His post-war ambition is following the career of a gentleman. He is getting little chance to train for this vocation but hopes to make up for lost time in the near future. BENGUEST (OP) Born in Elfros, Saskatchewan in 1912. Taught school for eight long years before the war and many a budding genius owes his start to Ben’s sagacious tutorship. Joined the R.C.A.F. on July 25th, ’42 and has since served operationally at #9, #8 and #28 detachments. His hobbies (besides studying methods of getting back to the civilian way of doing things) are sports and reading. Ben is a firmly established married man with all this philanderings definitely behind him. His post-war aspirations are not definitely formulated as yet but says that 1950 will probably find him cracking the desk with ruler to bring the attention of wayward little Onstads, Luxtons, Wests, Elliotts etc. etc. to his words of wisdom. ERWIN McRAE (OP) In Cowansville, Quebec, the year 1919, first saw the light of day. Schooled in Westport, Mass., Montreal, Toronto and Verdun, Quebec. (My, how that boy has traveled). Employed before the war by Building Products Ltd. In Ville La Salle and Fairchild Aircraft in Longueil, Que. Joined the R.C.A.F. in Oct., ’41 and after much of the usual conglomeration of activities, found himself in his present trade. Has served at #10, #11, #7 and #28. Hobbies - sports, actively (but not here). Dinner dates (I have forgotten what they are - maybe you can remember). Hopes to study law and Business after the war. Also plans to be married at the sane age of thirty. STEW DINGWALL (WOG) Born in Asquith, Saskatchewan on July 5th, 1923. Spent the better part of his life in Asquith dodging the truant officer and work. After leaving school he was a clerk in a local store for six months, during which time the truant officer still followed him around - must have been force of habit. In 1942 he joined the Air Force and eventually wound up here at #28. he says he owes #28 much as he has finally shaken off the truant officer. Not even force of habit could be that forceful. Hobbies - stamp collecting and saving letters. (Some call it blackmail) Claims he is going to use new hobby-shop for making thousands of spindles for winding stair-cases. Chief passions - knitting and flowers. GORD WILLIS (WOG) Born May 5th, 1924 in Cranbrook, B.C. Went to school there. No outstanding civilian occupation outside of going to school four times a week. Gord is single and lies it. (he hasn’t been here that long has he?) Hobby - photography. Main ambition - to get out of the R.C.A.F. Likes hunting. Says there are some swell spots on the Corner of Main and Front. future profession - Mortician. Claims it is all dead profit. Also loves to lie on the rocks and let the sea wash over him - saves more soap that way. HUGH McCRINDLE Born in good old Scotland not so awfully long ago. Canadian home town is the “Good City” of Toronto, although he spent some time previously in Regina. Worked in the office of the John Inglis Co. prior to donning the Air Force blue in June 1942 and has served at #10, #7 and #28. Hobbies are drawing (and you will be seeing a lot of his fine work in the future) and music. In regard to the latter he played for an orchestra back East for the past ten or so years. Still single but, if he can make up his mind re choice, this should be changed before very long. CONTINUED ON PAGE 12 [‘Editor 2003: #1 - Preston, N.S.; #7 - Pat Bay, BC; #8 - Sea Island, BC; #9 - Spider Island, BC; #10 - Cape Scott, BC; #11 - Ferrer Pt., BC; #28 - Cape St. James, BC!]
Starring - Inbred Birdman (female) SCENE I Curtain - the house lights dim… Enter Mr. Foyer (on tiptoe) (sound of galloping horses) Scene shifts to garden: Mrs. Birdman is standing in garden by birdbath when Mr. Foyer rushes up to her. (sound of panting) Handing Inbred his flashlight Mr. Foyer says: “You are the light of my life, dear.” CURTAIN (applause) Smoking in the out-house only. L.S./M.F.T. SCENE II Mr. Foyer is standing at the foot of staircase in hall, his bathrobe over one arm and a
whisky and soda in the other. Raising his arm he polished off whisky, calling up-stairs
through dilated nostrils. “Is yo is or is yo ain’t in bed Inbred?” Inbred: “Ah is, Foyer, ah is for yo!” CURTAIN (applause, cheers, cat-calls, tomatoes) SCENE III (sound of screeching brakes) A Flashlight comes in for a landing on center stage. Mr. Foyer steps out moaning. Con’t adjoining page [‘Editor’ 2003. For the benefit of younger readers, L.S./M.F.T. was the old catch phrase on radio programs sponsored by Lucky Strike, and stood for Lucky Strike Means Finer Tobacco. Sometimes used here at #28 to stand for Lola Says/Me Feel Terrible.] Inbred: “You must!” Voice from the audience: “Pipe down willya, how the hell do you expect me to read my newspaper?” At this point everyone picks up their newspapers and continues breakfast. Together they amble out (sound of ambling) CURTAIN (sound of stampeding as audience rushes to get their money-back guarantees cashed) P.S. You don’t think we’re bushed eh? PERSONALITIES (CONT’D) His post war ambition is to connect himself someway with the art world. With his proven ability along the artistic lines he should realize little difficulty satisgying this desire. PAT NESBITT Born in Regina Sept. 1918, the year of the Armistice (remember?). Received all his schooling Saskatchewan’s capital city. Started earning a livelihood at Sterling Sales in Toronto. Joined the servcice in jan, ’42 and has been “in action” at #10, #8 and #28. Hobbies include ice skating and hockey, swimming, baseball and just about every sport. Chief hobby here is killing time. Has not decided, yet, what he plans to do when the rusty rifles are permanently put away. He feels that the Cape has something to offer but is of the opinion that it will take some time to discover what that something is. AL LUCAS (Mech) Born in Vancouver in 1917 and is a full -fledged, ardent British Columbian. school in that notable city for two years. Joined the Air Force in May, 1942 and has performed on both coats (#21 and #23). At times turning out a column is the easiest thing in the world, and then it is veritably a pleasure. On other occasions pouring words from a pen to paper is tougher than getting salt from one of those shakers at Alliford Bay. This is one of those latter occasions, and getting started is the toughest part of all. Perhaps a few words about my recent leave will start the ball rolling. If you’re one of those self-centred characters who don’t give a damn what I did on my leave, spend the next fraction of a minute thinking about the fiendish deeds you committed on yours - or spend the time planning future atrocities. At any rate, here is the concise report of D.M.O.’s Furlough Highlights. Beers consumed 137; ounces of liquor absorbed 182; shows seen, 3; games bowled 60; women --- sorry, this is a clean sheet. (and speaking of clean sheets, have you changed yours recently? Or are you like the Joe who was here 2-1/2 months before ye asked whereinhell you changed your bed linen?) The old camp changed a bit during the two months I was away. Faces new to the camp (but, unfortunately, not to me) were MacRae and McCrindle - two of the original Cape Scott gang of hoodlums; Pat Nisbett, from Sea Island; Bob Law, George “Farm Leave” Luxton, and Ben Guest, also from #8. By the time this reaches print the above mentioned excuses for airmen will be old timers, but I had to put their names in this column so I would have at least half a dozen readers. Another big change I noticed was the size of those pups. I bet Blackie would be proud of them if he were still here. And while on the subject of canines here’s a flash to Lou “Barry” Peikoff at #26. “Bill Hull and Triad are going steady now and to me it looks like the real thing. Of course some of the gossips around camp claim it won’t last; but they forget that Triad and Bill have a lot in common. At least they are both lovers of fine music and also neither of them has had a haircut since you left.” There is a certain party on this station whom, I confess, I shall never learn to like. He was posted here while I was out on leave, probably not having the courage to approach the station while I was here. Oh, I smile at him all right whenever we chance to meet, but the smile is only the toothy variety; my eyes, if you watch them carefully, are not in the smile. In short, I have not use for this character, and I would advise Sgt. Major Bibeau, J. J. A. A. M., (he wasn’t born today) to make sure that all rifles and fire axes are accounted for. Especially the fire axes, as I would very much like to do a small amputating job on approximately seven of the most useful fingers of this individual. I suppose, dear readers (McRae, McCrindle, Nisbett, - Cont’d page 14. Law, Luxton and Guest), that so far this is all quite a muddle to you. Let me explain. It happened one night while I was enjoying a light workout on that thing that gets in your way when you enter the canteen, which I call a pool-table, for the sake of clarity. As I leaned, carefully forward, eyeing the eight ball in my calm deliberate manner which has struck terror into the hearts of many men (it doesn’t fizz on Greenberg, with whom I was playing - perhaps because he has no heart), -- I heard it. Rousselle was playing my own “Honey Suckle Rose,” and he and his cronies sneered disdainfully my way as I paused, cue in midair. It was mortifying -chiefly because he knew how to finish it off, and some of those cronies used to be my most ardent admirers. This place is not quite big enough for the two us, Rousselle, so you’d better get going. Say, wait a minute, on second thought, I’ll go. I’ve finished my course in nature study. Short Art Note: Any of you who think it’s fun to plexi-glass should have a look at Bill Elliott’s objets d’art - sorry, Miller, that’s French for works of art. Bill won’t have to worry about a post war job. The boat that brought Gavy Henderson and your scribe back from our respective leaves took quite a beating from Old man Pacific. There were plenty of those two-way rolls that make a sea-sick man yearn for a quick death. Gavy edged me out for vomiting honours 6 to 5, while Jim Vint, the new D.O.T. man was a bang-up third with four nice efforts. Another civilian set the early pace but faded when the real retching began. (explain that to them, Lucas, you’ve seen the odd form chart before). All this gave me an idea for a cartoon, and I tried, honestly. But it was pitiful. I had the idea but couldn’t put it on paper. I sat down at the table in our barracks and 3-1/2 hours and 1-3/4 pencils later I had no cartoon but had a hearty respect for anyone who could draw any kind of a sketch at all. I won’t even belittle Hull’s primitive efforts from this date on. By the way, the caption for the cartoon was to have read: “Pardon me while I wring out my stomach,” and was to have featured Cpl. Henderson. Scene of course, was on board ship. For the best cartoon submitted for the above caption I offer a prize - my ration of Williams shaving lotion for the month of January 1945. Any of you fellows who are returning from leave or are newly posted here and happen to be short of ready cash, see Fox. He’ll say “I’m short too, but see Parker.” See Parker. He’ll say, “I’m short too, but see Fox.” Then see Fox again. Then see Parker. It helps to pass the time and you forget the cokes and smokes you are going without. Here’s the $64 question for this month. Who do you think would be taller, Greenberg or Mr. Fox down on his merely (merely to prove the point, of course) I figured it out. Answer on the bottom of page - Isn’t that bullet-like head of mine just chock-full of interesting ideas?” I’m starting to ramble now, so this will be all for this month. I’ll close with a warning. Better get a padlock for your locker and don’t leave any loose change lying around. Gebhardt the Colonel from Tulsa, Manitoba, - oops, I mean Oklahoma - is on his way. Don’t say I didn’t tip you off. Chuck Pearson is on his way here too - will probably be firmly established by the time this reaches print. He’s a nice little guy - and I say without question he did my laundry better than anyone has since I left Cape Scott.
I wonder if it would be bad form to meet him at the dock with a bag-full of shits, socks and shorts? Answer:- See you next month if I don’t get posted back to Sea Island. MORNING AFTER Oh, what a sorry plight! COMMUTER’S LAMENT Pretty girls at railway stations HAIR LINES A thought I might further pursue, boat nite). Even Lou Buckley is leaving us. He is about to make #26 his new home. Ray Houston, power producer extraordinary, Johnny Neufeld, manipulator of salves and ointments for the tired and bruised, and “Upchuck” McKee, director of yachting activities hereabouts, are likewise heading for other climes. Best of luck to each and every one of you. OUTGOING ON LEAVE Bob Law, Rex Robinson and Bob Warner are all leaving on furlough to spend Xmas and New years back in good old civilization. Too bad they wont be here to help us make up our New Year’s resolutions. However a good time to the three of you.. INCOMING OFF LEAVE Back in the fold once more Gavin Henderson, Duane Onstad, Meyer Rabkin, Butch Miller, Squeaky Coutts and Mike Kumka. They claim to have enjoyed themselves very much while out on leave and from the stories some of them (guess who?) relate, we agree that they must have experienced some wonderful things. Glad you are back, though, to help us bring this year’s business to a successful conclusion. HOME IS WHERE YOU HAND YOUR A Lady’s niche in which to pitch in But, arriving, should they find DREAMING AT A DESK After holidays so sunny I guess this winds it up for November !! About This Page This page is located at http://www.pinetreeline.org/rds/detail/rds28-10.html Updated: August 27, 2004 ![[Cut it Short]](../../rds/photos/rds28-65.jpg)
Do you see faces in the mirror?
Have you muscles in your toenails? You have?
Then drop a 4c stamp on a ten-dollar bill and mail to Home-Stretch Elastic Plastic co. and we will send you free of charge, with a money back guarantee, two-two Home-Stretch Elastic Plastic Garters.
My mother-in-law was driving me mad,
I longed to boil her in oil.
But she answered an Elastic Plastic add
And poof - Why waste the oil?
![[Another Bond]](../../rds/photos/rds28-66.jpg)
HAT
CHAT
It never fails to happen -
Sailor: “Well, when we’re going to dive, I run forward and hold her nose.”
“Ha, ha, ha! The joke is on you. I wasn’t home last night!”
“Why Mandy! I thought you said you were an old maid!”
“Ah is, but ah ain’t one of dem fussy kind!”
SNOOPY SNIFFLES TOURS THE STATION
SNOOPY CONTINUES SNOOPING
SPORTS HIGHLIGHTS - D Onstad
![[Triad]](../../rds/photos/rds28-67.jpg)
MECHANTICS - by Eddie Tull
A little bear also.
I often saw Mary’s little lamb,
But never saw her bear!
It always ate tin cans,
And when the little goats came,
They looked like Ford sedans.REAL THING
READERS PLEASE NOTE
THE MELTING POT - PERSONALITIES
FLASHLIGHT
Snarls Foyer (toenail)
Enter (slowly) Mrs. Birdman (walking on hands)
Exit (hurriedly) Mrs. Birdman (she just got a squint at foyer)
Quickly donning his flashlight Mr. Foyer races after disappearing Inbred.
Mrs. Birdman (purring like cat) arches her back, turns to Foyer, and says - “Meow!”
Mr. Foyer (pleadingly) “But don’t you realize dear, I’m mad about you. Come my darling, let me make a foyer of you.”
Mrs. Birdman (handing back flashlight) “Your battery is dead bulb;, be gone!”
Mr. Foyer grabs the birdbath and yanks it out by the roots. Brandishes it in the air.
Says. “Look dear - I’m strong, I’m desirable, I eat vitamin pills. For you I’d tear up every birdbath in the Sanctuary.”
Mrs. Birdman: “Sanctuary much. Gimme back the light, you’ve talked me into it.
I’ll carry the torch for you.”
(sound of soft music, birds, bees.)
Mr. Foyer: (with sigh) “Ah, my love, hive been rewarded at last. We’ll be marriedin the power house within the hour.”
Inbred: “More power to you my dear.”
He is bleeding loudly from a short circuit.
Enter Inbred riding water-wagon. (sound of creaking wheels and splashing)
She is singing the aria “Beer Barrel Polka” from the picture of the same brand.
As she lifts her eyes in soulful lament to the chandelier she spots Foyer. “I love that boy.” Climbing off the water-wagon she rushed drunkenly over to Foyer, singing “Eight to The Bar.” (music - eight bars of “Eight to The Bar.”)
Kneeling by Foyer’s side she yanks him to his feet. Together they whirl into the Mississippi Hoedown. (music please, Mr. Strauss)
At the end of the bar they order a drink. Then, shining a flashlight in Inbred’s face, Foyer says: “I refuse!”
Inbred: “But you must darling!”
Mr. Foyer: “I refuse!”
Inbred: “You must!”
Mr. Foyer: “I refuse!”
Mr. Foyer: “Must what?”
Inbred: “Refuse!”
Mr. Foyer: “I won’t do it!”
Foyer: (turning to Inbred) “Will you have your newspaper with or without the eggs Dear?”
Inbred: “Without the newspaper, dear.”
Foyer: “Thankyou.”
Inbred: “Nothing at all, darling.”
Foyer: “I have nothing either, dear.”
Inbred: “Either we either have nothing together, either we don’t.”
Foyer: “Thank you. We’ll raise our glasses and have nothing together.”
Inbred: “To be or not to be, maybe.”
Foyer: “Hmmmmmm - maybe.”
Inbred: “To be!”
Foyer: “To bed!”
Upon reaching the garden the two group around the birdbath. Foyer bends down
romantically and grabs a drink from the bath.
Inbred gives him the bird.
They frown, scratch their heads, bow and rush off-stage.
(flash-lights twinkle in the sky) (sound of wings flapping as all the cuckoos
fly home)
This is good for the Knob-Hill prize.
THE END![[Car]](../../rds/photos/rds28-68.jpg)
AROUND CAMP with Duane Onstad
![[Food Serving]](../../rds/photos/rds28-69.jpg)
AROUND CAMP with Duane Onstad (Cont'd)
Why is it always this way?
The life of the party last night -
Dead on your feet today!
Are always seeing off relations.
But, being a gentleman, won’t,
Is that many a woman’s hair-do
Might better be termed a hair-don’t.
The Melting Pot (Cont'd)
AUTOMATIC MENU PLANNER
WITH BABY-TENDING ATTACHMENTS.
Peacetime is, I’ve heard, the kitchen.
So when the Axis gets a bomb
Squarely in it’s Lebensraum,
Wenches glad to trade their wrenches
In for mops will leave their benches,
Energetically returning
Home to start the home fires burning.
The joint completely gadget-lined
With hydroelectric Biscuit-Bakers,
Autokinetic Cocktail Shakers,
Gyroscopic Salad Fixers,
Hash Machines and Meatloaf Fixers,
What if they decide on going
Back to Kaiser, back to Boeing,
Deeming industry’s appliances
Simpler than domestic science is?
Am I back at work, content?
Am I sweeter now than honey?
Peppier than when I went?
No indeed, I’m like my money:
Spent!!![[Triad]](../../rds/photos/rds28-70.jpg)
