新概念3.note

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新概念 3

nce3_01.txt

Pumas are large, cat-like animals which

are found in America. When reports

came into London Zoo that a wild puma

had been spotted forty-five miles south of

London, they were not taken seriously.

However, as the evidence began to

accumulate, experts from the Zoo felt

obliged to investigate, for the descrip-

tions given by people who claimed to

have seen the puma were extraordinarily

similar.

The hunt for the puma began in a

small village where a woman picking

blackberries saw 'a large cat' only five

yards away from her. It immediately ran

away when she saw it, and experts

confirmed that a puma will not attack a human being unless it is cornered. The

search proved difficult, for the puma was often observed at one place in the

morning and at another place twenty miles away in the evening. Wherever it

went, it left behind it a trail of dead deer and small animals like rabbits. Paw

prints were seen in a number of places and puma fur was found clinging to

bushes. Several people complained of 'cat-like noises' at night and a business-

man on a fishing trip saw the puma up a tree. The experts were now fully

convinced that the animal was a puma, but where had it come from ? As no

pumas had been reported missing from any zoo in the country, this one must

have been in the possession of a private collector and somehow managed to

escape. The hunt went on for several weeks, but the puma was not caught. It is

disturbing to think that a dangerous wild animal is still at large in the quiet

countryside.

nce3_02.txt

Our vicar is always raising money for one

cause or another, but he has never

managed to get enough money to have

the church clock repaired. The big clock

which used to strike the hours day and

night was damaged during the war and

has been silent ever since.

' One night, however, our vicar woke up

with a start: the clock was striking the

hours! Looking at his watch, he saw that

it was one o'clock, but the bell struck

thirteen times before it stopped. Armed

with a torch, the vicar went up into the

clock tower to see what was going on. In

the torchlight, he caught sight of a figure

whom he immediately recognized as Bill Wilkins, our local grocer.

'Whatever are you doing up here Bill ?' asked the vicar in surprise.

' I'm trying to repair the bell,' answered Bill.' I've been coming up here night

after night for weeks now. You see, I was hoping to give you a surprise.'

'You certainly did give me a surprise!'said the vicar. 'You've probably

woken up everyone in the village as well. Still, I'm glad the bell is working

again.'

'That's the trouble, vicar,' answered Bill. 'It's working all right, but I'm

afraid that at one o'clock it will strike thirteen times and there's nothing 1 can

do about it.'

'we'll get used to that Bill,' said the vicar. 'Thirteen is not as good as one

but it's better than nothing. Now let's go downstairs and have a cup of tea.'

nce3_03.txt

Some time ago,an interesting discovery

was made by archaeologists on the Aegean

island of Kea.An AmeriCan team ex-

plored a temple which stands in an

ancient city on the promontory of Ayia

Irini.The city at one time must have

been prosperous,for it enjoyed a high

level of civilization.Houses--often three

storeys high--were built of stone.They

had large rooms with beautifully decor-

ated walls.The city was even equipped

with a drainage system,for a great many

clay pipes were found beneath the narrow

streets.

The temple which the archaeologists

explored was used as a place of worship

from the fifteenth century B.C. until Roman times. In the most sacred room of

the temple, clay fragments of fifteen statues were found. Each of these repre-

sented a goddess and had, at one time, been painted. The body of one statue

was found among remains dating from the fifteenth century B.C. Its missing

head happened to be among remains of the fifth century B.C.;This head must

have been found in Classical times and carefully preserved. It was very old and

precious even then. When the archaeologists reconstructed the fragments, they

were amazed to find that the goddess turned out to be a very modern-looking

woman. She stood three feet high and her hands rested on her hip. She was

wearing a full-length skirt which swept the ground. Despite her great age,she

was very graceful indeed, but, so far,the archaeologists have been unable to

discover her identity.

nce3_04.txt

These days, people who do manual work

often receive far more money than clerks

who work in offices. People who work in

offices are frequently referred to as' white

collar workers' for the simple reason that

they usually wear a collar and tie to go to

work. Such is human nature, that a great

many people are often willing to sacrifice

higher pay for the privilege of becoming

white collar workers. This can give rise to

curious situations, as it did in the case of

Alfred Bloggs who worked as a dustman for the

Ellesmere Corporation.

When he got married, Alf was too embarrassed

to say anything to his wife about his job. He

simply told her that he worked for the

Corporation. Every morning, he left home

dressed in a fine blacksuit. He then changed

into overalls and spent the next eight hours

as a dustman. Before returning home at night,

he took a shower and changed back into his suit.

Alf did this for over two years and his fellow

dustmen kept his secret. AlF's wife has never

discovered that she married a dustman and she

never will, for Alf has just found another job.

He will soon be working in an office as a junior

clerk. He will be earning only half as much as

he used to, but he feels that his rise in status

is well worth the loss of money. From now on, he

will wear a suit all day and others will call him

'Mr Bloggs', not 'Alf'.

nce3_05.txt

Editors of newspapers and magazines

Often go to extremes to provide their

readers with unimportant facts and statis-

tics. Last year a journalist had been

instructed by a well-known magazine to

write an article on the president's palace

in a new African republic. When the

article arrived, the editor read the first

sentence and then refused to publish it.

The article began: 'Hundreds of steps

lead to the high wall which surrounds the

president's palace.' The editor at once

sent the journalist a telegram instructing

him to find out the exact number of steps

and the height of the wall.

The journalist immediately set out to

obtain these important facts, but he took a long time to send them. Meanwhile,

the editor was getting impatient, for the magazine woul1d soon go to press. He

sent the journalist two urgent telegrams, but received no reply. He sent yet

another telegram informing the journalist that if he did not reply soon he would

be fired. When the journalist again failed to reply, the editor reluctantly pub-

lished the article as it had originally been written. A week later, the editor at

last received a telegram from the journalist. Not only had the poor man been

arrested, but he had been sent to prison as well. However, he had at last been

allowed to send a cable in which he informed the editor that he had been

arrested while counting the 1o84 steps leading to the 15-foot wall which sur-

rounded the president's palace.

nce3_06.txt

The expensive shops in a famous arcade

near Piccadilly were just opening. At this

time of the morning, the arcade was almost

empty. Mr Taylor, the owner of a jewel-

lery shop was admiring a new window

display. Two of his assistants had been

working busily since 8 o'clock and had

only just finished. Diamond necklaces

and rings had been beautifully arranged

on a background of black velvet. After

gazing at the display for several minutes,

Mr Taylor went back into his shop.

The silence was suddenly broken when

a large car, with its headlights on and its

horn blaring, roared down the arcade. It

came to a stop outside the jeweler's. One

man stayed at the wheel while two others with black stockings over their faces

jumped out and smashed the windoW of the shop with iron bars. While this was

going on, Mr Taylor was upstairs. He and his staff began throwing furniture out

of the window. Chairs and tables went flying into the arcade. One of the thieves

was struck by a heavy statue, but he was too busy helping himself to diamonds

to notice any pain. The raid was all over in three minutes, for the men scrambled

back into the car and it moved off at a fantastic speed. Just as it was leaving,

Mr Taylor rushed out and ran after it throwing ashtrays and vases, but it was

impossible to stop the thieves. They had got away with thousands of pounds

worth of diamonds.

nce3_07.txt

Children often have far more sense than

their elders. This simple truth was

demonstrated rather dramatically during

a civil defence exercise in a small town in

Canada. Most of the inhabitants were

asked to take part in the exercise during

which they had to pretend that their city

had been bombed. Air-raid warnings

were sounded and thousands of people

went into special air-raid shelters. Doctors

and nurses remained above ground while

Police patrolled the streets in case anyone

tried to leave the shelters too soon.

The police did not have much to do

because the citizens took the exercise

seriously. They stayed underground for

twenty minutes and waited for the siren to sound again. On leaving the air-raid

shelters, they saw that doctors and nurses were busy. A great many people had

volunteered to act as casualties. Theatrical make-up and artificial blood had

been used to make the injuries look realistic. A lot of People were lying 'dead'

in the streets. The living helped to carry the dead and wounded to special

stations. A Child of six was brought in by two adults. The child was supposed to

be dead. With theatrical make-up on his face, he looked as if he had died of

shock. Some people were so moved by the sight that they began to cry. However,

the child suddenly sat up and a doctor asked him to comment on his death.

The child looked around for a moment and said, 'I think they're all crazy!'

nce3_08.txt

The Great St Bernard Pass connects

Switzerland to Italy. At 247o metres, it is

the highest mountain pass in Europe.

The famous monastery of St Bernard,

which was founded in the eleventh cen-

tury, lies about a mile away. For hun-

dreds of years, St Bernard dogs have

saved the lives of travellers crossing the

dangerous Pass. These friendly dogs,

which were first brought from Asia, were

used as watch-dogs even in Roman times.

Now that a tunnel has been built through

the mountains, the Pass is less dangerous,

but each year, the dogs are still sent out

into the snow whenever a traveller is in

difficulty. Despite the new tunnel, there

are still a few people who rashly attempt to cross the Pass on foot

During the summer months, the monastery is very busy,for it is visited by

thousands of people who cross the Pass in cars, As there are so many people

about, the dogs have to be kept in a special enclosure. In winter, however, life

at the monastery is quite different. The temperature drops to -30 and very

few people attempt to cross the Pass. The monks Prefer winter to summer for

they have more privacy. The dogs have greater freedom, too,for they are

allowed to wander outside their enclosure. The only regular visitors to the

monastery in winter are parties of skiers who go there at Christmas and Easter.

These young people, who love the peace of the mountains, always receive a warm

Welcome at St Bernard's monastery.

nce3_09.txt

By now, a rocket will have set off on its

35 million mile trip to Mars and scien-

tists must be waiting anxiously for the

results. The rocket will be travelling for

six months before it reaches the planet.

It contains a number of scienitic instru-

ments, including a television camera. Any

pictures that are taken will have to travel

for three minutes before they reach the

earth. If the pictures are successful, they

may solve a number of problems about

Mars and provide information about the

markings on its surface which, nearly 100

years ago, the astronomer, Schiaparelli,

thought to be canals.

It will be a long time before any

landing on Mars can be attempted. This will only be possible when scientists

have learnt a lot more about the atmosphere that surrounds the planet. If a

satellite can one day be put into orbit round Mars, scientists will be able to find

out a great deal. An interesting suggestion for measuring the atmosphere around

Mars has been put forward. A rubber ball containing a radio transmitter could

be dropped from a satellite so that it would fall towards the surface of the planet.

The radio would signal the rate which the ball was slowed down and scientists

would be able to calculate how dense the atmosphere is. It may even be possible

to drop a capsule containing scientific instruments on to the planet's surface.

Only when a great deal more information has been obtained, will it be possible

to plan a manned trip to Mars.

nce3_10.txt

The great ship, Titanic, sailed for New

York from Southampton on April 10th,

1. She was carrying 1316 passengers

and a crew of 89l. Even by modern

standards, the 46,000 ton Titanic was a

colossal ship. At that time, however, she

was not only the largest ship that had

ever been built, but was regarded as

unsinkable, for she had sixteen water-

tight compartments. Even if two of these

were flooded, she would still be able to

float. The tragic sinking of this great

liner will always be remembered, for she

went down on her first voyage with heavy

loss of life.

Four days after setting out, while the

Titanic was sailing across the icy waters of the North Atlantic, a huge iceberg

was suddenly spotted by a look-out. After the alarm had been given, the great

ship turned sharply to avoid a direct collision. The Titanic turned just in time,

narrowly missing the immense wall of ice which rose over 100 feet out of the

water beside her. Suddenly, there was a slight trembling sound from below, and

the captain went down to see what had happened. The noise had been so faint

that no one thought that the ship had been damaged. Below, the captain realized

to his horror that the Titanic was sinking rapidly, for five of her sixteen water-

tight compartments had already been flooded ! The order to abandon ship was

given and hundreds of people plunged into the icy water. As there were not

enough life-boats for everybody, 1500 lives were lost.

nce3_11.txt

Going through the Customs is a tiresome

business. The strangest thing about it is

that really honest people are often made

to feel guilty. The hardened professional

smuggler, on the other hand, is never

troubled by such feelings, even if he has

five hundred gold watches hidden in his

suitcase. When I returned from abroad

recently, a particularly officious young

Customs Officer clearly regarded me as a

smuggler.

'Have you anything to declare?' he

asked, looking me in the eye.

'No,' I answered confidently.

'Would you mind unlocking this suit-

case please ?'

'NOt at all,' I answered.

The Officer went through the case with great care. All the things I had packed

so carefully were soon in a dreadful mess. I felt sure I would never be able to

close the case again. Suddenly, I saw the Officer's face light up. He had spotted

a tiny bottle at the bottom of my case and he pounced on it with delight.

'Perfume, eh?' he asked sarcastically. 'You should have declared that.'

Perfume is not exempt from import duty.'

'But it isn't perfume,' I said.' It's hair-oil.' Then I added with a smile,' It's

a strange mixture I make myself.'

As I expected, he did not believe me.

'Try it!' I said encouragingly.

The Officer unscrewed the cap and put the bottle to his nostrils. He was

greeted by an unpleasant smell which convinced him that I was telling the truth.

A few minutes later, I was able to hurry away with precious chalk-marks on my

baggage.

nce3_12.txt

Most of us have formed an unrealistic

picture of life on a desert island. We

sometimes imagine a desert island to be a

sort of paradise where the sun always

shines. Life there is simple and good.

Ripe fruit falls from the trees and you

never have to work. The other side of the

picture is quite the opposite. Life on a

desert island is wretched. You either

starve to death or live like Robinson

Crusoe, waiting for a boat which never

comes. Perhaps there is an element of

truth in both these pictures, but few of us

have had the opportunity to find out.

Two men who recently spent five days

on a coral island wished they had stayed

there longer. They were taking a badly damaged boat from the Virgin Islands to

Miami to have it repaired. During the journey, their boat began to sink. They

quickly loaded a small rubber dinghy with food, matches, and tins of beer and

rowed for a few miles across the Caribbean until they arrived at a tiny coral

island. There were hardly any trees on the island and there was no water, but

this did not prove to be a problem. The men collected rain-water in the rubber

dinghy. As they had brought a spear gun with them, they had plenty to eat.

They caught lobster and fish every day, and, as one of them put it 'ate like

kings'. When a passing tanker rescued them five days later, both men were

genuinely sorry that they had to leave.

nce3_13.txt

After her husband had gone to work, Mrs

Richards sent her children to school and

went upstairs to her bedroom. She was

too excited to do any housework that

morning, for in the evening she would be

going to a fancy dress party with her

husband. She intended to dress up as a

ghost and as she had made her costume

the night before, she was impatient to try

it on. Though the costume consisted only

of a sheet, it was very effective. After

putting it on, Mrs Richards went down-

stairs. She wanted to find out whether it

would be comfortable to wear.

Just as Mrs Richards was entering the

dining-room, there was a knock on the

front door. She knew that it must be the baker. She had todd him to come

straight in if ever she failed to open the door and to leave the bread on the

kitchen table. Not wanting to frighten the poor man, Mrs Richards quickly hid

in the small store-room under the stairs. She heard the front door open and

heavy footsteps in the hall. Suddenly the door of the store-room was opened

and a man entered. Mrs Richards realized that it must be the man from the

Electricity Board who had come to read the meter. She tried to explain the

situation, saying' It's only me', but it was too late. The man let out a cry and

jumped back several paces. When Mrs Richards walked towards him, he fled,

slamming the door behind him.

nce3_14.txt

There was a time when the owners of

shop and businesses in Chicago had to

pay large sums of money to gangsters in

return for' protection' If the money was

not paid promptly, the gangsters would

quickly put a man out of business by

destroying his shop. Obtaining 'protec-

hon money' is not a modern crime. As

long ago as the fourteenth century, an

Englishman, Sir John Hawkwood, made

the remarkable discovery that people

would rather pay large sums of money

than have their life work destroyed by

gangsters.

Six hundred years ago, Sir John

Hawkwood arrived in Italy with a band of

soldiers and settled near Florence. He soon made a name for himself and came

to be known to the Italians as Giovanni Acuto. Whenever the Italian city-states

were at war with each other, Hawkwood used to hire his soldiers to princes who

were willing to pay the high price he demanded. In times of peace, when business

was bad, Hawkwood and his men would march into a city-state and, after

burning down a few farms, would offer to go away if protection money was

paid to them. Hawkwood made large sums of money in this way. In spite of

this, the Italians regarded him as a sort of hero. When he died at the age of

eighty, the Florentines gave him a state funeral and had a picture painted which

was dedicated to the memory of 'the most valiant soldier and most notable

leader, Signor Giovanni Haukodue'.

nce3_15.txt

Children always appreciate small gifts of

money. Father, of course, provides a

regular supply of pocket-money, but

uncles and aunts are always a source of

extra income. With some children, small

sums go a long way. If sixpences are not

exchanged for sweets, they rattle for

months inside money-boxes. Only very

thrifty children manage to fill up a

money-box. For most of them, sixpence

is a small price to pay for a satisfying bar

of chocolate.

My nephew, George, has a money-box

but it is always empty. Very few of the

sixpences I have given him have found

their way there. I gave him sixpence

yesterday and advised him to save it. Instead, he bought himself sixpence

worth of trouble. On his way to the sweet shop, he dropped his sixpence and it

rolled along the pavement and then disappeared down a drain. George took off

his jacket, rolled up his sleeves and pushed his right arm through the drain

cover. He could not find his sixpence anywhere, and what is more, he could not

get his arm out. A crowd of people gathered round him and a lady rubbed his

arm with soap and butter, but George was firmly stuck. The fire-brigade was

called and two firemen freed George using a special type of grease. George was

not too upset by his experience because the lady who owns the sweet shop

heard about his troubles and rewarded him with a large box of chocolates.

nce3_16.txt

Mary and her husband Dimitri lived in

the tiny village of Perachora in southern

Greece. One of Mary's prize possessions

was a little white lamb which her husband

had given her. She kept it tied to a tree

in a field during the day and went to

fetch it every evening. One evening, how-

ever, the lamb was missing. The rope had

been cut, so it was obvious that the lamb

had been stolen.

When Dimitri came in from the fields,His wife told him what had happened.Dimitri at once set out to

find the thief.

He knew it would not prove difficult in

such a small village. After telling several

of his friends about the theft, Dimitri

found out that his neighbour, Aleko, had suddenly acquired a new lamb.

Dimitri immediately went to Aleko's house and angrily accused him of stealing

the lamb. He told him he had better return it or he would call the police. Aleko

denied taking it and led Dimitri into his back-yard. It was true that he had just

bought a lamb, he explained, but his lamb was black. Ashamed of having acted

so rashly, Dimitri apologized to Aleko for having accused him. While they were

talking it began to rain and Dimitri stayed in Aleko's house until the rain stopped.

When he went outside half an hour later, he was astonished to find that the little

black lamb was almost white. Its wool, which had been dyed black, had been

washed clean by the rain !

nce3_17.txt

Verrazano, an Italian about whom little

is known, sailed into New York Harbour

in 1524 and named it Angouleme. He

described it as 'a very agreeable situation

located within two small hills in the midst

of which flowed a great river.' Though

Verrazano is by no means considered to

be a great explorer, his name will prob-

ably remain immortal, for on November

21st, 1964, the greatest bridge in the

world was named after him.

The Verrazano Bridge, which was

designed by Othmar Ammann, joins

Brooklyn to Staten Island. It has a span

of 4260 feet. The bridge is so long that

the shape of the earth had to be taken

into account by its designer. Two great towers support four huge cables. The

towers are built on immense underwater platforms made of steel and concrete.

The platforms extend to a depth of over 100 feet under the sea. These alone took

sixteen months to build. Above the surface of the water, the towers rise to a

height of nearly 700 feet. They support the cables from which the bridge has

been suspended. Each of the four cables contains 26,108 lengths of wire. It has

been estimated that if the bridge were packed with cars, it would still only be

carrying a third of its total capacity. However, size and strength are not the only

important things about this bridge. Despite its immensity, it is both simple

and elegant, fulfilling its designer's dream to create 'an enormous object drawn

as faintly as possible'.

nce3_18.txt

Modern sculpture rarely surprises us any

more. The idea that modern art can only

be seen in museums is mistaken. Even

people who take no interest in art cannot

have failed to notice examples of modern

sculpture on display in public places.

Strange forms stand in gardens, and out-

side buildings and shops. We have got

quite used to them. Some so-called

'modern' pieces have been on display

for nearly fifty years.

In spite of this, some people--in-

cluding myself--were surprised by a

recent exhibition of modern sculpture.

The first thing I saw when I entered the

art gallery was a notice which said: 'Do

not touch the exhibits. Some of them are dangerous!' The objects on display

were pieces of moving sculpture. Oddly shaped forms that are suspended from

the ceiling and move in response to a gust of wind are quite familiar to every-

body. These objects, however, were different. Lined up against the wall, there

were long thin wires attached to metal spheres. The spheres had been magne-

tized and attracted or repelled each other all the time. In the centre of the hall,

there were a number of tall structures which contained coloured lights. These

lights flickered continuously like traffic lights which have gone mad. Sparks

were emitted from small black boxes and red lamps flashed on and off angrily.

It was rather like an exhibition of prehistoric electronic equipment. These Pecu-

liar forms not only seemed designed to shock people emotionally, but to give them

electric shocks as well !

nce3_19.txt

Kidnappers are rarely interested in

Animals, but they recently took consider-

able interest in Mrs Eleanor Ramsay's

cat. Mrs Eleanor Ramsay, a very wealthy

old lady,has shared a flat with her cat,

Rastus, for a great many years. Rastus

leads an orderly life. He usually takes a

short walk in the evenings and is always

home by seven o'clock. One evening,

however, he failed to arrive. Mrs Ramsay

got very worried. She looked everywhere

for him but could not find him.

Three day after Rastus' disappearance,

Mrs Ramsay received an anonymous

letter. The writer stated that Rastus was

in safe hands and would be returned

immediately if Mrs Ramsay paid a ransom of &1000. Mrs Ramsay was instructed

to place the money in a cardboard box and to leave it outside her door. At first,

she decided to go to the police, but fearing that she would never see Rastus again

--the letter had made that quite clear--she changed her mind. She drew &1000

from her bank and followed the kidnapper's instructions. The next morning, the

box had disappeared but Mrs Ramsay was sure that the kidnapper would keep

his word. Sure enough, Rastus arrived punctually at seven o'clock that evening.

He looked very well, though he was rather thirsty, for he drank half a bottle of

milk. The police were astounded when Mrs Ramsay told them what she had

done. She explained that Rastus was very dear to her. Considering the amount

she paid, he was dear in more ways than one!

nce3_20.txt

In 1908 Lord Northcliffe offered a prize

of &1000 to the first man who would fly

across the English Channel. Over a year

passed before the first attempt was made.

On July 19th, 1909, in the early morning,

Hubert Latham took off from the French

coast in his plane the 'Antoinette IV'. He

had travelled only seven miles across the

Channel when his engine failed and he

was forced to land on the sea. The

'Antoinette' floated on the water until

Latham was picked up by a ship.

Two days later, Louis Bleriot arrived

near Calais with a plane called 'No. XI'.

Bleriot had been making planes since

1905 and this was his latest model. A

week before, he had completed a successful overland flight during which he

covered twenty-six miles. Latham, however did not give up easily. He, too,

arrived near Calais on the same day with a new 'Antonette'. It looks as if

there would be an exciting race across the Channel. Both planes were going to

take off on July 25th, but Latham failed to get up early enough. After making a

short test flight at 4.15 a.m., Bleriot set off half an hour later. His great flight

lasted thirty seven minutes. When he landed near Dover, the first person to

greet him was a local policeman. Latham made another attempt a week later

and got within half a mile of Dover, but he was unlucky again. His engine

failed and he landed on the sea for the second time.

nce3_21.txt

Boxing matches were very popular in

England two hundred years ago. In those

days, boxers fought with bare fists for

Prize money. Because of this, they were

known as 'prize-fighters'. However, box-

ing was very crude, for there were no

rules and a prize-fighter could be seriously

injured or even killed during a match.

One of the most colourful figures in

boxing history was Daniel Mendoza who

was born in 1764. The use of gloves was

not introduCed until 1860 when the

Marquis of Queensberry drew up the first

set Of rules. Though he was technically a

prize-fighter, Mendoza did much to

change crude prize-fighting into a sport,

for he brought science to the game. In his day, Mendoza enjoyed tremendous

popularity. He was adored by rich and poor alike.

Mendoza rose to fame swiftly after a boxing-match when he was only fourteen

years old. This attracted the attention of Richard Humphries who was then the

most eminent boxer in England. He offered to train Mendoza and his young

pupil was quick to learn. In fact, Mendoza soon became so successful that

Humphries turned against him. The two men quarrelled bitterly and it was

clear that the argument could only be settled by a fight. A match was held at

Stilton where both men fought for an hour. The public bet a great deal of money

on Mendoza, but he was defeated. Mendoza met Humphries in the ring on a

later occasion and he lost for a second time. It was not until his third match in

1790 that he finally beat Humphries and became Champion of England. Mean-

while, he founded a highly successful Academy and even Lord Byron became

one of his pupils. He earned enormous sums of money and was paid as much as

&1oo for a single appearance. Despite this, he was so extravagant that he was

always in debt. After he was defeated by a boxer called Gentleman Jackson, he

was quickly forgotten. He was sent to prison for failing to pay his debts and died

in poverty in 1836.

nce3_22.txt

Some plays are so successful that they

run for years on end. In many ways, this

is unfortunate for the poor actors who are

required to go on repeating the same lines

night after night. One would expect them

to know their parts by heart and never

have cause to falter. Yet this is not always

the case.

A famous actor in a highly successful

play was once cast in the role of an

aristocrat who had been imprisoned in

the Bastille for twenty years. In the last

act, a gaoler would always come on to

the stage with a letter which he would

hand to the prisoner. Even though the

noble was expected to read the letter at

each performance, he always insisted that it should be written out in full.

One night, the gaoler decided to play a joke on his colleague to find out if,

after so many performances, he had managed to learn the contents of the letter

by heart. The curtain went up on the final act of the play and revealed the

aristocrat sitting alone behind bars in his dark cell. Just then, the gaoler appeared

with the precious letter in his hands. He entered the cell and presented the letter

to the aristocrat. But the copy he gave him had not been written out in full as

usual. It was simply a blank sheet of paper. The gaoler looked on eagerly,

anxious to see if his fellow-actor had at last learnt his lines. The noble stared at

the blank sheet of paper for a few seconds. Then, squinting his eyes, he said:

'The light is dim. Read the letter to me.' And he promptly handed the sheet of

paper to the gaoler. Finding that he could not remember a word of the letter

either, the gaoler replied: 'The light is indeed dim, sire. I must get my glasses.'

With this, he hurried off the stage. Much to the aristocrat's amusement, the

gaoler returned a few moments later with a pair of glasses and the usual copy of

the letter which he proceeded to read to the prisoner.

nce3_23.txt

People become quite illogical when they

try to decide what can be eaten and what

cannot be eaten. If you lived in the

Mediterranean, for instance, you would

consider octopus a great delicacy.You

would not be able to understand why

some people find it repulsive. On the

other hand, your stomach would turn at

the idea of frying potatoes in animal fat--

the normally accepted practice in many

northern countries. The sad truth is that

most of us have been brought up to eat

certain foods and we stick to them all our

lives.

No creature has received more praise

and abuse than the common garden snail.

Cooked in wine, snails are a great luxury in various parts of the world. There

are countless people who, ever since their early years, have learned to associate

snails with food. My friend, Robert, lives in a country where snails are despised.

As his flat is in a large town, he has no garden of his own. For years he has been

asking me to collect snails from my garden and take them to him. The idea

never appealed to me very much, but one day, after a heavy shower, I happened

to be walking in my garden when I noticed a huge number of snails taking a stroll

on some of my prize plants. Acting on a sudden impulse, I collected

several dozen, put them in a paper bag, and took them to Robert. Robert was

delighted to see me and equally pleased with my little gift. I left the bag in the

hall and Robert and I went into the living-room where we talked for a couple

of hours. I had forgotten all about the snails when Robert suddenly said that I

must stay to dinner. Snails would, of course, be the main dish. I did not fancy

the idea and I reluctantly followed Robert out of the room. To our dismay, we

saw that there were snails everywhere: they had escaped from the paper bag

and had taken complete possession of the hall! I have never been able to look

at a snail since then.

nce3_24.txt

We often read in novels how a seemingly

respectable person or family has some

terrible secret which has been concealed

from strangers for years. The English

language possesses a vivid saying to des-

cribe this sort of situation. The terrible

secret is called 'a skeleton in the cup

board '. At some dramatic moment in the

story the terrible secret becomes known

and a reputation is ruined. The reader's

hair stands on end when he reads in the

final pages of the novel that the heroine,

a dear old lady who had always been so

kind to everybody, had, in her youth,

poisoned every one of her five husbands.

It is all very well for such things to

occur in fictiOn. To varying degrees, we all have secrets which we do not want

even our closest friends to learn, but few of us have skeletons in the cupboard.

The only person I know who has a skeleton in the cupboard is George Carlton,

and he is very proud of the fact. George studied medicine in his youth. Instead

of becoming a doctor, however, he became a successful writer of detective stories.

I once spent an uncomfortable week-end which I shall never forget at his house.

George showed me to the guestroom which, he said, was rarely used. He told me

to unpack my things and then come down to dinner. After I had stacked my

shirts and underclothes in two empty drawers, I decided to hang in the cupboard

one of the two suits I had brought with me. I opened the cupboard door and then

stood in front of it petrified. A skeleton was dangling before my eyes. The sudden

movement of the door made it sway slightly and it gave me the impression that

it was about to leap out at me. Dropping my suit, I dashed downstairs to tell

George. This was worse than 'a terrible secret'; this was a real skeleton ! But

George was unsympathetic. 'Oh, that,' he said with a smile as if he were talking

about an old friend. 'That's Sebastian. You forget that I was a medical student

once upon a time.'

nce3_25.txt

One of the most famous sailing ships of

the nineteenth century, the Cutty Sark,

can still be seen at Greenwich. She

stands on dry land and is visited by

thousands of people each year. She serves

as an impressive reminder of the great

ships of the past.Before they were re-

placed by steam-ships, sailing vessels

like the Cutty Sark were used to carry

tea from China and wool from Australia.

The Cutty Sark was one of the fastest

sailing ships that has ever been built. The

only other ship to match her was the

Thermopylae. Both these ships set out

from Shanghai on June 18th, 1872 on an

exciting race to England. This race,

which went on for exactly four months, was the last of its kind. It marked the

end of the great tradition of ships with sails and the beginning of a new era.

The first of the two ships to reach Java after the race had begun was the

Thermopylae, but on the Indian Ocean, the Cutty Sark took the lead. It seemed

certain that she would be the first ship home, but during the race she had a lot of

bad luck. In August, she was struck by a very heavy storm during which her

rudder was torn away. The Cutty Sark rolled from side to side and it became

impossible to steer her. A temporary rudder was made on board from spare

planks and it was fitted with great difficulty. This greatly reduced the speed of

the ship, for there was danger that if she travelled too quickly, this rudder

would be torn away as well. Because of this, the Cutty Sark lost her lead. After

crossing the equator, the captain called in at a port to have a new rudder fitted,

but by now the Thermopylae was over five hundred miles ahead. Though the

new rudder was fitted at tremendous speed, it was impossible for the Cutty Sark

to win. She arrived in England a week after the Thermopylae. Even this was

remarkable, considering that she had had so many delays. There is no doubt that

if she had not lost her rudder she would have won the race easily.

nce3_26.txt

No one can avoid being influenced by

advertisements. Much as we may pride

ourselves on our good taste, we are no

longer free to choose the things we want,

for advertising exerts a subtle influence

on us. In their efforts to persuade us to

buy this or that product, advertisers have

made a close study of human nature and

have classified all our little weaknesses.

Advertisers discovered years ago that

all of us love to get something for nothing.

An advertisement which begins with the

magic word FREE can rarely go wrong.

These days, advertisers not only offer

free samples but free cars, free houses,

and free trips round the world as well.

They devise hundreds of competitions which will enable us to win huge sums

of money. Radio and television have made it possible for advertisers to capture

the attention of millions of people in this way.

During a radio programme, a company of biscuit manufacturers once asked

listeners to bake biscuits and send them to their factory. They offered to pay

$2 a pound for the biggest biscuit baked by a listener. The response to this

competition was tremendous. Before long, biscuits of all shapes and sizes began

arriving at the factory. One lady brought in a biscuit on a wheelbarrow. It

weighed nearly 500 pounds. A little later, a man came along with a biscuit

which occupied the whole boot of his car. All the biscuits that were sent were

carefully weighed. The largest was 713 pounds. It seemed certain that this

would win the prize. But just before the competition closed, a lorry arrived at

the factory with a truly colossal biscuit which weighed 2400 pounds. It had

been baked by a college student who had used over 1000 pounds of flour, 800

pounds of sugar, 200 pounds of fat, and 400 pounds of various other ingredients.

It was so heavy that a crane had to be used to remove it from the lorry. The

manufacturers had to pay more money than they had anticipated, for they

bought the biscuit from the student for $4800.

nce3_27.txt

It has been said that everyone lives by

selling something. In the light of this

statement, teachers live by selling know-

ledge, philosophers by selling wisdom

and priests by selling spiritual comfort.

Though it may be possible to measure

the value of material goods in terms of

money, it is extremely difficult to estimate

the true value of the services which people

perform for us. There are times when we

would willingly give everything we

possess to save our lives, yet we might

grudge paying a surgeon a high fee for

offering us precisely this service. The

conditions of society are such that skills

have to be paid for in the same way that

goods are paid for at a shop. Everyone has something to sell.

Tramps seem to be the only exception to this general rule. Beggars almost sell

themselves as human beings to arouse the pity of passers-by. But real tramps are

not beggars. They have nothing to sell and require nothing from others. In

seeking independence, they do not sacrifice their human dignity. A tramp may

ask you for money, but he will never ask you to feel sorry for him. He has

deliberately chosen to lead the life he leads and is fully aware of the consequences

He,may never be sure where the next meal is coming from, but he is free from

the thousands of anxieties which afflict other people. His few material possession

make it possible for him to move from place to place with ease- By having to

sleep in the open, he gets far closer to the world of nature than most of us ever

do. He may hunt, beg, or steal occasionally to keep himself alive; he may even

in times of real need, do a little work; but he will never sacrifice his freedom

We often speak of tramps with contempt and put them in the same class as

beggars, but how many of us can honestly say that we have not felt a little

envious of their simple way of life and their freedom from care?

nce3_28.txt

Small boats loaded with wares sped to the

great liner as she was entering the har-

bour. Before she had anchored, the men

from the boats had climbed on board and

the decks were soon covered with colour-

ful rugs from Persia, silks from India,

copper coffee pots, and beautiful hand-

made silver-ware. It was difficult not to

be tempted. Many of the tourists on

board had begun bargaining with the

tradesmen, but I decided not to buy

anything until I had disembarked.

I had no sooner got off the ship than I

was assailed by a man who wanted to sell

me a diamond ring. I had no intention of

buying one, but I could not conceal the

fact that I was impressed by the size of the diamonds. Some of them were as big

as marbles. The man went to great lengths to prove that the diamonds were real.

As we were walking past a shop, he held a diamond firmly against the window

and made a deep impression in the glass. It took me over half an hour to get rid

of him.

The next man to approach me was selling expensive pens and watches. I

examined one of the pens closely. It certainly looked genuine. At the base of the

gold cap, the words 'made in the U.S.A.' had been neatly inscribed. The man

said that the pen was worth &10, but as a special favour, he would let me have it

for &8. I shook my head and held up a finger indicating that I was willing to

pay a pound. Gesticulating wildly, the man acted as if he found my offer out-

rageous, but he eventually reduced the price to &3. Shrugging my shoulders, I

began to walk away when, a moment later, he ran after me and thrust the pen

into my hands. Though he kept throwing up his arms in despair, he readily

accepted the pound I gave him. I felt especially pleased with my wonderful

bargain--until I got back to the ship. No matter how hard I tried, it was im-

possible to fill this beautiful pen with ink and to this day it has never written a

single word !

nce3_29.txt

Whether we find a joke funny or not

largely depends on where we have been

brought up. The sense of humour is

mysteriously bound up with national

characteristics. A Frenchman, for in-

stance, might find it hard to laugh at a

Russian joke. In the same way, a Russian

might fail to see anything amusing in a

joke which would make an Englishman

laugh to tears.

Most funny stories are based on comic

situations. In spite of national differences,

certain funny situations have a universal

appeal. No matter where you live, you

would find it difficult not to laugh at, say,

Charlie Chaplin's early films. However, a

new type of humour, which stems largely from America, has recently come into

fashion. It is cal1ed' sick humour '. Comedians base their jokes on tragic situations

like violent death or serious accidents. Many people find this sort of joke dis-

tasteful. The following example of 'sick humour' will enable you to judge for

yourself.

A man who had broken his right leg was taken to hospital a few weeks before

Christmas. From the moment he arrived there, he kept on pestering his doctor

to tell him when he would be able to go home. He dreaded having to spend

Christmas in hospital. Though the doctor did his best, the patient's recovery

was slow. On Christmas day, the man still had his right leg in plaster. He spent

a miserable day in bed thinking of all the fun he was missing. The following day,

however, the doctor consoled him by telling him that his chances of being able

to leave hospital in time for New Year celebrations were good. The man took

heart and, sure enough, on New Year's Eve he was able to hobble along to a

party. To compensate for his unpleasant experiences in hospital, the man drank

a little more than was good for him. In the process, he enjoyed himself thoroughly

and kept telling everybody how much he hated hospitals. He was stilI mumbling

something about hospitals at the end of the party when he slipped on a piece of

ice and broke his left leg.

nce3_30.txt

For years villagers believed that Endley

farm was haunted. The farm was owned

by two brothers, Joe and Bert Cox. They

employed a few farm hands, but no one

was willing to work there long. Every

time a worker gave up his job, he told the

sam story. Farm labourers said that they

always woke up to find the work had

been done overnight. Hay had been cut

and cow sheds had been cleaned. A farm

worker,who stayed up all night, claimed

to have seen a figure cutting corn in the

moonlight. In time, it became an accepted

fact that the Cox brothers employed a

conscientious ghost that did most of their

work for them.

NO one suspected that there might be someone else on the farm who had

never been seen. This was indeed the case. A short time ago, villagers were

astonished to learn that the ghost of Endley had died. Everyone went to the

funeral, for the 'ghost' was none other than Eric Cox, a third brother who was

supposed to have died as a young man. After the funeral, Joe and Bert revealed

a secret which they had kept for over forty years.

Eric had been the eldest son of the family. He had been obliged to join the

army during the first World War. As he hated army life he decided to desert his

regiment. When he learnt that he would be sent abroad, he returned to the farm

and his farther hid him until the end of the war. Fearing the authorities, Eric

remained in hiding after the war as well. His father told everybody that Eric

had been killed in action. The only other people who knew the secret were Joe

and Bert. They did not even tell their wives. When their father died, they thought

it their duty to keep Eric in hiding. All these years, Eric had lived as a recluse.He

used to sleep during the day and work at night, quite unaware of the fact that he

had become the ghost of Endley. When he died, however, his brothers found it

impossible to keep the secret any longer.

nce3_31.txt

True eccentrics never deliberately set out

to draw attention to themselves. They

disregard social conventions without being

conscious that they are doing anything

extraordinary. This invariably wins them

the love and respect of others, for they

add colour to the dull routine of everyday

life.

Up to the time of his death, Richard

Colson was one of the most notable

figures in our town. He was a shrewd and

wealthy business-man, but the ordinary

town-folk hardly knew anything about

this side of his life. He was known to us

all as Dickie and his eccentricity had

become legendary long before he died.

Dickie disliked snobs intensely. Though he owned a large car, he hardly ever

used it, preferring always to go on foot. Even when it was raining heavily, he

refused to carry an umbrella. One day, he walked into an expensive shop after

having been caught in a particularly heavy shower. He wanted to buy a &300

fur coat for his wife, but he was in such a bedraggled condition that an assistant

refused to serve him. Dickie left the shop without a word and returned carrying

a large cloth bag. As it was extremely heavy,he dumped it on the counter. The

assistant asked him to leave, but Dickie Paid no attention to him and requested

to see the manager. Recognizing who the customer was, the manager was most

apologetic and 'reprimanded the assistant severely. When Dickie was given the

fur coat, he presented the assistant with the cloth bag. It contained &300 in

pennies. He insisted on the assistant's counting the money before he left-

72,000 pennies in all! On another occasion, he invited a number of important

critics to see his private collection of modern painings. This exhibition received

a great deal of attention in the press, for though the pictures were supposed to

be the work of famous artists, they had in fact been painted by Dickie. It took

him four years to stage this elaborate joke simply to prove that critics do not

always know what they are talking about.

nce3_32.txt

The salvage operation had been a com-

plete failure. The small ship, Elkor,

which had been searching the Barents

Sea for weeks, was on its way home. A

radio message from the mainland had

been received by the ship's captain in-

structing him to give up the search. The

captain knew that another attempt would

be made later, for the sunken ship he was

trying to find had been carrying a

precious cargo of gold bullion.

Despite the message, the captain of the

Elkor decided to try once more. The sea-

bed was scoured with powerful nets and

there was tremendous excitement on

board when a chest was raised from the

bottom. Though the crew were at first under the impression that the lost ship

had been found, the contents of the sea-chest proved them wrong. What they

had in fact found was a ship which had been sunk many years before.

The chest contained the personal belongings of a seaman, Alan Fielding.

There were books, clothing and photographs,together with letters which the

seaman had once received from his wife. The captain of the Elkor ordered his

men to salvage as much as possible from the wreck. Nothing of value was found,

but the numerous items which were brought to the surface proved to be of

great interest. From a heavy gun that was raised, the captain realized that the

ship must have been a cruiser. In another sea-chest, which contained the

belongings of a ship's officer, there was an unfinished letter which had been

written on March 14th, 1943. The captain learnt from the letter that the name

of the lost ship was the Karen. The most valuable find of all was the ship's log

book, parts of which it was still possible to read. From this the captain was able

to piece together all the information that had come to light. The Karen had been

sailing in a convoy to Russia when she was torpedoed by an enemy submarine.

This was later confirmed by a naval official at the Ministry of Defence after the

Elkor had returned home. All the items that were found were sent to the War

Museum.

nce3_33.txt

We have all experienced days when every-

thing goes wrong. A day may begin well

enough, but suddenly everything seems

to get out of control. What invariably

happens is that a great number of things

choose to go wrong at precisely the same

moment. It is as if a single unimportant

event set up a chain of reactions. Let us

suppose that you are preparing a meal and

keeping an eye on the baby at the same

time. The telephone rings and this marks

the prelude to an unforeseen series of

catastrophes. While you are on the phone,

the baby pulls the table-cloth off the

table smashing half your best crockery

and cutting himself in the process. You

hang up hurriedly and attend to baby, crockery, etc. Meanwhile, the meal gets

burnt. As if this were not enough to reduce you to tears, your husband arrives,

unexpectedly bringing three guests to dinner.

Things can go wrong on a big scale as a number of people recently discovered

in Parramatta, a suburb of Sydney. During the rush hour one evening two cars

collided and both drivers began to argue. The woman immediately behind the

two cars happened to be a learner. She suddenly got into a panic and stopped

her car. This made the driver following her brake hard. His wife was sitting

beside him holding a large cake. As she was thrown forward, the cake went

right through the windscreen and landed on the road. Seeing a cake flying

through the air, a lorry-driver who was drawing up alongside the car, pulled up

all of a sudden. The lorry was loaded with empty beer bottles and hundreds of

them slid off the back of the vehicle and on to the road. This led to yet another

angry argument. Meanwhile, the traffic piled up behind. It took the police

nearly an hour to get the traffic on the move again. In the meantime, the lorry-

driver had to sweep up hundreds of broken bottles. Only two stray dogs benefited

from all this confusion, for they greedily devoured what was left of the cake. It

was just one of those days!

nce3_34.txt

Antique shops exert a peculiar fascination

on a great many people. The more expen-

sive kind of antique shop where rare

objects are beautifully displayed in glass

cases to keep them free from dust is

usually a forbidding place. But no one has

to muster up courage to enter a less

pretentious antique shop. There is always

hope that in its labyrinth of musty, dark,

disordered rooms a real rarity will be

found amongst the piles of assorted junk

that litter the floors.

No one discovers a rarity by chance. A

truly dedicated searcher for art treasures

must have patience, and above all, the

ability to recognize the worth of some-

thing when he sees it. To do this, he must be at least as knowledgeable as the

dealer. Like a scientist bent on making a discovery, he must cherish the hope that

one day he will be amply rewarded.

My old friend, Frank Halliday, is just such a person. He has often described

to me how he picked up a masterpiece for a mere &5. One Saturday morning,

Frank visited an antique shop in my neighbourhood. As he had never been there

before, he found a great deal to interest him. The morning passed rapidly and

Frank was about to leave when he noticed a large packing-case lying on the floor.

The dealer told him that it had just come in, but that he could not be bothered

to open it. Frank begged him to do so and the dealer reluctantly prised it open.

The contents were disappointing. Apart from an interesting-looking carved

dagger, the box was full of crockery, much of it broken. Frank gently lifted the

crockery out of the box and suddenly noticed a miniature Painting at the bottom

of the packing-case. As its composition and line reminded him of an Italian

painting he knew well, he decided to buy it. Glancing at it briefly, the dealer

told him that it was worth &5. Frank could hardly conceal his excitement, for

he knew that he had made a real discovery. The tiny painting proved to be an

unknown masterpiece by Correggio and was worth thousands of pounds.

nce3_35.txt

Th word justice is usually associated with

courts of law. We might say that justice

has been done when a man's innocence or

guilt has been proved beyond doubt.

Justice is part of the complex machinery

of the law. Those who seek it, undertake

an arduous journey and can never be sure

that they will find it.Judges,however

wise or eminent, are human and can make

mistakes.

There are rare instances when justice

almost ceases to be an abstract concep-

tion. Reward or punishment are

out quite independent of human inter-

ference. At such times, justice acts like a

living force. When we use a phrase like

it serves him right, we are, in part, admitting that a certain set of circumstances

has enabled justice to act of its own accord.

When a thief was caught on the premises of a large fur store one morning, the

shop assistants must have found it impossible to resist the temptation to say 'it

serves him right'. The shop was an old-fashioned one with many large,disused

fireplaces and tall, narrow chimneys. Towards midday, a girl heard a muffled

cry coming from behind one of the walls. As the cry was repeated several times,

she ran to tell the manager who promptly rang up the fire-brigade. The cry had

certainly come from one of the chimneys, but as there were so many of them,

the firemen could not be certain which one it was. They located the right

chimney by tapping at the walls and listening for the man's cries. After chipping

through a wall which was eighteen inches thick, they found that a man had been

trapped in the chimney. As it was extremely narrow, the man was unable to

move, but the firemen were eventually able to free him by cutting a huge hole

in the wall. The sorry-looking, blackened figure that emerged, at once admitted

that he had tried to break into the shop during the night but had got stuck in

the chimney. He had been there for nearly ten hours. Justice had been done even

before the man was handed over to the police.

nce3_36.txt

We are less credulous than we used to be

In the nineteenth century, a novelist

would bring his story to a conclusion by

presenting his readers with a series of

coincidences --most of them wildly im-

probable. Readers happily accepted the

fact that an obscure maid-servant was

really the hero's mother. A long-lost

brother, who was presumed dead, was

really alive all the time and wickedly

plotting to bring about the hero's down-

fall. And so on. Modern readers would

find such naive solutions totally unaccept-

able. Yet, in real life,circumstances do

sometimes conspire to bring about coin-

cidences which anyone but a nineteenth

century novelist would find incredible.

A German taxi-driver, Franz Bussman, recently found a brother who was

thought to have been killed twenty years before. While on a walking tour with

his wife, he stopped to talk to a workman. After they had gone on,Mrs Bussman

commented on the workman's close resemblance to her husband and even

suggested that he might be his brother. Franz poured scorn on the idea, pointing

out that his brother had been killed in action during the war. Though Mrs

Bussman was fully acquainted with this story, she thought that there was a

chance in a million that she might be right. A few days later, she sent a boy to

the workman to ask him if his name was Hans Bussman, Needless to say, the

man's name was Hans Bussman and he really was Franz's long-lost brother.

When the brothers were re-united, Hans explained how it was that he was still

alive. After having been wounded towards the end of the war, he had been sent

to hospital and was separated from his unit. The hospital had been bombed and

Hans had made his way back into Western Germany on foot. Meanwhile, his

unit was lost and all records of him had been destroyed. Hans returned to his

family home, but the house had been bombed and no one in the neighbourhood

knew what had become of the inhabitants. Assuming that his family had been

killed during an air-raid, Hans settled down in a Village fifty miles away where

he had remained ever since.

nce3_37.txt

We have learnt to expect that trains will

be punctual. After years of pre-con-

ditioning,most of us have developed an

unshakable faith in railway time-tables.

Ships may be delayed by storms; air

flights may be cancelled because of bad

weather; but trains must be on time. Only

an exceptionally heavy snow fall might

temporarily dislocate railway services. It

is all too easy to blame the railway

authorities when something does go

wrong. The truth is that when mistakes

occur, they are more likely to be ours than

theirs.

After consulting my railway time-table,

I noted with satisfaction that there was an

express train to Westhaven. It went direct from my local station and the journey

lasted a mere hour and seventeen minutes. When I boarded the train, I could not

help noticing that a great many local people got on as well. At the time, this did

not strike me as odd. I reflected that there must be a great many people besides

myself who wished to take advantage of this excellent service. Neither was I

surprised when the train stopped at Widley, a tiny station a few miles along the

line. Even a mighty express train can be held up by signals. But when the train

dawdled at station after station, I began to wonder. It suddenly dawned on me

that this express was not roaring down the line at ninety miles an hour, but

barely chugging along at thirty. One hour and seventeen minutes passed and we

had not even covered half the distance. I asked a passenger if this was the

Westhaven Express, but he had not even heard of it. I determined to lodge a

complaint as soon as we arrived. Two hours later, I was talking angrily to the

station-master at Westhaven. When he denied the train's existence, I borrowed

his copy of the time-table. There was a note of triumph in my voice when I told

him that it was there in black and white. Glancing at it briefly, he told me to

look again. A tiny asterisk conducted me to a footnote at the bottom of the page.

It said: 'This service has been suspended.'

nce3_38.txt

Future historians will be in a unique

position when they come to record the

history of our own times. They will

hardly know which facts to select from

the great mass of evidence that steadily

accumulates. What is more they will not

have to rely solely on the written word.

Films, gramophone records,and magnetic

tapes will provide them with a bewilder-

ing amount of information. They will be

able, as it were, to see and hear us in

action. But the historian attempting to

reconstruct the distant past is always

faced with a difficult task. He has to

deduce what he can from the few scanty

clues available. Even seemingly insignifi-

cant remains can shed interesting light on the history of early man.

Up to now, historians have assumed that calendars came into being with the

advent of agriculture, for then man was faced with a real need to understand

something about the seasons. Recent scientific evidence seems to indicate that

this assumption is incorrect.

Historians have long been puzzled by dots, lines and symbols which have

been engraved on walls,bones,and the ivory tusk of mammoths. The nomads

who made these markings lived by hunting and fishing during the last Ice Age,

which began about 35,000 B.C. and ended about 10,000 B.C. By correlating

markings made in various parts of the world, historians have been able to read

this difficult code. They have found that it is connected with the passage of

days and the phases of the moon. It is, in fact, a,primitive type of calendar. It

has long been known that the hunting scenes depicted on walls were not simply

a form of artistic expression. They had a definite meaning, for they were as near

as early man could get to writing. It is possible that there is a definite relation

between these paintings and the markings that sometimes accompany them. It

seems that man was making a real effort to understand the seasons 20,000 years

earlier than has been supposed.

nce3_39.txt

The rough road across the plain soon

became so bad that we tried to get Bruce

to drive back to the village we had come

from. Even though the road was littered

with boulders and pitted with holes,

Bruce was not in the least perturbed.

Glancing at his map, he informed us that

the next village was a mere twenty miles

away. It was not that Bruce always under-

estimated difficulties. He simply had no

sense of danger at all. No matter what the

conditions were, he believed that a car

should be driven as fast as it could

possibly go.

As we bumped over the dusty track,

we swerved to avoid large boulders.The

wheels scooped up stones which hammered ominously under the car. We felt

sure that sooner or later a stone would rip a hole in our petrol tank or damage the

engine. Because of this, we kept looking back, wondering if we were leaving a

trail of oil and petrol behind us.

What a relief it was when the boulders suddenly disappeared, giving way to a

stretch of plain where the only obstacles were clumps of bushes. But there was

worse to come. Just ahead of us there was a huge fissure. In response to renewed

pleadings, Bruce stopped. Though we all got out to examine the fissure, he

remained in the car. We informed him that the fissure extended for fifty yards

and was two feet wide and four feet deep. Even this had no effect. Bruce engaged

low gear and drove at a terrifying speed, keeping the front wheels astride the

crack as he followed its zig-zag course. Before we had time to worry about what

might happen, we were back on the plain again. Bruce consulted the map once

more and told us that the village was now only fifteen miles away. Our next

obstacle was a shallow pool of water about half a mile across. Bruce charged at it,

but in the middle, the car came to a grinding halt. A yellow light on the dash-

board flashed angrily and Bruce cheerfully announced that there was no oil in

the engine!

nce3_40.txt

It has never been explained why univer-

sity students seem to enjoy practical jokes

more than anyone else. Students specia-

lize in a particular type of practical joke:

the hoax. Inviting the fire-brigade to put

out a non-existent fire is a crude form of

deception which no self-respecting stu-

dent would ever indulge in, Students

often create amusing situations which are

funny to everyone except the victims.

When a student recently saw two work-

men using a pneumatic drill outside his

university, he immediately telephoned

the police and informed them that two

students dressed up as workmen were

tearing up the road with a pneumatic

drill. As soon as he had hung up, he went over to the workmen and told them

that if a policeman ordered them to go away, they were not to take him seriously.

He added that a student had dressed up as a policeman and was playing all sorts

of silly jokes on people. Both the police and the workmen were grateful to the

student for this piece of advance information.

The student hid in an archway nearby where he could watch and hear every-

thing that went on. Sure enough, a policeman arrived on the scene and politely

asked the workmen to go away. When he received a very rude reply from one of

the workmen, he threatened to remove them by force. The workmen told him

to do as he pleased and the policeman telephoned for help. Shortly afterwards,

four more policemen arrived and remonstrated with the workmen. As the men

refused to stop working, the police attempted to seize the pneumatic drill. The

workmen struggled fiercely and one of them lost his temper. He threatened to

call the police. At this, the police pointed out ironically that this would hardly

be necessary as the men were already under arrest. Pretending to speak seriously,

one of the workmen asked if he might make a telephone call before being taken

to the station. Permission was granted and a policeman accompanied him to a

call-box. Only when he saw that the man was actually telephoning the police

did he realize that they had all been the victims of a hoax.

nce3_41.txt

The quiet life of the country has never

appealed to me. City born and city bred,

I have always regarded the country as

something you look at through a train

window, or something you occasionally

visit during the week-end. Most of my

friends live in the city, yet they always go

into raptures at the mere mention of the

country. Though they extol the virtues of

the peaceful life, only one of them has

ever gone to live in the country and he

was back in town within six months. Even

he still lives under the illusion that

country life is somehow superior to town

life. He is forever talking about the

friendly people, the clean atmosphere,

the closeness to nature and the gentle pace of living. Nothing can be compared,

he maintains, with the first cock crow, the twittering of birds at dawn, the sight

of the rising sun glinting on the trees and pastures. This idyllic pastoral scene is

only part of the picture. My friend fails to mention the long and friendless

winter evenings which are interrupted only by an occasional visit to the local

cinema-virtually the only form of entertainment. He says nothing about the

poor selection of goods in the shops, or about those unfortunate people who have

to travel from the country to the city every day to get to work. Why people are

prepared to tolerate a four hour journey each day for the dubious privilege of

living in the country is beyond my ken. They could be saved so much misery

and expense if they chose to live in the city where they rightly belong.

If you can do without the few pastoral pleasures of the country, you will find

the city can provide you with the best that life can offer. You never have to

travel miles to see your friends. They invariably live nearby and are always

available for an informal chat or an evening's entertainment. Some of my

acquaintances in the country come up to town once or twice a year to visit the

theatre as a special treat. For them this is a major operation which involves

considerable planning. As the play draws to its close, they wonder whether they

will ever catch that last train home. The city dweller never experiences anxieties

of this sort. The latest exhibitions, films, or plays are only a short bus ride away.

Shopping, too, is always a pleasure. There is so much variety that you never have

to make do with second best. Country people run wild when they go shopping

in the city and stagger home loaded with as many of the necessities of life as

they can carry. Nor is the city without its moments of beauty. There is something

comforting about the warm glow shed by advertisements on cold wet winter

nights. Few things could be more impressive than the peace that descends on

deserted city streets at week-ends when the thousands that travel to work every

day are tucked away in their homes in the country. It has always been a mystery

to me why city dwellers, who appreciate all these things, obstinately pretend

that they would prefer to live in the country.

nce3_42.txt

Cave exploration, or potholing, as it has

come to be known, is a relatively new

sport. Perhaps it is the desire for solitude

or the chance of making an unexpected

discovery that lures men down to the

depths of the earth. It is impossible to

give a satisfactory explanation for a pot-

holer's motives. For him, caves have the

same peculiar fascination which high

mountains have for the climber. They

arouse instincts which can only be dimly

understood.

Exploring really deep caves is not a

task for the Sunday afternoon rambler.

Such undertakings require the precise

planning and foresight of military opera-

tions. It can take as long as eight days to rig up rope ladders and to establish

supply bases before a descent can be made into a very deep cave. Precautions of

this sort are necessary, for it is impossible to foretell the exact nature of the

difficulties which will confront the potholer. The deepest known cave in the

world is the Gouffre Berger near Grenoble. It extends to a depth of 3723 feet.

This immense chasm has been formed by an underground stream which has

tunnelled a course through a flaw in the rocks. The entrance to the cave is on a

plateau in the Dauphine Alps. As it is only six feet across, it is barely noticeable.

The cave might never have been discovered had not the entrance been spotted

by the distinguished French potholer, Berger. Since its discovery, it has become

a sort of potholers' Everest. Though a number of descents have been made,

much of it still remains to be explored.

A team of potholers recently went down the Gouffre Berger. After entering

the narrow gap on the plateau, they climbed down the steep sides of the cave

until they came to a narrow corridor. They had to edge their way along this,

sometimes wading across shallow streams, or swimming across deep pools.

Suddenly they came to a waterfall which dropped into an underground lake at

the bottom of the cave. They plunged into the lake, and after loading their gear

on an inflatable rubber dinghy, let the current carry them to the other side. To

protect themselves from the icy water, they had to wear special rubber suits.

At the far end of the lake, they came to huge piles of rubble which had been

washed up by the water. In this part of the cave, they could hear an insistent

booming sound which they found was caused by a small water-spout shooting

down into a pool from the roof of the cave. Squeezing through a cleft in the

rocks, the potholers arrived at an enormous cavern, the size of a huge concert

hall. After switching on powerful arc lights, they saw great stalagmites--some

of them over forty feet high--rising up like tree-trunks to meet the stalactites

suspended from the roof. Round about, piles of lime-stone glistened in all the

colours of the rainbow. In the eerie silence of the cavern, the only sound that

could be heard was made by water which dripped continuously from the high

dome above them.

nce3_43.txt

Insurance companies are normally willing

to insure anything. Insuring public or

private property is a standard practice in

most countries in the world. If, however,

you were holding an open air garden party

or a fete it would be equally possible to

insure yourself in the event of bad

weather. Needless to say, the bigger the

risk an insurance company takes, the

higher the premium you will have to pay.

It is not uncommon to hear that a ship-

ping company has made a claim for the

cost of salvaging a sunken ship. But the

claim made by a local authority to recover

the cost of salvaging a sunken pie dish

must surely be unique.

Admittedly it was an unusual pie dish, for it was eighteen feet long and six

feet wide. It had been purchased by a local authority so that an enormous pie

could be baked for an annual fair. The pie committee decided that the best way

to transport the dish would be by canal, so they insured it for the trip. Shortly

after it was launched, the pie committee went to a local inn to celebrate. At the

same time, a number of teenagers climbed on to the dish and held a little party

of their own. Modern dances proved to be more than the disk could bear, for

during the party it capsized and sank in seven feet of water.

The pie committee telephoned a local garage owner who arrived in a recovery

truck to salvage the pie dish. Shivering in their wet clothes, the teenagers

looked on while three men dived repeatedly into the water to locate the dish.

They had little difficulty in finding it, but hauling it out of the water proved to

be a serious problem. The sides of the dish were so smooth that it was almost

impossible to attach hawsers and chains to the rim without damaging it. Even-

tually chains were fixed to one end of the dish and a powerful winch was put

into operation. The dish rose to the surface and was gently drawn towards the

canal bank. For one agonizing moment, the dish was perched precariously on

the bank of the canal, but it suddenly overbalanced and slid back into the water.

The men were now obliged to try once more. This time they fixed heavy metal

clamps to both sides of the dish so that they could fasten the chains. The dish

now had to be lifted vertically because one edge was resting against the side of

the canal. The winch was again put into operation and one of the men started

up the truck. Several minutes later, the dish was successfully hauled above the

surface of the water. Water streamed in torrents over its sides with such force

that it set up a huge wave in the canal. There was danger that the wave would

rebound off the other side of the bank and send the dish plunging into the water

again. By working at tremendous speed, the men managed to get the dish on to

dry land before the wave returned.

nce3_44.txt

People travelling long distances fre-

quently have to decide whether they

would prefer to go by land, sea, or air.

Hardly anyone can positively enjoy sitting

in a train for more than a few hours.

Train compartments soon get cramped

and stuffy. It is almost impossible to take

your mind off the journey. Reading is

only a partial solution, for the monotonous

rhythm of the wheels clicking on the

rails soon lulls you to sleep. During the

day, sleep comes in snatches. At night,

when you really wish to go to sleep, you

rarely manage to do so. If you are lucky

enough to get a couchette, you spend half

the night staring at the small blue light

in the ceiling, or fumbling to find your passport when you cross a frontier.

Inevitably you arrive at your destination almost exhausted. Long car journeys

are even less pleasant, for it is quite impossible even to read. On motor-ways you

can, at least, travel fairly safely at high speeds, but more often than not, the

greater part of the journey is spent on narrow, bumpy roads which are crowded

with traffic. By comparison, trips by sea offer a great variety of civilized com-

forts. You can stretch your legs on the spacious decks, play games, swim, meet

interesting people and enjoy good food--always assuming, of course, that the

sea is calm. If it is not, and you are likely to get sea-sick, no form of transport

could be worse. Even if you travel in ideal weather, sea journeys take a long

time. Relatively few people are prepared to sacrifice up to a third of their holidays

for the pleasure of travelling on a ship.

Aeroplanes have the reputation of being dangerous and even hardened travel-

lers are intimidated by them. They also have the grave disadvantage of being

the most expensive form of transport. But nothing can match them for speed

and comfort. Travelling at a height of 30,000 feet, far above the clouds, and at

over 500 miles an hour is an exhilarating experience. You do not have to devise

ways of taking your mind off the journey, for an aeroplane gets you to your

destination rapidly. For a few hours, you settle back in a deep armchair to enjoy

the flight. The real escapist can watch a free film show and sip champagne on

some services. But even when such refinements are not available, there is plenty

to keep you occupied. An aeroplane offers you an unusual and breathtaking

view of the world. You soar effortlessly over high mountains and deep valleys.

You really see the shape of the land. If the landscape is hidden from view, you

can enjoy the extraordinary sight of unbroken cloud plains that stretch out for

miles before you, while the sun shines brilliantly in a clear sky. The journey is

so smooth that there is nothing to prevent you from reading or sleeping. How-

ever you decide to spend your time, one thing is certain: you will arrive at your

destination fresh and uncrumpled. You will not have to spend the next few days

recovering from a long and arduous journey.

nce3_45.txt

In democratic countries any efforts to

restrict the freedom of the press are

rightly condemned. However, this free-

dom can easily be abused. Stories about

people often attract far more public atten-

tion than political events. Though we

may enjoy reading about the lives of

others, it is extremely doubtful whether

we would equally enjoy reading about

ourselves. Acting on the contention that

facts are sacred, reporters can cause

untold suffering to individuals by pub-

lishing details about their private lives.

Newspapers exert such tremendous in-

fluence that they can not only bring about

major changes to the lives of ordinary

people but can even overthrow a government.

The story of a poor family that acquired fame and fortune overnight, dramati-

cally illustrates the power of the press. The family lived in Aberdeen, a small

town of 23,000 inhabitants in South Dakota. As the parents had five children,

life was a perpetual struggle against poverty. They were expecting their sixth

child and faced with even more pressing economic problems. If they had

only had one more child, the fact would have passed unnoticed. They would

have continued to struggle against economic odds and would have lived in

obscurity. But they suddenly became the parents of quintuplets, four girls and

a boy, an event which radically changed their lives. The day after the birth of

the five children, an aeroplane arrived in Aberdeen bringing sixty reporters and

photographers. The news was of national importance, for the poor couple had

become the parents of the only quintuplets in America.

The rise to fame was swift. Television cameras and newspapers carried the

news to everyone in the country. Newspapers and magazines offered the family

huge sums for the exclusive rights to publish stories and photographs. Gifts

poured in not only from unknown people, but from baby food and soap manu-

facturers who wished to advertise their products. The old farmhouse the family

lived in was to be replaced by a new $100,000 home. Reporters kept pressing for

interviews so lawyers had to be employed to act as spokesmen for the family at

press conferences. The event brought serious changes to the town itself. Plans

were announced to build a huge new highway, as Aberdeen was now likely to

attract thousands of tourists. Signposts erected on the outskirts of the town

directed tourists not to Aberdeen, but to 'Quint-City U.S.A.' The local auth-

orities discussed the possibility of erecting a 'quint museum' to satisfy the

curiosity of the public and to protect the family from inquisitive tourists. While

the five babies were still quietly sleeping in oxygen tents in a hospital nursery,

their parents were paying the price for fame. It would never again be possible

for them to lead normal lives. They had become the victims of commercializa-

tion, for their names had acquired a market value. The town itself received so

much attention that almost every one of the inhabitants was affected to a greater

or less degree.

nce3_46.txt

So great is our passion for doing things

for ourselves, that we are becoming in-

creasingIy less dependent on specialized

labour. No one can plead ignorance of a

subject any longer, for there are countless

do-it-yourself publications. Armed with

the right tools and materials, newly-weds

gaily embark on the task of decorating

their own homes. Men of all ages spend

hours of their leisure time installing

their own fireplaces, laying-out their own

gardens; building garages and making

furniture. Some really keen enthusiasts go

so far as to build their own record

players and radio transmitters. Shops

cater for the do-it-yourself craze not only

by running special advisory services for novices, but by offering consumers bits

and pieces which they can assemble at home. Such things provide an excellent

outlet for pent-up creative energy, but unfortunately not all of us are born

handymen.

Wives tend to believe that their husbands are infinitely resourceful and

versatile. Even husbands who can hardly drive a nail in straight are supposed to

be born electricians, carpenters, plumbers and mechanics. When lights fuse,

furniture gets rickety, pipes get clogged, or vacuum cleaners fail to operate,

wives automatically assume that their husbands will somehow put things right.

The worst thing about the do-it-yourself game is that sometimes husbands live

under the delusion that they can do anything even when they have been repeat-

edly proved wrong. It is a question of pride as much as anything else.

Last spring my wife suggested that I call in a man to look at our lawn-mower.

It had broken down the previous summer, and though I promised to repair it,

I had never got round to it. I would not hear of the suggestion and said that I

would fix it myself. One Saturday afternoon, I hauled the machine into the

garden and had a close look at it. As far as I could see, it only needed a minor

adjustment: a turn of a screw here, a little tightening up there, a drop of oil

and it would be as good as new. Inevitably the repair job was not quite so simple.

The mower firmly refused to mow, so I decided to dismantle it. The garden was

soon littered with chunks of metal which had once made up a lawn-mower. But

I was extremely pleased with myself I had traced the cause of the trouble. One

of the links in the chain that drives the wheels had snapped. After buying a new

chain I was faced with the insurmountable task of putting the confusing jigsaw

puzzle together again. I was not surprised to find that the machine still refused

to work after I had reassembled it, for the simple reason that I was left with

several curiously shaped bits of metal which did not seem to fit anywhere. I

gave up in despair. The weeks passed and the grass grew. When my wife nagged

me to do something about it, I told her that either I would have to buy a new

mower or let the grass grow. Needless to say our house is now surrounded by a

jungle. Buried somewhere in deep grass there is a rusting lawn-mower which I

have promised to repair one day.

nce3_47.txt

Satellites orbiting round the earth have

provided scientists with a vast amount of

information about conditions in outer

space. By comparison, relatively little is

known about the internal structure of the

earth. It has proved easier to go up than

to go down. The deepest hole ever to be

bored on land went down 25,340 feet--

considerably less than the height of

Mount Everest. Drilling a hole under the

sea has proved to be even more difficult.

The deepest hole bored under sea has

been about 20,000 feet. Until recently,

scientists have been unable to devise a

drill which would be capable of cutting

through hard rock at great depths.

This problem has now been solved. Scientists have developed a method which

sounds surprisingly simple. A new drill which is being tested at Leona Valley

Ranch in Texas is driven by a turbine engine which is propelled by liquid mud

pumped into it from the surface. As the diamond tip of the drill revolves, it is

lubricated by mud. Scientists have been amazed to find that it can cut through

the hardest rock with great ease. The drill has been designed to bore through

the earth to a depth of 35,000 feet. It will enable scientists to obtain samples of

the mysterious layer which lies immediately below the earth's crust. This layer

is known as the Mohorovicic Discontinuity, but is commonly referred to as

'the Moho'.

Before it is possible to drill this deep hole, scientists will have to overcome a

number of problems. Geological tests will be carried out to find the point at

which the earth's crust is thinnest. The three possible sites which are being

considered are all at sea: two in the Atlantic Ocean and one in the Pacific. Once

they have determinded on a site, they will have to erect a drilling vessel which will

not be swept away by ocean currents. The vessel will consist of an immense

platform which will rise to 70 feet above the water. It will be supported by six

hollow columns which will descend to a depth of 60 feet below the ocean surface

where they will be fixed to a huge float. A tall steel tower rising to a height of

nearly 200 feet will rest on the platform. The drill will be stored in the tower

and will have to be lowered through about 15,000 feet of water before operations

can begin. Within the tower, there will be a laboratory, living accommodation

and a helicopter landing station. Keeping the platform in position at sea will

give rise to further problems. To do this, scientists will have to devise methods

using radar and underwater television. If, during the operations the drill has to

be withdrawn, it must be possible to re-insert it. Great care will therefore have

to be taken to keep the platform steady and make it strong enough to withstand

hurricanes. If the project is successful, scientists will not only learn a great deal

about the earth, but possibly about the nature of the universe itself.

nce3_48.txt

In this much-travelled world, there are

still thousands of places which are in-

accessible to tourists. We always assume

that villagers in remote places are friendly

and hospitable. But people who are cut off

not only from foreign tourists, but even

from their own countrymen can be hostile

to travellers. Visits to really remote

villages are seldom enjoyable--as my

wife and I discovered during a tour

through the Balkans.

We had spent several days in a small

town and visited a number of old churches

in the vicinity. These attracted many

visitors for they were not only of great

architectural interest, but contained a

large number of beautifully preserved frescoes as well. On the day before our

departure, several bus loads of tourists descended on the town. This was more

than we could bear,so we decided to spend our last day exploring the country-

side. Taking a path which led out of the town, we crossed a few fields until we

came to a dense wood. We expected the path to end abruptly, but we found that

it traced its way through the trees. We tramped through the wood for over two

hours until we arrived at a deep stream. We could see that the path continued on

the other side, but we had no idea how we could get across the stream. Suddenly

my wife spotted a boat moored to the bank. In it there was a boatman fast asleep.

We gently woke him up and asked him to ferry us to the other side. Though he

was reluctant to do so at first, we eventually persuaded him to take us.

The path led to a tiny village perched on the steep sides of a mountain. The

place consisted of a straggling unmade road which was lined on either side by

small houses. Even under a clear blue sky, the village looked forbidding, as all

the houses were built of grey mud bricks. The village seemed deserted, the only

sign of life being an ugly-looking black goat tied to a tree on a short length of

rope in a field nearby. Sitting down on a dilapidated wooden fence near the

field, we opened a couple of tins of sardines and had a picnic lunch. All at once,

I noticed that my wife seemed to be filled with alarm. Looking up I saw that we

were surrounded by children in rags who were looking at us silently as we ate. We

offered them food and spoke to them kindly, but they remained motionless. I

concluded that they were simply shy of strangers. When we later walked down

the main street of the village, we were followed by a silent procession of children.

The village which had seemed deserted, immediately came to life. Faces ap-

peared at windows. Men in shirt sleeves stood outside their houses and glared

at us. Old women in black shawls peered at us from door-ways. The most

frightening thing of all was that not a sound could be heard. There was no doubt

that we were unwelcome visitors. We needed no further warning. Turning back

down the main street, we quickened our pace and made our way rapidly towards

the stream where we hoped the boatman was waiting.

nce3_49.txt

It is a good thing my aunt Harriet died

years ago. If she were alive today she

would not be able to air her views on her

favourite topic of conversation: domestic

servants. Aunt Harriet lived in that

leisurely age when servants were em-

ployed to do housework. She had a huge,

rambling country house called 'The

Gables'. She was sentimentally attached

to this house, for even though it was far

too big for her needs, she persisted in

living there long after her husband's

death. Before she grew old, aunt Harriet

used to entertain lavishly. I often visited

The Gables when I was a boy. No matter

how many guests were present, the great

house was always immaculate. The parquet floors shone like mirrors; highly

polished silver was displayed in gleaming glass cabinets; even my uncle's huge

collection of books was kept miraculously free from dust. Aunt Harriet presided

over an invisible army of servants that continuously scrubbed, cleaned, and

polished. She always referred to them as' the shifting population', for they came

and went with such frequency that I never even got a chance to learn their names,

Though my aunt pursued what was, in those days, an enlightened policy in that

she never allowed her domestic staff to work more than eight hours a day, she

was extremely difficult to please. While she always decried the fickleness of

human nature, she carried on an unrelenting search for the ideal servant to the

end of her days, even after she had been sadly disillusioned by Bessie.

Bessie worked for aunt Harriet for three years. During that time she so

gained my aunt's confidence, that she was put in charge of the domestic staff.

Aunt Hariet could not find words to praise Bessie's industry and efficiency. In

addition to all her other qualifications, Bessie was an expert cook. She acted the

role of the perfect servant for three years before aunt Harriet discovered her

'little weakness'. After being absent from The Gables for a week, my aunt

unexpectedly returned one afternoon with a party of guests and instructed

Bessie to prepare dinner. Not only was the meal well below the usual standard,

but Bereie seemed unable to walk steadily. She bumped into the furniture and

kept mumbling about the guests. When she came in with the last course--a

huge pudding-she tripped on the carpet and the pudding went flying through

the air, narrowly missed my aunt, and crashed on the dining table with con-

siderable force. Though this occasioned great mirth among the guests, aunt

Harriet was horrified. She reluctantly came to the conclusion that Bessie was

drunk. The guests had, of course, realized this from the moment Bessie opened

the door for them and, long before the final catastrophe, had had a difficult

time trying to conceal their amusement. The poor girl was dismissed instantly.

After her departure, aunt Harriet discovered that there were piles of empty

wine bottles of all shapes and sizes neatly stacked in what had once been Bessie's

wardrobe. They had mysteriously found their way there from the wine-cellar!

nce3_50.txt

The New Year is a time for resolutions.

Mentally, at least, most of us could com-

pile formidable lists of ' do's' and' don'ts '.

The same old favourites recur year in

year out with monotonous regularity. We

resolve to get up earlier each morning,

eat less, find more time to play with the

children, do a thousand and one jobs

about the house, be nice to people we

don't like, drive carefully, and take the

dog for a walk every day. Past experience

has taught us that certain accomplish-

ments are beyond attainment. If we

remain inveterate smokers, it is only

because we have so often experienced the

frustration that results from failure. Most

of us fail in our efforts at self-improvement because our schemes are too am-

bitious and we never have time to carry them out. We also make the fundamental

error of announcing our resolutions to everybody so that we look even more

foolish when we slip back into our bad old ways. Aware of these pitfalls, this

year I attempted to keep my resolutions to myself. I limited myself to two modest

ambitions: to do physical exercises every morning and to read more of an

evening. An all-night party on New Year's Eve,provided me with a good excuse

for not carrying out either of these new resolutions on the first day of the year,

but on the second, I applied myself assiduously to the task.

The daily exercises lasted only eleven minutes and I proposed to do them

early in the morning before anyone had got up. The self-discipline required to

drag myself out of bed eleven minutes earlier than usual was considerable.

Nevertheless, I managed to creep down into the living-room for two days before

anyone found me out. After jumping about on the carpet and twisting the

human frame into uncomfortable positions, I sat down at the breakfast table in

an exhausted condition. It was this that betrayed me. The next morning the

whole family trooped in to watch the performance. That was really unsettling

but I fended off the taunts and jibes of the family good-humouredly and soon

everybody got used to the idea. However, my enthusiasm waned. The,time I

spent at exercises gradually diminished. Little by little the eleven minutes fell to

zero. By January 10th, I was back to where I had started from. I argued that if I

spent less time exhausting myself at exercises in the morning I would keep my

mind fresh for reading when I got home from work. Resisting the hypnotizing

effect of television, I sat in my room for a few evenings with my eyes glued to a

book, one night, however, feeling cold and lonely, I went downstairs and sat in

front of the television pretending to read. That proved to be my undoing, for I

soon got back to my old bad habit of dozing off in front of the screen. I still

haven't given up my resolution to do more reading. In fact, I have just bought a

book entitled 'How to Read a Thousand Words a Minute'. Perhaps it will

solve my problem, but I just haven't had time to read it!

nce3_51.txt

One of the greatest advances in modern

technology has been the invention of

computers. They are already widely used

in industry and in universities and the

time may come when it will be possible

for ordinary people to use them as well.

Computers are capable of doing extre-

mely complicated work in all branches of

learning. They can solve the most com-

plex mathematical problems or put

thousands of unrelated facts in order.

These machines can be put to varied uses.

For instance, they can provide informa-

tion on the best way to prevent traffic

accidents, or they can count the number

of times the word 'and' has been used in

the Bible. Because they work accurately and at high speeds, they save research

workers years of hard work. This whole process by which machines can be used

to work for us has been called automation. In the future, automation may enable

human beings to enjoy far more leisure than they do today. The coming of

automation is bound to have important social consequences.

Some time ago an expert,on automation, Sir Leon Bagrit, pointed out that it

was a mistake to believe that these machines could 'think'. There is no pos-

sibility that human beings will be 'controlled by machines'. Though computers

are capable of learning from their mistakes and improving on their performance

they need detailed instructions from human beings in order to be able to operate.

They can never, as it were, lead independent lives, or 'rule the world' by making

decisions of their own.

Sir Leon said that in the future, computers would be developed which would

be small enough to carry in the pocket. Ordinary people would then be able to

use them to obtain valuable information. Computers could be plugged into a

national network and be used like radios. For instance, people going on holiday

could be informed about weather conditions; car drivers could be given alter-

native routes when there are traffic jams. It will also be possible to make tiny

translating machines. This will enable people who do not share a common

language to talk to each other without any difficulty or to read foreign publi-

cations. It is impossible to assess the importance of a machine of this sort, for

many international misunderstandings are caused simply through our failure to

understand each other. Computers will also be used in hospitals. By providing

a machine with a patient's symptoms, a doctor will be able to diagnose the

nature of his illness. Similarly, machines could be used to keep a check on a

patient's health record and bring it up to date. Doctors will therefore have

immediate access to a great many facts which will help them in their work.

Book-keepers and accountants, too, could be relieved of dull clerical work, for

the tedious task of compiling and checking lists of figures could be done entirely

by machines. Computers are the most efficient servants man has ever had and

there is no limit to the way they can be used to improve our lives.

nce3_52.txt

My cousin, Harry, keeps a large curiously

shaped bottle on permanent display in

his study. Despite the fact that the bottle

is tinted a delicate shade of green, an

observant visitor would soon notice that

it is filled with what looks like a thick

greyish substance. If you were to ask

Harry what was in the bottle, he would

tell you that it contained perfumed mud.

If you expressed doubt or surprise, he

would immediately invite you to smell it

and then to rub some into your skin. This

brief experiment would dispel any further

doubts you might entertain. The bottle

really does contain perfumed mud. How

Harry came into the possession of this

outlandish stuff makes an interesting story which he is fond of relating. Further-

more, the acquisition of this bottle cured him of a bad habit he had been

developing for years.

Harry used to consider it a great joke to go into expensive cosmetic shops and

make outrageous requests for goods that do not exist. He would invent fanciful

names on the spot. On entering a shop, he would ask for a new perfume called

'Scented Shadow' or for 'insoluble bath cubes'. If a shop girl told him she had

not heard of it, he would pretend to be considerably put out. He loved to be told

that one of his imaginary products was temporarily out of stock and he would

faithfully promise to call again at some future date, but of course he never did.

How Harry managed to keep a straight face during these performances is quite

beyond me.

Harry does not need to be prompted to explain how he bought his precious

bottle of mud. One day, he went to an exclusive shop in London and asked for

'Myrolite'. The shop assistant looked puzzled and Harry repeated the word,

slowly stressing each syllable. When the girl shook her head in bewilderment,

Harry went on to explain that 'myrolite' was a hard, amber-like substance

which could be used to remove freckles. This explanation evidently conveyed

something to the girl who searched shelf after shelf. She produced all sorts of

weird concoctions, but none of them met with Harry's requirements. When

Harry put on his act of being mildly annoyed, the girl promised to order some

for him. Intoxicated by his success, Harry then asked for perfumed mud. He

expected the girl to look at him in blank astonishment. However, it was his turn

to be surprised, for the girl's eyes immediately lit up and she 'fetched several

botties which she placed on the counter for Harry to inspect. For once, Harry

had to admit defeat. He picked up what seemed to be the smallest bottle and

discreetly asked the price. He was glad to get away with a mere five guineas and

he beat a hasty retreat, clutching the precious bottle under his arm. From then

on, Harry decided that this little game he had invented might prove to be

expensive. The curious bottle which now adorns the bookcase in his study was

his first and last purchase of rare cosmetics.

nce3_53.txt

The Scandinavian countries are much

admired all over the world for their

enlightened social policies. Sweden has

evolved an excellent system for protecting

the individual citizen from high-handed

or incompetent public officers. The sys-

tem has worked so well, that it has been

adopted in other countries like Denmark,

Norway, Finland, and New Zealand.

Even countries with large populations

like Britain and the United States are

seriously considering imitating the

Swedes.

The Swedes were the first to recognize

that public officials like civil servants,

collectors can make mistakes or act over-zealously in the belief that they are

serving the public. As long ago as 1809, the Swedish Parliament introduced a

scheme to safeguard the interest of the individual. A parliamentary committee

representing all political parties appoints a person who is suitably qualified to

investigate private grievances against the State. The official title of the person is

'Justiteombudsman', but the Swedes commonly refer to him as the 'J.O.' or

'Ombudsman'. The Ombudsman is not subject to political pressure. He

investigates complaints large and small that come to him from all levels of society.

As complaints must be made in writing, the Ombudsman receives an average of

1200 letters a year. He has eight lawyer assistants to help him and he examines

every single letter in detail. There is nothing secretive about the Ombudsman's

work, for his correspondence is open to public inspection. If a citizen's complaint

is justified, the Ombudsman will act on his behalf.The action he takes varies

according to the nature of the complaint. He may gently reprimand an official

or even suggest to parliament that a law be altered. The following case is a

typical example of the Ombudsman's work.

A foreigner living in a Swedish village wrote to the Ombudsman complaining

that he had been ill-treated by the police, simply because he was a foreigner.

The Ombudsman immediately wrote to the Chief of Police in the district asking

him to send a record of the case. There was nothing in the record to show that

the foreigner's complaint was justified and the Chief of Police stoutly denied the

accusation. It was impossible for the Ombudsman to take action, but when he

received a similar complaint from another foreigner in the same village, he

immediately sent one of his lawyers to investigate the matter. The lawyer

ascertained that a policeman had indeed dealt roughly with foreigners on several

occasions. The fact that the policeman was prejudiced against foreigners could

not be recorded in he official files. It was only possible for the Ombudsman tO

find this out by sending one of his representatives to check the facts. The

policeman in question was severely reprimanded and was informed that if any

further complaints were lodged against him, he would be prosecuted. The

Ombudsman's prompt action at once put an end to an unpleasant practice

which might have gone unnoticed.

nce3_54.txt

We have been brought up to fear insects.

We regard them as unnecessary creatures

that do more harm than good. Man con-

tinually wages war on item, for they

contaminate his food, carry diseases, or

devour his crops. They sting or bite

without provocation; they fly uninvited

into our rooms on summer nights, or

beat against our lighted windows. We

live in dread not only of unpleasant

insects like spiders or wasps, but of quite

harmless ones like moths. Reading about

them increases our understanding with

out dispelling our fears. Knowing that

the industrious ant lives in a highly

organized society does nothing to prevent

us from being filled with revulsion when we find hordes of them crawling over a

carefully prepared picnic lunch. No matter how much we like honey, or how

much we have read about the uncanny sense of direction which bees possess,

we have a horror of being stung. Most of our fears are unreasonable, but they

are impossible to erase. At the same time, however, insects are strangely fas-

cinaing. We enjoy reading about them, especially when we find that, like the

praying mantis, they lead perfectly horrible lives. We enjoy staring at them

entranced as they go about their business, unaware (we hope) of our presence.

Who has not stood in awe at the sight of a spider pouncing on a fly, or a column

of ants triumphantly bearing home an enormous dead beetle ?

Last summer I spent days in the garden watching thousands of ants crawling

up the trunk of my prize peach tree. The tree has grown against a warm wall on

a sheltered side of the house. I am especially proud of it, not only because it

has survived several severe winters, but because it occasionally produces luscious

peaches. During the summer, I noticed that the leaves of the tree were beginning

to wither. Clusters of tiny insects called aphides were to be found on the under-

side of the leaves. They were visited by a laop colony of ants which obtained a

sort of honey from them. I immediately embarked on an experiment which, even

though it failed to get rid of the ants, kept me fascinated for twenty-four hours.

I bound the base of the tree with sticky tape , making it impossible for the ants

to reach the aphides. The tape was so sticky that they did not dare to cross it. For

a long time, I watched them scurrying around the base of the tree in bewilder-

ment. I even went out at midnight with a torch and noted with satisfaction (and

surprise) that the ants were still swarming around the sticky tape without being

able to do anything about it. I got up early next morning hoping to find that the

ants had given up in despair. Instead, I saw that they had discovered a new

route. They were climbing up the wall of the house and then on to the leaves of

the tree. I realized sadly that I had been completely defeated by their ingenuity.

The ants had been quick to find an answer to my thoroughly unscientific

methods!

nce3_55.txt

Radio astronomy has greatly increased

our understanding of the universe. Radio

telescopes have one big advantage over

conventional telescopes in that they can

operate in all weather conditions and can

pick up signals coming from very distant

stars. These signals are produced by

colliding stars or nuclear reactions in

outer space. The most powerful signals

that have been received have been emitted

by what seem to be truly colossal stars

which scientists have named 'quasars'.

A better understanding of these pheno-

mena may completely alter our concep-

tion of the nature of the universe. The

radio telescope at Jodrell Bank in

England was for many years the largest in the world. A new telescope, over

twice the size, was recently built at Sugar Grove in West Virginia.

Astronomers no longer regard as fanciful the idea that they may one day

pick up signals which have been sent by intelligent beings on other worlds.

This possibility gives rise to interesting speculations. Highly advanced civiliza-

tions may have existed on other planets long before intelligent forms of life

evolved on the earth. Conversely, intelligent being which are just beginning to

develop on remote worlds may be ready to pick up our signals in thousands of

years' time, or when life on earth has become extinct. Such speculations no

longer belong to the realm of science fiction, for astronomers are now exploring

the chances of communicating with living creatures (if they exist) on distant

planets. This undertaking which has been named Project Ozma was begun in

1960, but it may take a great many years before results are obtained.

Aware of the fact that it would be impossible to wait thousands or millions of

years to receive an answer from a distant planet, scientists engaged in Project

Ozma are concentrating their attention on stars which are relatively close. One

of the most likely stars is Tau Ceti which is eleven light years away. If signals

from the earth were received by intelligent creatures on a planet circling this

star, we would have to wait twenty-two years for an answer. The Green Bank

telescope in West Virginia has been specially designed to distinguish between

random signals and signals which might be in code. Even if contact were

eventually established, astronomers would not be able to rely on language to

communicate with other beings. They would use mathematics as this is the

only truly universal language. Numbers have the same value anywhere. For

this reason, intelligent creatures in any part of the universe would be able to

understand a simple arithmetical sequence. They would be able to reply to our

signals using similar methods. The next step would be to try to develop means

for sending television pictures. A single picture would tell us more than thou-

sands of words. In an age when anything seems to be possible, it would be

narrow-minded in the extreme to ridicule these attempts to find out if there is

life in other parts of the universe.

nce3_56.txt

The river which forms the eastern bound-

ary of our farm has always played an

important part in our lives. Without it

we could not make a living. There is only

enough spring water to supply the needs

of the house, so we have to pump from

the river for farm use. We tell the river

all our secrets. We know instinctively,

just as beekeepers with their bees, that

misfortune might overtake us if the

important events of our lives were not

related to it.

We have special river birthday parties

in the summer. Sometimes we go up-

stream to a favourite backwater, some-

times we have our party at the boathouse,

which a predecessor of ours at the farm built in the meadow hard by the deepest

pool for swimming and diving. In a heat-wave we choose a midnight birthday

party and that is the most exciting of all. We welcome the seasons by the river-

side, crowning the youngest girl with flowers in the spring, holding a summer

festival on Midsummer Eve, giving thanks for the harvest in the autumn, and

throwing a holly wreath into the current in the winter.

After a long period of rain the river may overflow its banks. This is a rare

occurrence as our climate seldom god to extremes. We are lucky in that only

the lower fields, which make up a very small proportion of our farm, are affected

by flooding, but other farms are less favourably sited, and flooding can sometimes

spell disaster for their owners.

One bad winter we watched the river creep up the lower meadows. All the

cattle had been moved into stalls and we stood to lose little. We were, however,

worried about our nearest neighbours, whose farm was low lying and who were

newcomers to the district. As the floods had put the telephone out of order, we

could not find out how they were managing. From an attic window we could

get a sweeping view of the river where their land joined ours, and at the most

critical juncture we took turns in watching that point. The first sign of disaster

was a dead sheep floating down. Next came a horse, swimming bravely, but we

were afraid that the strength of the current would prevent its landing anywhere

before it became exhausted. Suddenly a raft appeared, looking rather like

Noah's ark, carrying the whole family, a few hens, the dogs, a cat, and a bird in

a cage. We realized that they must have become unduly frightened by the

rising flood, for their house, which had sound foundations, would have stood

stoutly even if it had been almost submerged. The men of our family waded

down through our flooded meadows with boathooks, in the hope of being able

to grapple a corner of the raft and pull it out of the current towards our bank.

We still think it a miracle that they were able to do so.

nce3_57.txt

I stopped to let the car cool off and to

study the map. I had expected to be near

my objective by now, but everything still

seemed alien to me. I was only five when

my father had taken me abroad, and that

was eighteen years ago. When my mother

had died after a tragic accident, he did

not quickly recover from the shock and

loneliness. Everything around him was

full of her presence, continually re-

opening the wound. So he decided to

emigrate. In the new country he became

absorbed in making a new life for the

two of us, so that he gradually ceased to

grieve. He did not marry again and I was

brought up without a woman's care; but

I lacked for nothing, for he was both father and mother to me. He always meant

to go back one day but not to stay. His roots and mine had become too firmly

embedded in the new land. But he wanted to see the old folk again and to visit

my mother's grave. He became mortally ill a few months before we had planned

to go and, when he knew that he was dying, he made me promise to go on

my own.

I hired a car the day after landing and bought a comprehensive book of maps,

which I found most helpful on the cross country journey, but which I did not

think I should need on the last stage. It was not that I actually remembered

anything at all. But my father had described over and over again what we should

see at every milestone, after leaving the nearest town, so that I was positive I

should recognize it as familiar territory. Well, I had been wrong, for I was

now lost.

I looked at the map and then at the milometer. I had come ten miles since

leaving the town, and at this point, according to my father, I should be looking

at farms and cottages in a valley, with the spire of the church of our village

showing in the far distance. I could see no valley, no farms, no cottages and no

church spire--only a lake. I decided that I must have taken a wrong turning

somewhere. So I drove back to the town and began to retrace the route, taking

frequent glances at the map. I landed up at the same corner. The curious thing

was that the lake was not marked on the map. I felt as if I had stumbled into a

nightmare country, as you sometimes do in dreams. And, as in a nightmare,

there was nobody in sight to help me. Fortunately for me, as I was wondering

what to do next, there appeared on the horizon a man on horseback, riding in

my direction. I waited till he came near, then I asked him the way to our old

village. He said that there was now no village. I thought he must have mis-

understood me. so I repeated its name. This time he pointed to the lake. The

village no longer existed because it had been submerged, and all the valley too.

The lake was not a natural one, but a man made reservoir.

nce3_58.txt

The old lady was glad to be back at the

block of flats where she lived. Her shop-

ping had tired her and her basket had

grown heavier with every step of the way

home. In the lift her thoughts were on

lunch and a good rest; but when she got

out at her own floor, both were forgotten

in her sudden discovery that her front

door was open. She was thinking that she

must reprimand her daily maid the next

morning for such a monstrous piece of

negligence, when she remembered that

she had gone shopping after the maid had

left and she knew that she had turned

both keys in their locks. She walked

slowly into the hall and at once noticed

that all the room doors were open, yet following her regular practice she had

shut them before going out. Looking into the drawing room, she saw a scene of

confusion over by her writing desk. It was as clear as daylight then that burglars

had forced an entry during her absence. Her first impulse was to go round all

the rooms looking for the thieves, but then she decided that at her age it might

be more prudent to have someone with her, so she went to fetch the porter from

his basement. By this time her legs were beginning to tremble, so she sat down

and accepted a cup of very strong tea, while he telephoned the police. Then,

her composure regained, she was ready to set off with the porter's assistance to

search for any intruders who might still be lurking in her flat.

They went through the rooms, being careful to touch nothing, as they did

not want to hinder the police in their search for fingerprints. The chaos was

inconceivable. She had lived in the flat for thirty years and was a veritable

magpie at hoarding; and it seemed as though everything she possessed had

been tossed out and turned over and over. At least sorting out the things she

should have discarded years ago was now being made easier for her. Then a

police inspector arrived with a constable and she told them of her discovery of

the ransacked flat. The inspector began to look for fingerprints, while the

constable checked that the front door locks had not been forced, thereby

proving that the burglars had either used skeleton keys or entered over the

balcony. There was no trace of fingerprints, but the inspector found a dirty red

bundle that contained jewellery which the old lady said was not hers. So their

entry into this flat was apparently not the burglars' first job that day and they

must have been disturbed. The inspector then asked the old lady to try to

check what was missing by the next day and advised her not to stay alone in the

flat for a few nights. The old lady thought he was a fussy creature, but since the

porter agreed with him, she rang up her daughter and asked for her help in

what she described as a little spot of bother.

nce3_59.txt

People tend to amass possessions, some-

times without being aware of doing so.

Indeed they can have a delightful surprise

when they find something useful which

they did not know they owned. Those

who never have to change house become

indiscriminate collectors of what can only

be described as clutter. They leave un-

wanted objects in drawers, cupboards and

attics for years, in the belief that they

may one day need just those very things.

As they grow old, people also accumulate

belongings for two other reasons, lack of

physical and mental energy, both of

which are essential in turning out and

throwing away, and sentiment. Things

owned for a long time are full of associations with the past, perhaps with relatives

who are dead, and so they gradually acquire a value beyond their true worth.

Some things are collected deliberately in the home in an attempt to avoid

waste. Among these I would list string and brown paper, kept by thrifty people

when a parcel has been opened, to save buying these two requisites. ColleCting

small items can easily become a mania. I know someone who always cuts out

from newspapers sketches of model clothes that she would like to buy, if she had

the money. As she is not rich, the chances that she will ever be able to afford

such purchases are remote; but she is never sufficiently strongrminded to be

able to stop the practice. It is a harmless habit, but it litters up her desk to such

an extent that every time she opens it, loose bits of paper fall out in every

direction.

Collecting as a serious hobby is quite different and has many advantages. It

provides relaxation for leisure hours, as just looking at one's treasures is always

a joy. One does not have to go outside for amusement, since the collection is

housed at home. Whatever it consists of , stamps, records, first editions of books,

china, glass, antique furniture, pictures, model cars, stuffed birds, toy animals,

there is always something to do in connection with it, from finding the right

place for the latest addition to verifying facts in reference books. This hobby

educates one not only in the chosen subject, but also in general matters which

have some bearing on it. There are also other benefits. One wants to meet

like-minded collectors, to get advice, to compare notes, to exchange articles, to

show off the latest find. So one's circle of friends grows. Soon the hobby leads

to travel, perhaps to a meeting in another town, possibly a trip abroad in search

of a rare specimen, for collectors are not confined to any one country. Over the

years one may well become an authority on one's hobby and will very probably

be asked to give informal talks to little gatherings and then, if successful, to

larger audiences. In this way self-confidence grows, first from mastering a

subject, then from being able to talk about it. Collecting, by occupying spare

time so constructively, makes a person contented, with no time for boredom.

nce3_60.txt

Punctuality is a necessary habit in all

public affairs of a civilized society. With-

out it, nothing could ever be brought to a

conclusion; everything would be in a

state of chaos. Only in a sparsely-

populated rural community is it possible

to disregard it. In ordinary living there

can be some tolerance of unpunctuality.

The intellectual, who is working on some

abstruse problem, has everything co-

ordinated and organized for the matter in

hand. He is therefore forgiven, if late for

a dinner party. But people are often

reproached for unpunctuality when their

only fault is cutting things fine. It is hard

for energetic, quick-minded people to

waste time, so they are often tempted to finish a job before setting out to keep

an appointment. If no accidents occur on the way, like punctured tyres, diver-

sions of traffic, sudden descent of fog, they will be on time. They are often more

industrious, useful citizens than those who are never late. The over-punctual

can be as much a trial to others as the unpunctual. The guest who arrives half

an hour too soon is the greatest nuisance. Some friends of my family had this

irritating habit. The only thing to do was ask them to come half an hour later

than the other guests. Then they arrived just when we wanted them.

If you are catching a train, it is always better to be comfortably early than

even a fraction of a minute too late. Although being early may mean wasting a

little time, this will be less than if you miss the train and have to wait an hour

or more for the next one; and you avoid the frustration of arriving at the very

moment when the train is drawing out of the station and being unable to get on

it. An even harder situation is to be on the platform in good time for a train and

still to see it go off without you. Such an experience befell a certain young girl

the first time she was travelling alone.

She entered the station twenty minutes before the train was due, since her

parents had impressed upon her that it would be unforgivable to miss it and

cause the friends with whom she was going to stay to make two journeys to

meet her. She gave her luggage to a porter and showed him her ticket. To her

horror he said that she was two hours too soon. She felt in her handbag for the

piece of paper on which her father had written down all the details of the

journey and give it to the porter. He agreed that a train did come into the station

at the time on the paper and that it did stop, but only to take on water, not

passengers. The girl asked to see a timetable, feeling sure that her father could

not have made such a mistake. The porter went to fetch one and arrived back

with the stationmaster, who produced it with a flourish and pointed out a

microscopic 'o' beside the time of the arrival of the train at his station; this

little 'o' indicated that the train only stopped for water. Just as that moment

the train came into the station. The girl, tears streaming down her face, begged

to be allowed to slip into the guard's van. But the stationmaster was adamant:

rules could not be broken. And she had to watch that train disappear towards

her destination while she was left behind.