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SHEPPARD & GILL L U M B E R Wommm Notice is hereby given that unless the arrears of taxes and costs are sooner paid, the Treasurer will pro- ceed to sell' the land! on the day and at the place named in such list pub- lished in the Ontario Gazette. The date of the sale namedI in the said list is the sixth day of November 1941, at ten o’clock a.mL Standard Time. The sale will take place at the office of the Treasurer of t'ce Township of Vaughan in Maple, Ont. Datediat Maple this 18th day of July, 1941. THE. WISEST DOLLAR EVER SPENTâ€"-TO THES ‘LUMBER‘IARD \S SENT Copies of the list of lands for sale for arrears of taxes may be had in the office of the Treasurer, J. M. McDonald, Maple, Ontario. The list of lands for sale for arrears of taxes in the Township of Vaughan was published in the Ontario Gazette on the fourth day of August 1941. THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 6th, 1941. HALL’S 9 $151? W@E fi STATI ©N a Hall’s Service Station gas and oil will do a great deal toward keeping you and your car from getting cranky. They mean long life for your motor. COMPAN Y OPPOSITE ORANGE HOME “Be Ready With Reddy Power” TOWNSHIP OF VAUGHAN TAX SALE NOTICE RICHMOND HILL A strange thing had come to pass. She wasn’t trightened any more. There were plenty of raids after that, of course, but she just went onâ€"‘feeling as if nothing .much were happening,’ as she put it. The worst had happened and fear was dead. During the two nights and nearly two lHow‘one hopes merciful as that! “I was so frightened, most of the fact. “It was a terrilble strain.” “It was a terrible strain.” Then came the night when it hap- pened. She and another woman sat on their fbeds, listening to that dreadful din. “We heard two drop‘ quite near,” she said, “and we heard the houses fall‘. Then a third dropp~ ed, and my friend said, ‘Well, there won’t be any more now. We’ll be aid right now.’ And directly she had spoken it came â€" that whistling sound, and now right over us. We clalprped our hands to our ears..and‘ that’s the last fihing I remember. I don"t even remember being hit by anything. I just passed right out.” How one hopes that it is often as That was on a Thursday night. On Saturday afternoon Cookie was hauled out of the ruins and laid, a ragged and unconscious creature, on the sidewalk. ' “It was .cold- and rainy," said’ Cookie, “and I think it was the rain- on my face that brought me round." She is vague about all that; for a whole week memory didn’t function. That week is still almost a blank. In hospital she just lay and thought of nothing. Then, when she had re- covered from her slight injuries â€" another miracle!â€"â€"she went back to what stood for her as ordinary life. FEAR HAD DISAPPEARED For nine months she lived in that nightmare of fire and crashes and death; and during that time she lost over forty pounds in weightâ€"â€" and who can wonder at it? This little bit of information cropped up when we spoke of clothes. Being women, I guess we shall be pardoned for giving a few words to that. Cookie lest everything in the world; every stitch except a splinter-tom nightdress, it seems; and then the story followed: NIGHTMARE OF DEATH (By MARGARET BUTCHER) In the gardens near here I met “Cookie.” (No, I don’t know her real name; it doesn’t matter, any- way!) She is tall and fair and smil- ing; one of those people whom one recognizes, at once, as clearâ€"minded and sympathetic. .She works in a local restaurant, where I have often- seen her, looking very neat and smart in a white linen coat with red‘ facings; She is about twice my size, and looks down on me with a friendly eye. I"ve often thought it might be nice to talk to “Cookie.” And today the chance came. How does one slip from one sub- ject to another â€"â€" from common- iplaces to intimate things? I don’t know; but it just happens that way. That's how it was with Cookie and me. It was her afternoon off ~â€" and mine too â€"â€" so we walked to- gether as far as the gate; and in that comparatively short distance I found out much. The chief thing I discovered is that I was right about lher. She didn‘t tell me a hard-lluek 'story, or anything like that; it was just a normal exchange of views. during which the facts crept in somehow; and that is how I learnt that Cookie is a brave and wonder- ful woman. She doesn’t think so, ‘of course: she is merely of the opin- ion â€" and no mean one, at that!â€"_â€" that one should help others over the bad patches, having negotiated them oneself; and never mind about reâ€" ‘payment of thanks or praise. She seemed to regard it as a rather orâ€" dinary affair, but I wondered (and‘ am still wondering) if it is humanly possible to get much further than that. I doubt it. Cookie â€"- almost needless to re- markâ€"has been bombed out; and I find that this uncomfortable exâ€" perience happened uneasily near my old home in London. Candidly, I’m glad it was no longer my home at that time! Here is the heart-stirring tale of an ordinary every day Englishwoman â€"a waitress in a restaurant â€" who having lost her husband' and two banies and lying three day-s uncon- scious in the bombed ruins of her home carries on with the indomit- able con-rage of her race. Add the story of the two Russian refugees and Margaret Butcher has given us a letter out of the ordinary. It was written for the Free Press Herald‘ and The Liberal. “COOKIE” LOST ALL FEAR AFTER BEING BOMBED AND UNCONSCIOUS FOR THREE DAYS You see, that isn‘t quite all the story. There was something else, rather a long while agoâ€"when she was a very young woman indeed. Cookie isn’t even middle-aged yet, but experience hasn’t passed her over â€"â€" or treated her kindly. Her husband and two babies were killed in a car accident, and she herself \was badly injured. She didn’t want to go on at all; I guess that‘s easy ‘to understand. But there was a doc- tor: a lifelong friend of her hus- lband's; and he took things in hand 'when he thought that she had had. llong enough to cherish her griefz poor thing. He must have been a wise and sensible doctor, for he told her that there was something ahead of her: something for which she had 'to ‘huck up’ and face life again. I expect he knew our Cookie well en- ough to see that nothing so good as that should be wasted. Yesterday, while I was listening to the radio, with its grim news of this ever-spreading business, I found myself thinking, once again, of something that has popped into my brain many times lately. I wonder if anybody else has recalled that particular scrap from the dim time 'now known as ‘the‘ last war?’ I 'don’t remember reading anything a- bout it, but it is extraordinarily apt. Just a joke in one of our bestâ€"known humorous periodicals; that’s all. But the artist who illustrated it never imagined, I’m sure, that he was per- petuating something which, in an- other twenty-five years, was going to have a grim â€"â€" and quite stagger- ing â€"â€" significance. He simply show- ed us a drawing of a countryman She laughed a little here, remem- bering. ' “He slapgped me!” she said. “A real, hard slap.” Ecxellent, Doctor! So that is the story of Cookieâ€"â€" who wasslarpped) back to harsh real- ity, to perform marvels of courage with the teapot, and show the rest of us how a human ‘being‘ can be- have at a time when behaviour is dreadfully important. The world is a madl place, of course, but it is certainly turning out some fine folk. I have a cup of tea beside me at this moment. I raise it toâ€" Oookie, one of the best! JOKE FROM LAST WAR ‘Cookie and- her teapot, going out to â€"when she could possibly find a ‘meet what seemed like certain death spare hourâ€"getting down to her ...and‘ not a pleasant one. I am be- flower-painting. It was quite good ginning to wonder if I shall evei‘ipainting, too, She was very temp- drink another cup of tea \vithoutleramental, of course: subject to fits having the thought of her some- of gloom which always reminded me where at the back of my mind. of some weird one-act play of form- Imagine how I stood there, at the ' er days; and I am afraid I used to gate of those gardens; looking up at Ilatgh immoderately and in the worst her, savoring the sheer drama of this 3 possible taste. But she was a real quiet, gentleâ€"voiced woman’s story. I ‘ sport, and never took offense. ‘I am don’t mind confessing that I couldn’t seely,’ She would say. ‘I know i‘. see her very well just then, for my I You, dear Margaret, are so goo-0d eyes had grown foggy, somehow. But< for me.’ And then she would laugh Cookie is the kind one needn’t feel and snap out of it. Actually, their self-conscious about. I just went on sense of humor is very like ours; looking foggy, for I am sure she un< we so often found ourselves being derstood'...and I think she liked, me tremendously amused by the same for it. things: the things which I had al- NOT ALL THE STORY The odd part of it is that, three or four years ago, I’ll wager, Cookie 'saw nothing dramatic or in the least 'significant in a teapot. It was just one of those things in a cook’s life. ‘Now, if Cookie had armorialv bear- ‘ings, a teapot â€" surely? â€" should have pride of place '35 her crest. 'Cookie and- her teapot, going out to meet what seemed like certain death . . .and‘ not a pleasant one. I am beâ€" ginning to wonder if I shall ever drink another cup of tea without having the thought of her some- where at the back of my mind. days when she had‘ lain unconscious under the ruins this queer change had come about. The human brain, obviously, can register just so much of any emotion, and then no more. I suppose it either gives way or takes on a new p-haee of strength and immunity. That, I am sure, is what has happened to .many of these courageous and wonderfully sane people. A few days after she came out of hospital she and another woman or two were in the thick of it again, making tea in a kitchen and taking it out to the rescue squad. Three hundred cups of tea in one night There was no mobile canteen to be found then; only Oookie and her cups of tea to help and cheer those dust- choked workers. How grateful they must have been! Somehow I can see lher: gentle and brisk and normal; entirely fearless in that hell-let- 'loose of fire and. crashing ruin; mov- ing among the dead to bring those welcome cups of tea to the sweating grimy men who were risking their 'lives. There is something i almost fantastic about it. Boiling kettles, 'warming teapots, liad‘ling out the Quantities; and all the while the most hideous things in history are going (on in the streets round abOut. THE LIBERAL, RICHMOND HI]. L, ONTARIO to ten feet. As for artichokes, I can see myself living on them al- most exclusively during the coming winter, so prolific is the visinle porâ€" tion. Just now I am acutely mar- row-conscious; several evenings, in- deed, have been spent in efforts to make jam, with marrow as the chief ingredient. Things have turned out not too badly, though a mere ledger with nothing but a gas-ring and a pint saucepan cannot be over-ambi- tious. The main thing, however, is to get some winter provender to- gether, and that we are all doing. ‘We don’t intend to capitulate for want of jam. . .to say nothing of the fact that we certainly shouldn’t get any jam if we did. any jam (Monsieur, who had lived in every country in Europe, I believe, had a strong political instinct which almost amounted to an extra sense. Mad-- d-eningly enough, I have forgotten most of the things he told me, but all that he predicted of France has com-e trueâ€"~and that was right at the start of the war, in the opening weeks. The Russians, I should say, have the faculty of looking aheadâ€" if he is anything to judge by. They were generous folk, too, and when~ ever Madame came to see me after, perhaps on that precious half-day when the shop was closed, she al- ways brought some candy and a few flowers from the little garden. We would talk a mixture of French and English (in view of my notable pauâ€" city of Russian!) and the time pass- ed very pleasantly. It was I, in fact, who taught her most of her English, in exchange for a polishing- up of my French. Perhaps, some day, we shall get in touch again; but one loses sight of people all too easily nowadays. I once bought a little painting of hers, and I shall keep that. A sourven-ir of a very plucky and very sporting little body. ONION HEART-BREAKING Th-e Allotment bulletin is satisfac- toryâ€"in parts. The onions are heart- breaking; one might‘sus'pec't witch- craft, so odd are the things which happen to them. But the potatoes are monsters, the marrows ripe and the turnips coming along. The cu- cumbers have given up their at- tempts to climb the tree, andr those awful sunflowers have now shot up we so often found ourselves being tremendously amused by the same things: the things which I had alâ€" ways imagined to be peculiar to our British brand of levity. Meanwhile, our temporaryrlull is still on us: but it‘s a prickly sort of lull, and one feels, very acutely, lthat it’s no time to drop vigilance. All eyes are on the Russiansâ€"putt- ing up their splendid stand. I lived with Russians for many months, so they do not seem at all strange 'to me. Their language, of course, "is appallingly difficult â€" judging by the sound of it. All I could ever learn was ‘Ye‘s’ and the equivalent of ‘Nothing' doin‘g.’ Not the last lword in conversational prowess, it must be admitted. But they were folk of tremendous courage: the sort of courage one uses in everyday life wâ€"perhaps the most difficult sort of all. To bring it thoroughly up to date one merely substitutes the word ‘country’ for ‘village" and . . . well, there you are! One feels: a great temptation to add some such nice, comprehensive phrase as ‘World’ pap- ers please copy.’ tallking to a city-dweller; the tion made us 211'} laugh at the The countryyman is saying: “We’ve talked it over in this vill- age, and we’ve decided to be neu- tral.” MADAME A REAL SPORT When I knew them they were doggedly running a tiny general storeâ€"without previous experience â€"-and making a go of it, too. Little LMadame, with her dark eyes and high cheek-hone‘s, worked like mad, day in and day out, keeping the house clean, into the bargain, and capw time. WWOOWMWMW {EGGS iMaster Feeds § Poultry, Hog, Dairy and Dog Feeds 3 YONGE STREET THORNHILL .0 WMWWWWW 29 Yonge Street Efficiency of production is the keynote of the cam- paign for increased quantities of Canadian eggs. The Dominion Government has already launched this cam- paign. They are asking all flock owners to feed and manage their flocks so as to produce two extra eggs per hen per month. Master Laying Mash and Red Head Egg Mash are two proven, tested mashes which thousands of poul- trymen have used year after year to give them con- tinuous high production, maintained throughout the whole laying season. Cities Service Garage To do a top notch job you need the best tools of production. Use only the best feed. Use Master Mashes. Britain Wants EXPERT BATTERY SERVICE ’Phone 12 CAN HELP GET THOSE REQUIRED EXTRA EGGS W. R. DEAN Phone Thornhill 54 Richmond Hill PAGE SEVEN