Friday,

HONGKONG. TELEGRAPH.

DONALD DUCK

SHOW ME SOMETHING MORE DAINTY! I HAVE SUCH -

TINY. FEET, YOU KNOW!

OH, DEAR! THESE ARE TOO BIG, TOO!

HAVEN'T YOU SOMETHING SMALL

AND DAINTY?

NO, NO STILL

TOO BIG!

Cope, 1941, Walt Disney Productions

• World Rights Reserved"

GRIN AND BEAR IT

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April 25, 1941.

By Walt Disney

3-14

WALT DISNEY

Damband by King Festures Syndicate, loc

Scene after a raid on-a. Midland town: youngsters salvaging what they can of their belongings from their wrecked home. Note the smiles of courage.

They Came to Manchester

By Stuart B. Jackman

DO YOU REMEMBER MAN-

were

CHESTER? The rain, the soot, the business men with their bowler hats and their neatly rolled umbrellas, and the trams? Do you remember those narrow Jitle. alley-ways, paved with rough cob- bles and perpetually running with

which water, muddy proudly and so mistakenly called-

And the heavy wagons streets? with great wooden wheels and thlek curved shafts, and the patient might of the huge shire horses that pulled them so willingly and so tirelessly through the endless maze of smoke-stained buildings round Shudehill? Do you remem- ber the grim majesty of the office blocks and the ponderous activity of the warehouses, the dark beauty of the Cathedral and the darker

eam of the river?

ΟΙ

Manchester? Remember course you do. Dear, dirty old Manchester, sitting stolidly in its smoke and its rain, with an ex- pression of grim determination and a heart as warm as the taprooms of the little taverns which nestle down together in the Shambles. Manchester, the curse of the Minis- try of Health, the despair of the of the architect, the salvation umbrella trade.

Those Umbrellas!

Every self-respecting Manchester man carries an umbrella. In the

South

a

Midlands and the umbrella is a sity, something to be carried fur- Lively under the arm and deposited with Joy at the merest suspicion of sunshine. In Yorkshire it is a luxury, in Oxford an affection, in Edinburgh an impossibility. Not so in Manchester,

a cumbersome neces-

The Manchester man carries his umbrella with the pride and the courtliness of a dandy. When he has just sold his queta of cotton he goes marching down Piccadilly air of a drum major, with the swinging his umbrella and whistl ing. When he is in a tight corner he stands at his bus stop with it planted firmly between his feet and his hands crossed decisively over the handle. One can almost see the words "They shall not pass" picked out on the building behind him.

But when it is raining the umbrelin really reaches its finest hour, or rather day, for Manchester rain is notoriously persistent. The streets become black, shining mats of umbrellas, and your busi

man hurries through the struggling crowd on his way to the bus with incredible speed and agility.

ncsa

The Londoner in a crowd with an open umbrella is like a para- chutt who Jands in the sea; the

Manchester man is a second Blon-

din.

Hold on to your memories, then, If you treasure the Manchester that was. Hold fast to the old sights and the old ways, the smoke and the rain and the strong tide of commercial life, On the night of Sunday, December 22, 1940, "they" came to Manchester.

When they came to Manchester it was dark and very still. The city was sleeping, somewhat fiful- ly, in the peace of the early evening. In the churches the benedictions had been pronounced and the people sent on their way.

see

A City On Fire

.

The drone was very distant and very quiet, but menacing. The watchers got ready and waited in tense silence. Looking down from their roof-tops, they could The the

of the outlines clim Cathedral, the hotels, the quiet stations, and on up the lengths of Deansgate and Market Street, where the shops lay shroud- ed in dust-sheets and the little taverns dreamed their dreams in dark pools of shadow. This was the Manchester we knew. This was our city, and we loved it,

The first crash brought the city to its feet with a start, only to fall back again blinded by the glare of fire and deafened by the roar of guns. Flying high against the hard stars, they looked down and saw Manchester choking and sprawling In the smoke and furiously fight- back the terror of the fires. looked and saw the river

ming dully in the glare, and,

swooping down, they dropped their cargo of destruction into the heart of the blaze. They looked and saw the Cathedral standing on the river bank, and racing towards it they saw nothing but smoke and the Aerce hunger of the fire.

Everywhere Destruction!

Manchester was a city of flame

thunder, and

The Kreat fires burnt like torches and the old places went roaring up to the sky In a torment of heat and smoke. Steel and brick, stone and timber

founda erashed down to the very tions of the city. The streets were like

of the fire, the buildings

were

for motor than they had been

A great light came over the city and fled hand in hand with Death through the little alley-ways and by-ways, up stone staircases and over black-slated roofs, into church, and theatre alike, into hotels and warehouses, Into shops and into homes.

a great And everywhere was nolae such as Mancherler had never heard before. And every

where were pain and misery and wanion destruction.

All day Monday the city licked its wounds and fought its fires. All day the people stood on the outer rim of the city and stared with grey eyes at the horror of the day, at the scorched walls and and shattered windows, at the broken masonry and blasted-brick- work. And with the night again they came.

The Changes

Manchester is slowly getting on to its bruised and battered feet again. But there are a lot of changes. There is much of Mon- chester that will never be the same, that has been destroyed for all time, that will never be re- well, surrected. Perhaps it is 13

-It-really-was-n-terribly-Incon- venient city and out of date in its planning. But we, the people of Manchester, can get sentimental over

few hundred smoke- blackened bricks and a score or so of very dirty windows. We are o main. hard-headed lot in the Thank God for that now! But our hearts are as warm as the next man's, and we loved the grim ugliness which was our city.

Against the sky rise the gaunt walls and broken gables of the city's oldest firms. In the hollow by the river the broken Cathedral raises black Gothie arms to heaven suffering. in a gesture of mute Some of the streets have been cleared and reopened, and down these Rows the busy life of the

city going grimly on its way. looking and mending, assessing and condemning, but round the corner Is a dead street, with piles of rubble and crumbling walls, where gaping hole calls mutely to gaping hole and the water from the hoses drips in desolation_down the shat- tered front of the Royal Exchange.

New Hopes

ате

But the trams are still ruraing and the Manchester folk are stili there. Umbrellas

out and standing stoutly up to rough usage. Business men are hopping about among the rubble, poking with and tapping in- their ferrules quisitively with their handles. Ne- body seems to be swinging them, though. Still, here is the essence of Manchester, the trams and the

women pale, determined men and

cloak The grey sky can things. It is only when the pall lifts and the sun slips through that it becomes terribly obvious that one can see the sky through roofs more and daylight that are no

the walls that were once

through

many

so dark.

And so they came to Manchester and robbed us and left us. Loft us our Manchester courage and our Manchester doggedness, left us our umbrella and our amoko and soot. Left us, Manchester people, a little paler, perhaps a little more deter mined, but still essentially the same. To-day we go into the city with our new problems and our come new hopes; to-night we will home on our usual tram, with our. umbrella neatly folded, our paper, and our cheery chatter with the conductor. We all have these things. We are still Manchester From the "Manchester Guardian."

me: Court

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