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IN THIS ISSUE

• Les Davison and a companion find refuge with a Dutch family
• Geoff Goodship writes about his reaction to cell phones
• Phil Freedman comments on Geoff's essay
• Jack Peaker sends a warning about e-mail petitions and requests
• Dick Chenot forwards a Cajun joke
• Catherine Green tells of a blonde with car trouble
• Don Henderson forwards a story of a church gossip
• Burke Dykes' doctor arrives at a diagnosis

A Dutch minister and his family are sheltering Les Davison in his

WARTIME MEMORIES

We were awakened about eight a.m. by Lena, who had brought us some breakfast. This consisted of sliced ham, sliced cheese and black bread; there was coffee of the ersatz kind but at least the milk was real.

Lena could not speak English and simply smiled, put the tray down, and went back downstairs. Nico came up to see us about an hour later and we talked for some time about the prospects of our getting back to the Allied lines. He said that soon an active member of the resistance would come to see us and he would give us any news about the prospects for our getting back. Nico also told us that although he was connected with the 'onderduikers' he was not an active participant and simply let his home be used as a safe house.

He had with him a road map of Holland and, for the first time since we jumped off the train, we could see where we were. Nico and Lena lived in the village of Wapenveld and he was the minister of the Nieuwe Kerk. The church was right next to the house and we were told that we would hide there, in the roof, whenever there was any likelyhood of a raid (razzia) by the Germans. As it turned out, we were to be the guests of these very brave people for about six weeks, during which time Theo taught me how to play chess and we read a lot of English books, which were provided by the numerous members of the underground who visited Nico regularly.

Twice during this time we had to go into hiding in the church roof. The ceiling of the church was made of four-inch tongue and groove wood and the only access was through a trapdoor cut into it. When we got word that a raid was imminent, Nico, Theo and I would go into the church, get a long wooden extension ladder, which was kept there for the purpose, and use the top of the ladder to push the trapdoor out of its hole. We would then scamper up the ladder and pull it up after us into the roof space. This space had a wooden floor and contained two kitchen chairs, a small table, and two narrow mattresses, along with a battery-operated radio and two milk bottles full of water. After the emergency was over, Lena would come into the church and give us the O.K. to come down.

If Lena came into the church quietly singing a certain hymn, this meant that although the Nazis had left the church, they were still in the immediate vicinity and we must keep very quiet. Some evenings Nico would invite us downstairs, into the parlour, where we would play some harmless card games, or Theo and I would play chess against Nico. Once or twice a week we would have visitors from the underground who would converse earnestly in Dutch with Nico for maybe half an hour, after which Nico would translate what was said. Mostly we were told how the war was going and sometimes we would get some word on a possible scheme to get us back to the Allied lines. Twice we were alerted to be ready to move the following evening, but in both cases nothing happened.

After about three weeks, an unusual incident occurred which enlightened us as to why we had to be so quiet in the house. As I mentioned earlier, there was only one bathroom in the house and this, situated on the ground floor adjacent to the kitchen, was a busy place. One afternoon Lena called upstairs that the way was free to go beneath. This was her way of telling us that the bathroom was free and there were no strangers in the house or expected. I told Theo that my need was rather urgent and he said, 'All right, you go first.' I had only been in the bathroom about two minutes when someone tried the door. I immediately sensed that something was wrong so I kept very quiet. After a few seconds the handle was tried again; however, I kept quiet until Nico came to the door and said it was all right to come out. He told me to go upstairs quickly without any explanation as to what was going on.

The next evening we were informed that the person who had tried the bathroom door was an elderly Jewish gentleman. This man had been hiding from the S.S. and had been with Nico and Lena for some months. It was his custom to have a short walk around the grounds of the house and church after lunch every day and it was during these outings that we had the chance to use the facilities. However it appeared that on the previous day he had been seized with an urgent desire to use the bathroom after he had only been out a few minutes, and on being confronted with a locked door, he had become rather agitated. He could see Lena and Trijnkje in the kitchen and heard Nico working in his study, so he probably thought, 'Who is in the bathroom?' He apparently came to the conclusion that someone else was hiding in the house because the next morning he set out on his bicycle and was not heard from again until the war had ended.

After our mysterious "onderduiker" had left it made our lives a little less constrained. We were able to use the bathroom more frequently, although we still dared not go downstairs without permission from Nico or Lena. It also allowed us to spend most evenings in the parlour with our hosts. The electricity had been turned off by the authorities and the only light we had was produced by a canister of carbide, about the size of a one-pound jam jar, with a hole in the top. The addition of a small amount of water would produce a gas which issued from the hole and which could be ignited. A small white flame was produced and this was the sole source of light. It was enough, however, to illuminate the chess board and provide Lena with light to read.

To be continued.

Geoff Goodship muses on the ubiquitous

CELL PHONE

A friend asks, "When will you join us in the 21st Century?"

He's referring to the fact that I'm the only person he knows who doesn't own a cell phone. He's probably right. I am almost the only person I know who does not own a cell phone. My friends, my children, and ,u grandchildren have them. One of my granddaughters cannot get out of bed without first making a cell call.

I had begun to think the younger generation were all issued with a cell phone by the government at age 11. I've since discovered its not an age thing for I see lots of seniors frozen in the middle of a supermarket Isle comparing the price of carrots with some unseen listener. I can't help overhearing part of these calls. Sometimes they are talking to someone in the next isle and sometimes it's to someone in Australia.

I've learned the phenomenon has a name. It's is called cellblock. It occurs not just in supermarkets but in hospitals, libraries, and many public places. I understand it's a neurological development thing: some can walk and talk, some can't.

Not that long ago my wife heard that cell phones have become a give-away item when you buy a new car. You'll need a cell if your car wont start, has a flat, or runs out of gas. It seemed a bit odd to me until an acquaintance who sells these phones explained that "emergency" is the most common reason given for purchasing that first cell. Apparently the thought of an emergency is the main reason that older women buy cells. I hesitated when I realized my wife might call me.

Several years ago I heard that newer models with games would soon hit the market so I could see a reason to hold off my first cell purchase. The advantage of being able to improve one's game score while on hold was obvious. If a particularly long winded caller crossed your bored-stiff barrier, you could play a game while waiting for a gap in the conversation. I've seen lots of people doing this.

I decided it would be prudent to wait the arrival of the next advances. I didn't have to wait long. A variety of ring tones was the next smashing technological breakthrough. Let's not go there. After that came a new and improved model that takes pictures. What a hoot that has become! The other day I observed an elderly lady conversing on her cell while looking in my direction. Suddenly I realized she was taking my photo. Since she had not asked my permission I turned to look away only to see ... well ... it was rather embarrassing.

Since then cell phones have arrived with such a plethora of features it's hard to imagine when or where it will all end: video games, text messaging, and now internet. Using your cell, you can now vote in the Ontario elections while traveling on BC ferries, and don't forget the dial-a-date service if you're lonely. If that isn't enough, there is a new phone made in Thailand soon to arrive in North America. It's the karaoke phone. So now that drunk sitting in the back of the bus will have a sing-along source to make him sound even better.

Geoff sent a copy of the above essay to his friend, Phil Freedman. Phil wrote back with

MORE ON THE CELL PHONE

In our modern age a person wants to feel as "up to date" as possible.

In days gone by, a successful day was one where folks went to work or school and did what they were assigned or otherwise chose to do. If you accomplished all your tasks you felt you had a good day. Today that doesn't seem to be enough. Our technology has made it so we work and study less, so in our new free time we feel we should be "connected."

There was a time when "being connected" implied an association with a nefarious crime syndicate. Not many folks could be or wanted to be "connected" in those days.

Today "being connected" means that anyone you choose can reach you at almost any time they chose. This seems to be a valuable thing for a teenager. It helps from time to time when I feign to be working as a consultant. But in reality what it does is connect us to the mass continuum of the human race.

The "Borg" of Star Trek fame were a similar collective. They all lived and worked as a common unit. They were always connected electronically. They all knew what the individuals were thinking and doing at all times. This is efficient but a mixed blessing.

So I have decided that the sign of maturity or happiness (closer things than I used to imagine) is how you manage your accessibility to the rest of the human continuum. If you are a teenager, you might consider having a second cell phone (much better than call waiting) so you don't miss that next critical social interaction. I, on the other hand, find it much more pleasing when I shut off the phone, or even better, wander into a part of the forest that doesn't have cell service. Where I live the cell phone companies only "paint" the terrain where there are enough people to make the service profitable. The mountains tend to confine the signals to the valleys where the people reside.

When I hike into the forest there are no cell signals. I find that a good thing as I am not distracted from the primary purpose of my walk, and that is to be in the forest. I personify the forest and believe it probably likes it this way as well.

This just further reinforces my belief that peace and happiness are a function of the perception of being in control of your life. Those folks who feel in control seem to be much happier than those who let their lives run them. So the cell phone becomes an important instrument of control. I leave mine off a lot. It has the remarkable feature called "voice mail". That allows me to return to the continuum at my own pace.

So life is good. We shall think of the cell phone as our connection to our current way of life. The really neat thing is that it has an easy on and off button if we would just be sophisticated enough to use it.

Jack Peaker makes some important points about

E-MAIL PETITIONS

A word to the wise. E-mail petitions are NOT acceptable to Congress or any other municipality. To be acceptable, petitions must have signed signatures and your full address. Same with "prayer chains" -be wary.

Almost all e-mails that ask you to add your name and forward on to others are similar to that mass letter years ago that asked people to send business cards to the little kid in Florida who wanted to break the Guinness Book of Records for the most cards. All it was, and all this type of e-mail is, is to get names and "cookies" tracking info for tele-marketers and spammers to validate active e-mail accounts for their own purposes.

Any time you see an e-mail that says forward this on to "10" of your friends, sign this petition, or you'll get good luck, or whatever, it has either an e-mail tracker program attached that tracks the cookies and e-mails of those folks you forward to, or the host sender is getting a copy each time it gets forwarded and then is able to get lists of "active" e-mails to use in spam e-mails, or sell to others that do.

Please forward this notice to others and you will be providing a good service to your friends, and will be rewarded by not getting 30,000 spam e-mails in the future.

(If you have been sending out the above kinds of email, now you know why you get so much spam!)

Check it out: http://www.snopes.com/inboxer/petition/internet.htm

Dick Chenot forwards this story from Lew's News:

IMPRESSIVE PERFORMANCE

The phone company is going to hire a team of telephone pole installers and the boss has to choose between a team of Irishmen and a team of Cajuns. The team that installs the most poles will get the job permanently.

So out they go. At the end of the shift they report back to the boss. The Irish say it was a tough job but they put in 12.

"And how many did you guys put in?" the boss asks the Cajuns.

Boudreaux reports his crew put in three.

"Only three?" asked the boss, "The Irish crew put in 12."

"Yeah," says Boudreaux, "but you should see how much they left stickin' out of the ground."

Catherine Green sends

ANOTHER BLONDE MOMENT

Yesterday I was having some work done at the car dealer when a blonde woman came in and asked for a seven-hundred-ten.

They all looked at each other, and one of the mechanics asked, "What is a seven-hundred-ten?"

She replied, "You know, the little piece in the middle of the engine. I lost it and need a new one. It had always been there."

The mechanic gave the woman a piece of paper and a pen and asked her to draw what the piece looked like. She drew a circle and in the middle of it wrote 710. He then took her over to another car which had the hood up and asked, "Is there a 710 on this car?"

She pointed and said, "Of course. It's right there."

Click here to learn the identity of the mysterious 710:

http://mademelaugh.com/gfx/710.jpg

Don Henderson's story is about

THE CHURCH GOSSIP

Mildred, the church gossip and self-appointed monitor of the church's morals, kept sticking her nose into other people's business. Several members did not approve of her extra-curricular activities, but feared her enough to maintain their silence.

She made a mistake, however, when she accused George, a new member, of being an alcoholic after she saw his old pickup truck parked in front of the town's only bar one afternoon. She emphatically told George and several others that everyone seeing it there would know what he was doing.

George, a man of few words, stared at her for a moment and just turned and walked away. He did not explain, defend, or deny. He said nothing.

Later that evening, George quietly parked his old pickup in front of Mildred's house ... walked home ... and left it there all night.

Don't you just love old George?

Burke Dykes sends this poem about

MY DOCTOR

Thought I´d let my doctor check me,
´Cause I didn´t feel quite right ...
All those aches and pains annoyed me
And I couldn´t sleep at night.

He could find no real disorder
But he wouldn´t let it rest.
What with Medicare and Blue Cross,
We would do a couple tests.

To the hospital he sent me
Though I didn´t feel that bad.
He arranged for them to give me
Every test that could be had.

I was fluoroscoped and cystoscoped,
My aging frame displayed.
Stripped, on an ice cold table,
While my gizzards were x-rayed.

I was checked for worms and parasites,
For fungus and the crud,
While they pierced me with long needles
Taking samples of my blood.

Doctors came to check me over,
Probed and pushed and poked around,
And to make sure I was living
They then wired me for sound.

They have finally concluded,
Their results have filled a page.
What I have will someday kill me;
My affliction is OLD AGE!

"Fate is like a strange, unpopular resturant, filled with odd waiters who bring you things you never asked for and don't always like." - Lemony Snicket