Published October 19, 2007 by
ThisÂ is the season of the year, Christmas coming on and so forth, when we most envy the folk with nice cozy little homes of their own. You who have your own fireside do not realize what you possess. You do not know what it is to go without having anyone to say to you, "Goodbye, will you be gone long?" or to come back without anyone to welcome you and say, "Oh, how late you are!" Think at this time of the year of the many young men far from their own homes back east, living in Calgary with no place to go of an evening, moping in their $8 a month rooms reading Frenzied Finance or hanging around hotels hitting up the booze. Give them a thought.
It needs only a little friendly interest to make better and happy the solitary individual who lives near you, who is abandoned to himself and to the inspiration of his unutterable ennui. The solitary youths, far from their paternal hearths, have a rocky old time struggling with the discouragements of their existence here, exposed to the temptations of the booze shops. There are evenings upon evenings that they make bad use of for want of a better. Perhaps they are nothing to you and you are under no obligation to them, but - put yourself in their place.
Bob Edwards' Plum Pudding
This appeared in the Calgary Eye Opener, in December of 1909.
Take one quart of brandy, two handfuls of plums and raisins, and a chunk of suet, some salt and a lot of flour. Knead the last three ingredients well together, pouring into yourself sufficient brandy to keep from getting tired.
When of sufficient consistency hang it on clothes line and beat smartly with a Yule log. Roll into a round ball, try and raise it slowly above your head with one hand to see if it is heavy enough and then saturate plentifully with brandy. Set fire to the mess and serve quickly. Return to kitchen and put balance of brandy out of pain.
Christmas in the West
And while to you I drain a health Of "Johnny's" wholesome beer, I'll wish you happiness enough to fill the coming year.
As for myself I've but to say, Let empires rise or fall,
For any bluff that Fate may give I'll have the nerve to call,
I'll play the limit come what will and back the hands I draw
If Heaven will grant me appetite when're I go to draw?
Yours cheerfully McArthur, P.