Items of interest from 1920..

 


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  The Day Bomfino Went Crazy! Adolph Luben…”The Last Drop”. The Day Bomfino Went Crazy. I doubt that many gen X’ers or Y’s with a “Woke” attitude, would sympathise with the sentiments in the story below, it being of a “raving radical” kind from the days of my apprenticeship when “Workers and Bosses “ were a world apart and “ nae’r the twain shall meet !” . The paint shop man where I worked WAS named Beppi, he DID have a flagon (several that I saw) of red wine behind the tins of primer and he did go troppo one blistering hot day and he did get the sack even though we collectively pleaded to Mac, the foreman for his job (he was a decent bloke, just a tad homesick) … the political rantings are from my imagination and if you don’t approve of them…tough!… though such sentiments were not far from many of our lips in those days … Viva la differenza! … and thank god for the unions!  The Day Bomfino went Crazy. The day Beppi Bomfino wen...
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  A Last, Lingering Kiss. A Play of one act, one set. Characters..: Sgt. Tom Flannigan..police officer. Father Dennis McCarthy…diocese priest. Sister Mary Margaret..School Principal / Nun. Scene: Sgt. Tom Flannigan sits at his work desk cataloguing a charge sheet along with a low stack of books that he transfers to a plastic evidence bag. Before he seals the bag, he picks up one of the books, opens it at a random page and starts to read out in an exaggerated theatrical manner.. Sgt. Tom..:” I can’t stop now!” she gasped a passionate moan as her arms reached for him..” I’ve desired you for too many nights.”…He responded huskily, his taut, muscular arms embracing her and driving out all resistance. It was as if some strange, torrid tempest had suddenly descended down on to their bodies as they struggled to outdo one another in the removal of their clothing. He grasped her in his arms and lifted her clear of the carpet, his lips pa...
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  The Handkerchief.. The Handkerchief. . If memory serves, and doth serve me well, ‘Twas a chance meeting on the steps of St. Paul’s, Was a service for some civil event or other, Tho’ what, for the life of me, one no longer recalls, But I was passing on those wide, gracious steps, When it caught my eye that her hanky she dropped, Was pure chance I was there to snatch it from the wind, And I remember thinking ; “what a delicate thing”… Unusual for a woman of these times, When forceful character is demand of the independent kind, To clutch an embroided haberdash’d cloth so fine, Seemed to me to frame a delicate but thoughtful mind. Another fortunate stroke of fickle luck, Happened as I politely proffered it back, For that sprightly wind then tried to snatch her hat, And she had to act quickly to repel such attack, So she, and me with hat and hanky in tow, Made our way to a sheltered elbow, ...
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