Word: breton
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Dates: during 1930-1939
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From Cuba to Cape Breton lies the most famed game-fishing lane in the world. Once the pastime of sophisticated sportsmen, the great, crazily unpredictable and usually expensive sport of game fishing has become popular in the past five years among more ordinary summer vacationists. Last week, reverently as turn-of-the-century maidens perennially inspecting their hope chests, thousands of winter-weary U. S. men & women took out their dusty fishing kits, added a few newfangled gadgets, collected roadmaps for their annual summer fishing trip...
...There the world's record 636-pounder was boated in 1935. Broadbill, fishing for which is most difficult (because its soft mouth is hard to hook and harder to keep hooked), and most expensive (because many fruitless attempts make boat hire costly), migrate as far north as Cape Breton, N. S., where a 601-pounder, a North American record,* was caught three years...
...Bourbon, spent a small fortune transforming it into a floating refrigerator. Then he assembled as ill-assorted a crew as ever walked up a gangplank: his expansive, motherly wife, who had once lived with natives in Madagascar; a blonde artist (niece of Paul Chabas, painter of September Morn); a Breton radio operator and his bitter-tongued fishwife; a Turkish engineer; a doctor and his wife, a Parisian hairdresser who filled her trunk with useless sport clothes; a mechanic and his wife; about 25 common seamen and lobstermen. Another bad mistake de Boers made before setting out from sunny St. Malo...
...Princess mine, one of the oldest in the Cape Breton area, was opened in 1867. So many tons have been gouged from its insides that the main shaft now runs nearly two miles out under the salty waters of Sydney Harbor, more than 1,000 feet below the surface. In the early morning, as a clammy fog began to blow off the harbor, grizzled old colliers and young shavers, eager to put pick to coal again, tramped to the mine mouth. There they stepped aboard the "cage," a rickety elevator which dropped them 700 feet to the mine-deep, starting...
Fortnight ago this manifesto exploded in London's Surrealist Group, led by scholarly, pale-faced, silken-voiced Herbert Read, who occupies the magnificently ambiguous position of arch Surrealist apologist and editor of the Burlington Magazine, England's most conservative art publication. Presented by Professor Read, the Breton manifesto led to a bitter tiff between Communist and Trotskyist members, finally to a breakup. Last word came from Gallery Director E. L. T. Mesens, who suggested that the English Surrealists had never been worth their salt anyway, having always abstained from such direct action as driving horses into theatre foyers...