Word: bungalows
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Doublecrossed. Last autumn Britain's Commonwealth Office sent a commission to Bechuanaland to investigate. Last month it invited Seretse to talk things over. He left his pregnant wife in their brand-new stucco bungalow in Serowe and came to London. What would he think, Commonwealth Relations Minister Philip Noel-Baker asked the young chief, of abdicating and coming to live in England on a comfortable allowance? Seretse declined the offer. Then for three weeks, while Britain's politicians got through an election at home, he was left to cool his heels in London. Last week Seretse was called...
...union; they were too near pension time. And a coal miner's wife in Cinderella, W. Va., who wrote a letter to the editor protesting that John Lewis was "far too old and power mad," had bricks and rocks thrown through the window of her company bungalow last week...
...Send the Man Away." At first, his institute was only a single bungalow. "Our front verandah served as classroom and laboratory, our back verandah as dining room and dairy." But the news of what was done there soon began to spread. The big, smiling "Padre Sahib" had turned barren and eroded acres into rich meadows of wheat. He taught the villagers how to plow and irrigate their crops. He set up a department of agricultural chemistry, and a home economics course for women...
...Seretse Khama, who had married Miss Williams against strenuous opposition from his family and the British authorities (TIME, July 11), cheerfully conducted his wife to her home, just being finished at Serowe, the mud-hut capital of Bechuanaland (pronounced Betcher Wanna Land). The home would be a three-room bungalow with a tin corrugated roof. Ruth's arrival caused considerable commotion among the tribe (local traders were doing a brisk business in gaily colored prints, since the tribeswomen wished to live and dress up to the occasion). Actually, it may be months before Seretse's 100,000 tribesmen...
Long-Distance Calls. Maxim, a squat, balding little man, is listed in the official registry of landlocked San Marino as head of a shipping firm. He moved in a year and a half ago, lives quietly with his mistress in a rented stone bungalow. He wears yellow velvet gloves, talks more on the long-distance telephone than anyone else in the republic. From the Convent of St. Francis, Maxim has been seen slipping into the Communist casino's back door. A black-bearded monk summed up the general suspicion. "Here in San Marino," he said, "there exists Bolshevism...