Word: kentish
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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...Charles de Gaulle, who vetoed Britain's entry into the Common Market in 1963. Then, as Harold Macmillan's Lord Privy Seal, Heath was conducting the negotiations in Brussels. He remains as convinced as ever that Britain's destiny lies with the Continent. Born on the Kentish coast within sight of "the mainland," as he calls Europe, Heath showed such early promise that he won a grant to Chatham House, a school at nearby Ramsgate. His flair for music got him the organ scholarship to Oxford's Balliol College, and music remains his only real passion...
...charged by Prime Minister Harold Macmillan with the day-to-day burden of bringing about this goal is a lifelong, dedicated European. Blue-eyed, silver-haired Ted Heath, 46, was born on the Kentish coast within sight of France-or "the mainland," as he calls it today. In his maiden speech before the House of Commons in 1950, Heath urged the government (in vain) to join the European Coal & Steel Community, the germinal economic pact that was planned as a first step toward the federation of Europe. Last month E.C.S.C. members finally agreed to study Britain's application...
Through business acquaintances, Heath met some influential Tories who persuaded him that he might be just the man to fight Bexley (pop. 88,781), a Kentish dormitory town adjoining Harold
...totaled more than 2,000. covering every phase of the law from maritime liens to complicated antitrust cases. His tart observations ("Judges can be damned fools like anybody else") were treasured. On the bench. Judge Hand was a formidable figure, a stocky man with the broad shoulders of his Kentish forebears, glittering eyes under dense brows, and craggy features that might have been carved by Gutzon Berglum. Intolerant of lawyers who strayed from the point or became too verbose. Judge Hand sent wayward attorneys scampering back to the facts with an acid query-"May I inquire, sir, what...
...city dwellers, the drowsy county of Kent means perfect peace and perfect quiet, dozing to the murmuring of bees, the lowing of cattle, the gentle purl of streams like the Beult, the Great Stour and the Little Stour. But in the Kentish village of Molash, 8½ miles from Canterbury, grey-haired Hilda Hyams, 54, was being driven mad by another sound: a low-pitched, persistent hum. Her novelist husband, Edward, could not hear the hum, but he dutifully checked the water pipes and main, arranged to have the electrical wires near the house slackened, even cut off the telephone...