Word: safaris
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Dates: during 1950-1959
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Crisis on Safari. And so, each summer, when the cruel sea calms and the weather mellows, the population of Lundy swells from seven to 80 or so. Then the bluebottles flock to the island by the thousands to marvel at the ice-age cabbage that now grows nowhere else, or to catch a glimpse of a puffin, an auk, a rare peregrine falcon, or any other of the 145 kinds of birds found on Lundy. But as much as anything else, the bluebottles seem to come to spend a little time-and a few puffins-in a place with...
...Anglo-American match and bears the title of Lady Elizabeth Kinnaird) or sheer absentmindedness, Author Eliot keeps drifting away from her subject-how a parcel of status-seeking mammas, nouveau riche papas, dutiful daughters and out-of-pocket noblemen staged the great white fortune hunt, or coronet safari, of the late 19th century...
...their weapons-and often themselves. Wearing a dark business suit, the Rev. Nicholas Bhengu stands on a packing-case platform and says quietly in Zulu: "Ubugekengu abukhokheli lutho [Crime does not pay]."* There is a movement in the crowd, especially among the young toughs in ducktail haircuts, dungarees and safari jackets. "Nike-lani izikhali zenu nani ku Nkulunkulu [Surrender your arms and yourself to God]," he continues, and a pile begins to grow at his feet-knives, blackjacks, brass knuckles (natives are forbidden to own firearms), and quantities of stolen goods. At one meeting police carted away three vanloads...
Renouncing Babbitry for Babel, Gertrude Stein was a kind of saint to some and a stunt to others. She belongs not to the ages, but an age-the '20s. Fresh from his last safari (Dylan Thomas in America), Poet-Critic John Malcolm Brinnin goes in search of this Abominable Snowoman of modern letters. What he brings back is not startling, but it is a biographically complete if critically indulgent account of the concentric odyssey of Gertrude Stein, of whom it might be said: in her beginning was her end, because she was all middle...
Admittedly, the French are hard at work on an atomic bomb of their very own, though once they explode it over the Sahara, they won't have it anymore. A cartoon last summer depicted an angular de Gaulle, clad in intrepid explorer togs, leading a safari of equally angular Africans, who carried on their heads a single oversized bomb. The caption read "La France va disposer de la bombe atomique," (France will dispose of the atomic bomb), a direct quotation from a de Gaulle address...