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PAGE 4, WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 29, 1976, WHITBY FREE PRESS whitby si Te Voice of the County Town MikE Teonly Whitby- newspaper independently ownedl and' operated iERVING OVER 28,000 READERS r Publishied overy Wednesday ~and Pbotograp The Free Press Bui e Burgess, Publisher-Managing Editor 121 Brock Street P -1 --- AI- -I- --- ! -- - --- -- . W hitby, Ontario d by VVfitby resiceits TOr VVfltDy resuaeni t _________________________________ Community Editor - Brian Winter Contributing Editor - Jim Qu,-,' Production Manager - Marje Burgess Di'splay Advertising Manager - bIishing Robin Lyon 'hy Ine. Classificd Ad Manager- Marlene Byroii Circulation Manager- Sharon Lyon Box 206, Whitby. ilding Mailing Permit No. 460 N~orth, Phone 6.68-6111. Carrier Boy's New Year's Address l60D p, / î/ iF PZ CF 5 Bll5ÉçED 'G- January 1, 18'81 By ROSS JOHNSTON Who says "the world's a goose and 1 wil pluck it" Is selfish from his centre to bis rim: Let him drink water from an empty bucket; A tailor's goose is just the goose for hîm: A drumn-stick of it for bis New Year's dinner Wouid serve him well, the greedy minded sinner. The world's a wheel, and stifl keeps wheeling round; A bail (not foot-bail but lui'e bail of yarn) Or like an orange--that's a thought profound; Profounder stili, like pumpkin in a barn. (That barn you see l'use it just for rhy me, To choose a better word 1 haven't time). Well, round and round tbis wheel is ever turning, This bail, or orange, stil is on the move. AIl tbought of rest or recreation spurning, With oeaseless whirl it keeps its sulent groove: Yet keeps strict record of its wondrous race, And writes that record on the human face. We're getting older you and 1 As days and months and years go by: Let's not forget this solemrn truth Important both to age and youth. "Tempus fuget said the Roman Ini Rome's halcyon days of yore: Heed O heed the timely wamning; Time once fled retumns no more. But I'm no preacher, no flot 1, l'injust your humble carrier boy. Sometimes 'm called a printer's devil, Yet I'm no gbostly thing of evil. But take this chance on New Year's day, Whicb custom grants to say my sav; So with your leave, we'Il have a chat This merry morn, 'bout this and that; Once friends, the good old year tbat's gone Has been a most eventfui one. When, from the shades of time's dark night Things long gone by are drap'd to light The by-gone year wiil stand revealed By miany a gory battle field; 0f many a struggle fierce and stern The student to time's page will learn: How Kurds beneath the eastern star On Persia loosed the dogs of war And wrought sad havoc near and far, How, 'neath old Afric's burning sun, Fierce discord armed wNitb spear and gun It's swift and bloody course did run. How' you old rascal Ayob Kahn The smouldering tires of strife did fan, And made tbings bot in oid AMgan. How Roberts witb bis gallant few The crowding bilI-tribes quickiy slew, Tili vanished they like morning dew. How Turkey after long delay Yielded to European sway, And Montenegro got the prey How the election race was run Which to our neigh hors gave such fun When Hancock lost and Garfield won. And how contending parties dance, Right, Left and Centre ini old trance, Al cowed by great Gamnbeta's glance. The dear old land from whence we carne Fier children love to breathe ber naine; God bless our Queen, long rnay she reigu! She binds us with a golden chain. May those who girdlè the helm of State Steer well the ship through every strait May justice hoId with steady hand The scales of truth through ail the lanid, And may the rights of poor and rich Findin those scales their proper niche. Poor Erin's in a great ferment 'Bout tenant's wrongs and larîdlords' rent A reîgn of terror filis the land And mnurder with its blood-red liand Prowls flot alone in shades of night But stalks about in broad day light. Isle of the ocean, clad in robes of green, Land of the harp, and land of Iegends old, Land of implusive hearts, and feelings keen, 0f patriots, heroes and of chieftans bold; Land of the Banshee, land of myths and dreains, Where fairys dance, and nympbs stili haunt the streams, Thy sons, a scattered bord in every land, Turn with glad eye, and longing beart to tbee: Thy daughters too, on many a far off strand Tell to the babes they handle on their knee Tales of tby kings of yore and legends quaint 0f tby green vales and of tby patron saint, May thy dark nights soon pass away, Cheered by the beams of brighter day; May thistie, rose and shamrock twined In triune grace be still combined And A infernal traitors swing 111gb by the neck in hempen string. Now my own land, I tumn to tbee, Land of the brigbt green maple tree, Land of Sir John, and the N.P' Land now of Lorne of great renown And of Louise, so near the Crown: And the loved land of murdered Brown. Land of bright prospects and great aims, 0f grand resources and fair dames, 0f Syndicates, and Railroad shames1l Land of our own immortal Ned, With the world's chaplet on bis bead Won though away from foe he fled. But*now my story's nearly told, And 1 must go, for l'm getting cold. But please just keep in mind dear friend That for long tirne 1 did attend With the Defender (please remember) From its commencement tii December; And mucb beside what I have told Its teeming pages did unfold. And t'will endeavor to defend The cause of rigbt until its end. 'Bout local matters l'Il be mute Lest we should get to bot dispute. You see 'tis 'lection times just now, And, 'tween rnad dog and bungry cow 1 would not be safe to say my say, Lest cows should nibbie me for bay, Or dogs upon my calves sbouid prey. Now please sheil out, don't say me nay; Hand me the tin, and l'Il away. Thanks! And a happy New Year's day!! (L7dibor 's Note) This Carrier Boy's Address, was a traditional poem written every New Year's Day by Whitby's finest l9th Century puet, Ross Johnston, (1827-1911). This poem, written in 1881, and describing the everits of the previous year, was pennied by Mr. Johnston for a Whitby newspaper called The Defender, of which nothing is known today, 95 years later. On New Year's Day, the paper's carrier boys would deliver the address, door to door, and ask for a few coins in exchange for their work of the year. A careful reading of this poemn wiil show that little has changed in 95 years. There are stili wars, elections, and troubles in Ireland. The following notes will explain a few of the references in the poem: A tailor's goose is a tailor's pressing iron, with a long curved handie, that could look like a drurnstick. "Garfield" is James Garfield, who was e]ected Presidenit of the United States in 1880. "Sir John" is Canada's Prime Minister, Sir John A. Macdonald, and the "N.P." is his National Policy for colonizing Western Canada. "Lorne" is the Marquis of Lorne, Governor-General of Canada, and "Louise" is his wife, a daugf.ter of Queen Victoria. "Murdered Brown" is George Brown, proprietor of the Toronto Globe, and a father of Confederation, who was assassinated in 1880. "Our own immortal Ned", is Ned Hanalan, a Canadian who was the worid's champion oarsman in 1880. Mr. Johnston's final reference to elections, is to the Town of Whitby municipal elections, which were held at the end and flot the beginning of December, as they are today. (The original hand-written copy of this Carrier, Boy's Address is in the Whitby Historical Society's archiveý", donated by a descendent of Ross Johnston.>