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Continued from pago six of Bonham the Bad's duties. In Halifax this is difficult because anybody can see a convoy going out simply by taking an upstairs room in one of the hotels on the harbor, or by walking to the top of the old fortress, Citadel Hill. One afternoon I myself climbed that hill and watched a convoy num bering almost 100 ships. The skippers had got their instructions the night before at a ‘‘convoy conference" held in the well-protected dockyard. These conferences are presided over by Commodore Clarence G. Jones, the Royal Canadian Navy’s good-looking, forty-four-year-old O.C.A.C. (Officer in Command of the Atlantic Coast). It was dawn when I went to the top of Citadel Hill. A sign warned, “Photography Prohibited," and there were several soldiers around to enforce that order. Only a few townsmen had 1 gathered to see the spectacle. They are mostly unexcited now about con voys, although when convoying first started, they often packed the hilltop. No Coromony Down in Bedford Basin, which is at the back of the harbor, the ships were assembled. They started out at intervals of from three minutes to a half-hour and plowed through the long harbor, straight for a 250-foot deep submarine net, which swung back to let them out There was no ceremony of any kind. As the ships started out across the horizon, single file and in a straight line, 1 thought 1 had never beheld such a beautiful picture. I stayed for hours watching the big liners move gracefully out into the Battle of the Atlantic, and then, having grown hungry, visited a restaurant. At dusk, when I re turned. the ships were still filing out — the convoy was that large. I could not see what was happening out there at sea, but 1 knew that, outside Canadian waters, they were falling into formations. The Admiral and Commodore vary these constant ly. Shooting ahead, looking for trou ble, are usually a couple of corvettes, with their loads of depth charges ready to dump onto subs. Battleships follow alongside as escorts and de stroyers constantly circle the pack. The ships in the interior of the con voy may be lined up in ten rows five vessels long, or five rows ten vessels long R.C.A.F planes roar out to give | them aerial patrol during the day and eventually they are picked up on the other side by the R.A.F. All this convoying has made Hali fax a modern wonder city. As a boom town, it has few equals. Normally its population is 60,000, but since the war, this has shot up to 130,000. Near its edges numerous forts have been built, and within its limits there is a new embarkation depot, where the neat, boyish-looking air pilots wait for ships that will take them to * join the R.A.F. On the outskirts of the town 1 saw the longest freight trains in my memory. Every train brought trucks, foods and other sup plies, including oil — for many of the ships out in Bedford Basin were oil tankers. [W Heavy Traffic I1 i A few years ago the streets of Halifax were drowsy. Today they are almost as busy as Fifth Avenue. At 5:30 one evening I was out for a walk and was almost bowled over by a crowd of 20,000 sailors who had been t suddenly dumped into the cramped business section by the launch-load. Five and six abreast, they swung up the streets, shouting at each other or suddenly halting to throw their arms around each other and sing “She's the Pride of the Ocean” and other songs. I got out to the curb to make way for sombreroed New Zealanders, kilted Scots, Dutchmen with stream ers trailing down the backs of their caps, a Welshman who asked me, "Aren’t there any Welshmunn in Hahlifahx?”, Greeks, Egyptians, Czechs and of course many, many Canadians. The foreign visitors occupied not only the sidewalks but the streets as well. Suddenly I saw a .squad of husky blacks from British Somaliland marching single file up the city’s main stem. In Halifax, they march, march, march. The officers’ explanation is, •‘We don’t want them to get stale.” Halifax has met the emergency with gusto. Navy wives have raised $30, 000 for the new North End Service Center where twenty-cent meals are served. For the social side, the Navy wives have recruited a list of girls who are available for dates. Churches have given up recreation parlors and landlords have surren dered apartment buildings to help Halifax solve its soldier and sailor housing problem. "The Rink,” where Halifax played hockey, has been taken over by the Navy. In thi hotel where 1 stopped, 1 saw cots for soldiers and sailors. Some visitors have slept on benches in the railway station. With the service men spending prodigally when they have it, and carpenters and others feeling rich with $75 a week or more, the mer chants are thriving. And apartments are renting for $80 and "up. But it’s in the harbor, where the tugs and other craft race about helping the big armed merchant cruisers get their cargoes from the choked railroad lines, that the biggest results are. shown. This year the Port of Halifax hopes to have an operating income of $750,000 to $1,000,000. In 1935, it had a $3,915 deficit. Only the orchard owners on the little farms are suffering. Always be fore. Britain has snapped up all their apples. Now there is no room on the convoy ships for apples. Sadly, the farmers are turning to drying their apples for other markets. In my hotel room, when I went to call room service, I discovered this warning: “It is forbidden to mention ships or ship movements, aircraft, troops, war industries or the weather during long-distance conversations. — Mantime Telegraph & Telephone Co.” On the dresser there was a warn ing to turn out lights when leaving the room, in case of a blackout. Reading the “Halifax Chronicle,” I saw this: “Owing to censorship re strictions, weather forecasts will not be given in the future.” Nowhere in any of the papers is there a mention of convoys; it is not admitted that c-s exist. Battleship and sea intelli gence is datelined Ottawa, which is the capital — but also an inland city where one can scarcely float more than a canoe! Yes, unquestionably Halifax is one of the most war-conscious cities in our hemisphere. Recently a German war prisoner escaped in the city while en route to an internment camp. In some way he got some overalls and exchanged them for his prison garb. Then he started out across the out skirts of Halifax and went unnoticed for a considerable distance. A six-year-old girl was his nemesis. She decided he was a German prisoner and ran and told her father. “But how did you know?” the police asked her later. “1 just knew that he looked like a Nazi," she replied, firmly. end I Pour yourself a nice cool vacation! / . 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