Word: pubs
(lookup in dictionary)
(lookup stats)
Dates: all
Sort By: most recent first
(reverse)
...Fusiliers. He was younger than the age he gave the recruiting sergeant, but well set-up and handy with his dukes. He soon got the hang of barrack life, and was enjoying his beer and his "bit of skirt" with the best. He took his part in many a pub-brawl, many a dangerous jest. When an ignorant young officer had him "crimed" for a dirty rifle (which was actually clean) and his attempts to establish his innocence only got him into hotter water, he learned another piece of old soldier's wisdom...
...throughout the Irish Free State who were in need of a job, he saw to it that dozens of them were able to make their way across St. George's Channel to enlist in the British Navy. In many a Dublin back room, in many a country pub, grim-faced young Irish republicans vowed to get even with Admiral Somerville...
...utterly high-brow to uproarious laughter. Erwin Trowbridge, henpecked author of verses for Mother's Day greeting cards has a bitter quarrel with his spouse and is so far diverted from his routine that he goes not to the office but forthwith to a very low pub where he falls in with a group of down-at-the-heels race track touts. It has been Erwin's harmless amusement as he daily rides the Ozone Park bus to dope out the day's horse races and figure up his paper profits. He shows the boys his predictions for the races...
Spilsbury Sniff. Never a crime of "Spilsbury calibre" was the "Rats" murder but last week Britain's real-life Sherlock Holmes, the great criminal pathologist Sir Bernard Spilsbury (TIME, March 4 et seq.), was called on a case exactly to his taste when the potman of a pub in South London went nosing down into a cellar disused for years. Next door to the pub is the Old Surrey Theatre, now being torn down but in Queen Victoria's day the mecca of thrill-thirsty folk who loved to see dramas of ripe, purple blood and thunder...
...potman last week found in the pub cellar the sort of thing that used to occur on the nearby stage half a century ago. Some villain had struck down a middleaged, grey-haired man, rolled him up in curtains, then in linoleum, finally in carpets and tied the big bundle with a rope. When Sir Bernard Spilsbury arrived the usual London headlines suggested that not even this murder trail could be too cold for his keen, Sherlocking nose. Sniffed he: "I should say this man was killed about 1885 and was at that time about 55 years old. There...