Small town




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It is it is a pretty town.  Artists come to paint the boats in the harbour or the grand Algonquin Hotel.  The town has a United Empire Loyalist history complete with a cemetery.   The streets are classically named for King and Queen and for their many children, William, Sophia, Augustus, Ernest, Maris.  You can guess which king of course?  The houses must conform in shape and color.  McDonalds gave up years ago in it’s attempt to open up here.  Even Tim Horton’s is kept at bay at the outskirts of the town.  There is a famous golf course and an arena where kids come to hockey camp.  There are “sets” in St Andrews.  You can belong to the arty set, the Community College set, the Marine Biology set, the tourist trade set.  Most exclusive of all are the old timers’ set.  You have to be in that set to be hurried in the United Empire Loyalist cemetary.  There are no homeless people sleeping in the street in St Andrews.   Years ago a Jew died in St. Andrews and the Anglican minister had to arrange his funeral.  St. Andrews is a mysterious town.  It is a pretty town but there undercurrents.  The real estate agents are out in force.  There are a lot of old rich people in St. Andrews.  Just one disconcerting sign posted discretely on the wharf made me a little queasy.  But it was a very discrete sign.  For a few days one can walk past the pretty shops, or down the wharf or to the block house where canons once faced the enemy Yankees.  Now the Yankees happily buy English China in the little shop or go out for an excursion on a sail boat.  As soon as it leaves the harbour the icy wind of the Bay of Fundy reminds them that St Andrews is a special world.  I have walked down the autumn streets of St Andrews when the painters had all packed up and the ice cream shop was closed and the wind blew leaves down the deserted street.  To spend a winter in St. Andrews!  How mysterious that would be — perhaps even terrifying.




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