—in other words, Mr Tom Biekerstaffe, the broad-shouldered, rcd-choek-ed septuagenarian who looks 50 and has made Blackpool—floods of mammoth sea-green, orange, blue, and allow motor-coaches, scarlet sticks of Blackpool rock the length of church candles, idectrio organs, giant dippers, the Blackpool Tower itself, so tall that from its top you can once' again see the red sun disappear after it has passed out of your sight when you were on the ground a moment ago; and, finally, of the one Londoner J knew whom 1 met on the Pleasure Beach. It was 4 o’clock in the afternoon. But already he was dazled. He opened his month to say something. A gust of laughter from a dozen merry mill-girls and their escorts drowned it. He gave up trying and slunk away. Blackpool is no place for weaklings.
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Hokitika Guardian, 23 August 1929, Page 2
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136Untitled Hokitika Guardian, 23 August 1929, Page 2
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