In Salisbury, Southern Rhodesia one day last week, the great crimson gates of the jail swung open, and out straggled the strangest parade the city (pop. 220,000) had ever seen. There were cowboys and clowns, Indians and Davy Crocketts and riverboat dandies. Finally, from across the guards' sports field came Father Christmas himself, riding on a farm cart in the hot afternoon sun. As he stepped down from his cart to hand out the presents, screaming children grabbed his arms, hugged his legs, reached for his beard. "Man," said Father Christmas, "this...

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