Arnold Hodgkins’ art comes home

Arnold Hodgkins’ portrait of war trauma. “Victim ’43”

Some things are just meant to happen. About five years ago, a woman in Port Perry made a decision about the artwork that had accumulated around her home for half a century. A large private collection of sketches, water colours and other paintings created by Carol Hodgkins-Smith’s father, Arnold Hodgkins, suddenly went public. The calendar was approaching Nov. 11, and Carol decided her father’s war art deserved a viewing right then and there in her home.

“I think it’s finally time to share my dad’s artwork with the rest of the world,” she told me. She even decided that she would allow some of the artwork to be sold as individual items. (more…)

Back to class with vision

Where my first elementary school teacher, Marjorie Watkins, helped me see the light.

I don’t remember my very first day at George P. Mackie Public School, just off Kingston Road in Scarborough. But my parents would probably have remembered. Soon after I entered Grade 1, my teacher, Ms. Watkins, sent a note home for my parents.

“Why is Ted squinting?” she asked in the note. “I moved him to the front of the class, but I don’t think that’s enough.” (more…)

A promise to Fred Barnard

Beny-sur-Mer cemetery, Normandy, France.

It was a critical moment. My teacher friend Tish MacDonald stood behind the tombstone collecting her thoughts. Several dozen of her students from Uxbridge Secondary School quieted down in front of the headstone with the inscription, “Rifleman, Donald McKay Barnard,” etched into it. They waited for their teacher to offer testimony. They waited for Tish to speak her truth.

“This is why we come from Canada,” she said, barely holding back tears, “to respect what was lost here and to honour what men like Fred Barnard and his brother Donald sacrificed as young men.” (more…)

Refreshing human memory

WWII veteran of the Italian liberation, Ed Stafford shows off special medallion received at the CNC Warriors’ Day Parade this year. He also wears a VAC name plate. Photo: Jackie Stafford.

They all stood in a circle. All the men wore dark-blue Legion blazers or military dress uniforms. Most were greying or bald. I knew I was in trouble if I was going to find my specific contact – one of the featured guests at last Saturday’s CNE Warriors’ Day Parade – because I didn’t know what he looked like. I just knew he was a veteran. As I greeted the group of men, they all turned to face me. And I immediately knew I was saved. They all wore name tags.

“Mr. Stafford,” I said, glancing down at his name plate. “Ed Stafford, Veteran,” the tag said. (more…)

Eyes and ears on crime

My neighbour was out walking his dog, recently. We got talking and he asked me if I generally locked the doors on the family cars in the driveway overnight. I asked why. He said early one morning, recently, he opened his front door to let the dog out and saw several young people pulling on car doors across the street, testing to see if any of the cars had been left unlocked. I asked if the kids knew he was watching them.

“Sure,” he said. “I called out to them, and they stopped in their tracks.”

I should point out that my neighbour’s dog also noticed the youngsters fiddling with the car doors too. But my neighbour didn’t send his dog chasing after the intruders (although she might have licked them to death). He had a more valuable tool in his crime-fighting kit. (more…)

Pros and Cons of Stay-cationing

When the corn-on-the-cob disappears at the local grocer store, it can mean only one thing!

In recent weeks, I’ve taken to walking early in the morning. Every day. I follow a number of routes around town, each about five or six kilometres in length. The walks – sometimes I jog – remind me of the times back at high school when I would run 10 or 15 kilometres with the cross-country team, without even batting an eye. Anyway, one day last week, an acquaintance greeted me during my walk. “Why so early in the day?” he asked.

“Beat the heat, for one thing,” I said. “And because there’s nobody around.” (more…)

Steve Oancia’s last flight

Bernie Wyatt nearly fit perfectly into his cousin Stefan Oancia’s WWII RCAF tunic.

He took one last look. The transaction had transferred ownership of the property. The farm legally belonged to him now. But the old farmhouse had fallen into disrepair and would have to be demolished. So, Clarence Oancia made one last circuit around the house to see if there was anything worth salvaging. Then, Clarence remembered the attic, a loft in the top of the house, and thought he’d better check it too. He climbed the stairs, opened a closet door. And there it was.

“A World War II uniform jacket,” explained Bernie Wyatt, Clarence’s nephew. “[It was] in excellent condition.” (more…)

The “just in time” mentality

Where most busted washing machines end up – for pick-up at the curb.

Over coffee the other day, some friends shared an experience about modern-day delivery. A clothes washer had broken down at their house, so they weighed their options. Take the old one to the curb for pick-up and buy new, or try to extend the life of the old washer by attempting a repair.

Not surprisingly, my friend went online, learned about the problem and determined that a $10 part might repair the washer. The question was: How long would it take the part to arrive? It was a Saturday, but he ordered the part anyway.

“They guaranteed next-day delivery,” he said, then added sarcastically, “Sunday delivery? Not likely. Sure enough, though, next day we got back from church and this van pulled up to deliver the part. Couldn’t believe it!” (more…)

In step with the environment

The prairie dog that suddenly appeared.

It seemed an unspoken rule by the time I got there. Every step was deliberate, unobtrusive and (I hoped) non-destructive in this place of nature. I made my way through sage and other prairie grasses, closer to a mound where a couple of prairie dogs were playing. I didn’t want to scare them down their hole; I just wanted to get close enough to take a clear photograph. Then, I looked down and suddenly there it was.

A prairie dog emerged from a hole in the ground right at my feet. And he, or she, chirped at me, as much surprised to see me lording overtop, as I was to see an animal nearly under foot.

I aimed and fired my camera and got the picture. (more…)

What makes a kid’s summer?

My sister Kate  and I got an introduction to cottage life at the Globe and Mail cottages on Lake Erie in the mid-1950s.

I might have dismissed the email, but the subject line caught my attention. “A Quick Past Memory,” it said. A fellow named Bryan Graham contacted me this past week to remind me that his dad and mine had known each other on the job 60 years ago. He explained that he’d tripped over my name in a military newsletter and decided to get in touch to tell me about our families’ connection.

“My father, Al Graham, was a district manager in Waterloo for the Globe and Mail in the mid-1950s,” Bryan explained.

Of course, since my father Alex had worked as a reporter and then columnist for the Globe back then, I took a bit more time reading his note.

“The Globe and Mail owned a property on the shores of Lake Erie with 12 wooden, very basic cottages and a small recreation building,” Bryan continued. “I’m confident our families spent a summer or two there together in the ’50s.” (more…)