History that speaks volumes

Veronika Shavikova

Several years into the Second World War, a young teacher in a small Czechoslovak town made a decision. It nearly cost him his life. Oldrich Patrovsky, who taught primary grades so he could support his family, in 1942, watched Jewish neighbours uprooted and transported away. He chose to help some of them escape the Nazi dragnet. He was arrested and incarcerated inside the 18th century military fortress at Terezin. It’s a place in the former Czechoslovakia that the Nazis had transformed into a prison for political prisoners and a transit camp to redirect Jewish prisoners to death camps in Eastern Europe.

“His crime was being ‘a friend of Jews,’” Patrovsky’s great-granddaughter told me this week.

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The lessons of walls

A suitcase lost in a pile beyond an evil wall.

Behind glass at a busy museum in Poland, there’s a tattered leather suitcase sitting silent, but speaking volumes. Time and use have worn the brown polish off the corners of the bag. The latch has rusted. This piece of luggage, now nearly two generations old, has lost much of its shape and identity. Nevertheless, time has not erased perhaps the most important feature of this museum piece. Painted on the exterior is the name of its owner in 1940:

“Marie Kafka. Prag XIII-833,” the white, painted-on letters indicate. (more…)

Walk, don’t run the engine

I made a health decision a few weeks ago. Well, it wasn’t really a health decision, but it had some health consequences, I guess. It might be called an environmental decision, because there are certainly planetary benefits. But then again, it was more expediency than anything else. The past few weeks, I’ve been up most weekday mornings and out the door early and on foot.

“I’m off to walk the boys to school,” I’ve been announcing to my wife, these past few weeks. (more…)

Evidence we’re winning

Jennifer O’Connell explains how MPs voted unanimously on a long-awaited installation on Parliament Hill.

During her speech at the Sam Sharpe statue unveiling, last Friday night, MP Jennifer O’Connell became emotional as she explained that the day before, Members of Parliament had voted unanimously to install Tyler Briley’s sculpture of Sam Sharpe in the Centre Block of Parliament in Ottawa.

And when Seamus O’Regan, the minister of veterans’ affairs, quizzed her about the community groundswell of support in Uxbridge that had brought this motion to the House, he seemed genuinely impressed.

“Who are these people?” O’Regan asked her. “What is it about Uxbridge?” (more…)

Invisible war wound

WWII veteran Harry Watts addressing guests attending his 90th birthday in 2013.

About five years ago, I travelled to Kitchener to help a Second World War vet celebrate his 90th birthday. Harry Watts had served as a dispatch rider, a.k.a. motorcycle messenger, in Italy and Holland, 1943-45. Suddenly, during the birthday wishes and cake cutting for Harry, members of the Canadian Army of Veterans (CAV) pulled up on motorcycles to pay tribute to Harry, their eldest member.

“We’ve come to help you celebrate, Harry,” the CAV riders said.

“Thank you, brothers,” said Harry, his eyes welling up with emotion. (more…)

Royal relevance

With a line on the grass between them, King George VI and Queen Elizabeth (Queen Mum) beyond meet airmen of the Dam Busters squadron at RAF Scampton in May 1943.

Everybody was new at this. Royalty meeting members of the public at such close range hadn’t really happened much before. The organizers of the meeting, however, went so far as to paint a white line on the grass – like marking side lines on a football field – to keep the planned inspection orderly. Two Royal family members walked on one side of the painted line, and members of the military being inspected stood on the other, including a Royal Air Force pilot named Dave Shannon.

“It’s Flight Lieutenant Shannon’s 21st birthday,” his commanding officer told the King and Queen as they paused before him.

“You seem to be a very well preserved 21,” King George VI told Shannon. “You must have a party tonight.”

The King could probably have spoken for the entire British Commonwealth that day, three-quarters of a century ago. (more…)

Don’t blame! Get in the game!

There’s a cartoon I have saved in one of my filing cabinets. It goes back almost 25 years now. It depicts a person sitting at a table receiving members of the public at a local meeting – not a township council meeting – a kind of town hall meeting. There’s a sign above the receptionist’s head.

“Welcome to the Future of Uxbridge,” the sign says.

Meanwhile approaching the receptionist is a woman wearing a bandana and carrying a crystal ball. She looks very much like a fortune teller and asks simply, “Need any help?” (more…)

Worrying is worrying our kids sick

The topic came up rather suddenly. My son-in-law had dropped by to pick up his children. He sat on the step. We got caught up on the day. Then, he explained that he had been talking to his eldest daughter – that she was getting to the right age – about walking home from school with a friend rather than being picked up every day by her dad or her grandparents.

“We want to help give her a sense of independence,” he said. (more…)

Not even in the Greys

First on radio, then on TV’s “Hockey Night in Canada,” play-by-play announcer Foster Hewitt gave audiences a sense of being right in front of the action.

Monday night I was driving. I was on the edge of the range of the radio station broadcasting the Leafs-Bruins Stanley Cup playoff game. It was late in the third period. The signal faded momentarily just as play-by-play announcer Joe Bowen’s voice rose in intensity describing an up-ice pass from Mitch Marner to Patrick Marleau. And just before the radio signal dropped out completely I heard Bowen shout out his patented exclamation:

“Holy Mackinaw! What an enormous goal!” With that goal, the Leafs won the game, 4-2. (more…)

As safe as … a game of hockey

In a hundred years of hockey in Canada, kids and skates and pucks belong together.

It didn’t matter how early on a Saturday, he still came with me. Even if he’d worked half the night getting his last newspaper column of the week finished at the Globe and Mail, and even if we played the first game of the day at 6 a.m., my dad was always there. He helped me tie my skates, made sure my Butch Goring helmet was in place, and sent me onto the ice to play house-league hockey. I felt secure too, seeing him at the end of the outdoor arena, through the chain-link fence, cheering us on.

“Go, Agincourt, go,” I heard him shout between puffs on his cigarette.

Having a parent take me to the rink felt supremely comforting. And, as I remember, we had a couple of coaches – volunteers – who made sure we had sticks, pucks and jerseys. It was always reassuring to have those familiar people there for us. A virtual security blanket. (more…)