Part way through B.J. Byers’ concert last Saturday night in Uxbridge, the young pianist finished one of his toughest pieces – an etude by Chopin. He wiped the perspiration from his face with a towel, smiled broadly – as if he had just conquered Everest – and acknowledged the packed house at Trinity United Church.
“There was once a time, I wouldn’t have been able to face this,” Byers said. “I would have just turned and run away.”
It began innocently enough. I wanted to mail some postcards home. I’d done the hard part – composing some thoughts and finding the addresses. I’d even discovered that postage stamps were available in tobacco stores here. So I searched one out and asked for “francobollo” in my best, fractured Italian. But the tobacconist waved his hands. They didn’t sell stamps anymore. I’d have to go to the post office. There, I found what I thought I needed – wickets, line-ups and clerks – until I reached the front of the line.
“No. No,” the clerk said. He too was waving his hands at me, as if I was contagious. And he shouted at me, “You need ticket!”
“Oh, a first-come first-served system like a bakery,” I thought. “I can do this.”
I saw my mother do it. I saw my grandmother do it even more. It wasn’t something my grandfather ever did. And I never saw my father do it. Although, after he died in 2004, we did find some of my father’s military papers from the Second World War when he served a sergeant in the army medical corps. And those papers suggested he knew how to do it. On his Honorable Discharge papers when he left the U.S. Army in December 1945, his attestation revealed that he had done it.
“Civilian occupation,” the discharge papers revealed, “Sewing machine operator.” (more…)
I remember the Pope. He was Polish, but he wasn’t Józef Wojtyla. Not Pope John Paul II. This was a man named Kiril Pavlovich Lakota. He had been a political prisoner – Number 103592R – in a Soviet gulag. He was scooped up by the powers that be and sent on a mission, a mission to ascend the thrown of the Catholic Church and to then negotiate an end to the Cold War with China. What? You don’t remember that Pope? Well, he was in all the newspapers, magazines and movie trailers in 1968. And he looked an awful lot like Anthony Quinn.
“You gave me absolute power,” actor Quinn says as Pope Kiril, “You must submit to my use of it.” (more…)
A close veteran friend of mine died this week. Bruce Evans, winner of the Governor General’s Caring Canadian Award, served in the Second World War with the 1st Hussars tank regiment. He landed in Normandy and was wounded on D-Day 1944; but he rejoined the 6th Armoured Regiment in time to help liberate Holland in 1944-45. His reason for serving was simple.
“It wasn’t patriotism that drove us,” Evans said. “Our job was to … liberate Europe,” and he was always mindful of the regiment’s motto, “today not tomorrow.”
The other night just before I gave a presentation to a historical group in north Toronto, a number of people with the volunteer organization were recognized for their service. In particular, the group recognized a woman who had served the Richmond Hill Historical Society as its secretary.
“Mrs. Monkman is leaving her position,” the president said, “after 26 years of service to the society.”
In the fall of 2001, a man dropped by the original location of the Grenadier Militaria store in Port Perry. It wasn’t long after the store had opened its doors for the first time. Although he didn’t know Dave Zink, the proprietor of the store, Dave Robinson asked a favour. A production (by the Borelians Community Theatre) needed military props and uniforms to authenticate an upcoming show. Robinson, then a history teacher at Port Perry High School, wondered if Zink might loan some of his unique artefacts to the production. Robinson couldn’t believe what happened.
“He said, ‘Yes,’” Robinson said. “And right away, I knew Dave Zink was a valuable asset to the community because he was so supportive.”
The day before the big opening the French police built a security fence around it. Workers set up wooden benches for an audience of 5,000. Rain left the glass and titanium-clad building on the Normandy beach glistening like a polished jewel. And inside the museum itself Canadian army cadets removed the pins from nearly 44,000 poppies – the pinless Remembrance symbols would be dropped from an aircraft during the ceremony – symbolizing the number of Canadians killed in the Second World War.
“I was on this beach 59 years ago,” Garth Webb said during the opening of the Juno Beach Centre on the D-Day anniversary in 2003. “And it’s just as big a thrill to be here today.”
About three days into the tour, I saw the two of them walking and talking. Tony and Jeff Peck were pausing to look up at a wall of inscriptions. There in front of them the names of some 54,896 Commonwealth soldiers, for whom there are no known remains, lay chiselled in the stone. They are the so-called “missing” from the Great War. A couple of days later, father Tony watched son Jeff participate in the famous Last Post Ceremony under the same barrel-vaulted archway known as the Menin Gate.
“They shall grow not old, as we who are left grow old,” Jeff recited to the hundreds watching in silence. “Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn. At the going down of the sun and in the morning, we will remember them.”
Following a recent oldtimers’ hockey game at the arena Sunday night, my teammates and I made our way to the dressing room. The difference this night, however, was that we had won our game. For the first time in our Uxbridge Adult Hockey round-robin playoff, we had won – our first victory in four tries. We were all feeling pretty upbeat as we piled into the dressing room, where a teammate next to me suggested why we had won.
“We can thank Flying Officer Harris for this one,” he said.