Alan Skeoch

Author: terraviva

  • EPISODE 131 PORT HOPE…77 MM GERMAN FIELD GUN CAPTURED IN WW I…restored

    EPISODE 128     PORT HOPE … 77 MM GERMAN  FIELD  ARTLLERY PIECE CAPTURED IN WW I


    alan skeoch
    Sept  2020

    Trophies across Canada

    At war’s end, Sir Arthur Doughty, the Dominion Archivist, was named Controller of War Trophies and charged with gathering trophies and bringing them back to Canada. While many Canadian trophies were sent to the Imperial War Museum, thousands returned to Ottawa. In early 1920, the government’s official collection consisted of 516 guns, 304 trench mortars, 3,500 light and heavy machine-guns, and 44 aircraft.

    Initial plans for a national war museum to house this collection, the official war art, and other artifacts were delayed or ignored by successive governments. The collection remained with the Dominion Archives which was soon sending pieces of it across Canada in response to requests from communities, veterans groups, schools, and military units. Cities or military bases often displayed large war trophies in central parks or in or near prominent buildings, and sometimes included them with local memorials. Acquired in the burst of patriotic enthusiasm that marked the immediate post-war period, many gradually fell into disrepair. During the Second World War, hundreds were donated to scrap metal drives, incorporating former German weapons against the new Nazi enemy.









    EPISODE 131   TROPHY OF WORLD WAR ONE…PORT HOPE 

    alan skeoch
    Oct. 2020

    We made a fast stop to look at the salmon running (lumbering is a better word) their way
    up the Ganaraska River which runs through the centre of Port Hope.  With Covid 19 lurking
    who knows where, we were careful and maybe unwelcome visitors.  So we found an empty
    parking lot and rushed to get a look at this poor salmon.

    We never made it.  We  got distracted by a large 77 mm field gun.  “Must be a Canadian gun,”
    I thought until i  read the bronze plaque description.  The gun is … or was … German.  Heavy
    wooden  wheels in excellent shape because of a Rotary Club restoration done back in 1000.
    This gun was presented to the Town of Port Hope in 1919 as a ‘trophy of war’ that it might serve
    as a memorial to the boys from Port Hope killed in its capture.

    The expression “trophy of war” made me think “I wonder how many similar trophies of war  were
    shipped  to Canada back in 1919?”

    There were lots of them.  Hundreds..thousands.   One man, Sir Arthur Doughty, was named Controller of  War Trophies when
    the First World War ended.  in 1920 Caada received  516 guns (like the Port Hope 77 mm field gun), 304 Trench Mortars,   3,500 light and heavy machine-guns 
    and 44 aircraft.  

    What happened to them?   Initially they were stored in Ottawa but not for long.  Towns and  cities across Canada sent requests for war trophies…as did veterans group, schools and military units.  

      Many got featured space in parks or near prominent buildings as  in Port Hope.   If there were so many then why did the Port Hope gun surprise me?

    A great many of the trophies of war were aging…wood  wheels rot fast.  And scrap metals were needed for a new World War in 1939.  They were melted down and reformed
    into more modern artillery in the war against Nazi Germany.  They went home as it were.

    The fate of the larger trophies of war…the aircraft..is only partially known.  there were 792 Fokker fighting aircraft surrendered to Britain in 1919.  Forty four of them
    came to Canada.    have any survived?


    A seat of honour for a German artillery man…rough honour.

    The fate of the larger trophies of war…the airplanes is only partially known.  Believe it or not Germany surrendered  792 Fokker Aircraf








    QUOTE FROM :THE CANADIAN  FOKKERS


    By the end of the Great War, military aviation had come of age and was recognized as a vital part of modern warfare. The Armistice of November 11th 1918 required the German Army to surrender its most potent weapons of war, so as to discourage the high command from resuming hostilities. This agreement demanded the German army turn over 5,000 artillery pieces, 25,000 machine guns, 3,000 trench mortars, as well as “1,700 pursuit and bombardment airplanes, preference being given to all of the D-7s [sic] and all of the night bombardment machines”. As a result, by the opening months of 1919, 792 Fokker D.VIIs had been surrendered to the British, French, Belgian and American armies. Several dozen of these machines ultimately found their way to Canada, and yet the details of exactly how that happened have been all but forgotten.

    From a Canadian perspective, the First World War was a pivotal moment in terms of establishing a sense of nationhood. Thousands of Canadians fought with distinction in the British flying services during the war. On the ground, the Dominion of Canada fielded its first Army-sized formation – the four, over-gunned divisions of the Canadian Corps. To publicize this significant contribution to the allied war effort, Lord Beaverbrook created a public relations machine called the Canadian War Records Office (CWRO). Working with him to construct and preserve a national memory of the war years was Arthur Doughty, Dominion Archivist and Director of War Trophies. Drawing largely on spoils of war surrendered after the Armistice, Doughty amassed an artefact collection including nearly fifty aircraft. Along with the rest of the trophy collection, these state of the art aeroplanes were intended to form the nucleus of a national war museum in Ottawa to commemorate Canada’s wartime sacrifices.

    During the opening months of 1919, Doughty and a young Canadian staff officer by the name of Captain R.E. Lloyd Lott persuaded the RAF and the American Expeditionary Force (AEF) to share a portion of their aeronautical booty with Canada. In February and March of 1919, the recently formed Canadian Air Force (CAF) took possession of twenty Fokker D.VIIs from the RAF. The original intent was for the CAF to pack the aircraft for shipment to Canada, but No. 1 Fighter Squadron also flew them extensively alongside their standard British service machines. In part, this was because the experienced Canadian airmen felt that the D.VII was superior to their issued Sopwith Dolphins.

    Today, assessing the degree to which the CAF utilized German aircraft is based on a number of primary sources. Among the most useful documentary evidence is a handful of surviving pilot logbooks. In addition to these, a number of official Canadian photographs – one of the many products of Beaverbrook’s CWRO – captured Fokker D.VIIs in CAF custody. In the spring of 1919, CWRO cameramen visited the CAF at Hounslow Airfield (southwest of London, between the modern Heathrow Airport and Kew Gardens) where they photographed Fokkers D.VIIs being used by Canadian airmen. A number of these photographs have since been published fairly widely, yet their Canadian connection is most often entirely overlooked.

    The photograph showing a line-up of four Fokker D.VIIs (the nearest bearing the ‘RK’ insignia of Richard Kraut from Jasta 63) has appeared in a number of publications. Some rightly identify the location as Hounslow, but never has a caption indentified the serials of all four aircraft in the photograph, nor has anyone noted that they were being utilized by the CAF. Through an examination of original CWRO albums held at the Canadian War Museum (CWM), and an appreciation of context in which the photos were taken this author has deduced much information about the images in this series. Two other photographs of this same foursome, taken from different angles and showing a handful of CAF members, allow the four aircraft to be identified as Albatros-built D.VIIs bearing the serials 5924/18 [often misidentified as 5324], 6769/18, 6810/18 [the so-called ‘Knowlton Fokker’ that survives in Canada to this day at the Brome County Historical Society] and 6822/18. In order to extract this information, one requires access to all three photographs, an appreciation of their relationship to one another, and good quality scans or prints from the original glass plate negatives.


    ALAN SKEOCH

    oct. 2020

  • EPISODE 130 “UP ONE ROAD AND DOWN ANOTHER SETTING THE WORLD ON FIRE” ERIN TOWNSHIP, 4TH AND 5TH LINE OCT. 1,2020

    EPISODE 130    DRIVING THROUGH ERIN TOWNSHIP UP FIFTH LINE AND DOWN FOURTH LINE  OCT. 1, 2020


    alan skeoch
    Oct. 1, 2020

    WE got a huge return of sets and props from a big time movie.  I wrote a story with pictures.
    … an  interesting 
    story that may never be told.  Why not?  First, movies are quite secretive because they do
    not want strangers wandering  around  making their sets useless.   Second, I asked some of the men delivering
    our things to lift their masks so  I could get their pictures.  “They could be fired, Alan, you
    cannot do that.” said Marjorie. 

    And third, President Trump has tested positive for the Covid 19 virus.  Pence exposed? What does this
    mean?   Is Biden vulnerable?  I thought Trump look sick in the debate…sure sounded sick.  Is Nancy
    Pelosi third in line as takeover President.  Hope so.  Getting nervous.  I sure am.  Not 
    that I will miss Trump.

    So here is a series of pictures to make you feel less tense on this October day.

    alan

    P.S,  Maybe I can send the movie story titled  RETURN LOAD once the movie is shown to the public months from now.
    But do not hold  your breath.  Meanwhile go on this road trip with us.



    Where are we?  “Alan, get your camera, I will drive  UP THE FIFTH LINE, DOWN THE FOURTH LINE OF ERIN TOWNSHIP…JUST
    A SHORT DRIVE SOUTH WEST OF ERIN.”

    And so I left the drab brown soybean field where Andrew keeps his bees and became a passenger.  Pretend  you are
    in the truck  with us.


    Thanks … to whom?  To those of you who liked  our previous road  trip to Sheltered Valley and  Wicklow Beach…east of Toronto.
    One couple even duplicated the trip (Pat Fry and husband Dave).   

    Here we are North west of Toronto…


    Soybeans  can be beautiful too…


    Maple trees age, get tired, and collapse…sometimes with a burst of colour.


    Poor Mr Lindsay, a bachelor with a top herd…he decided to move a  cow from one place in the barn to another…she turned
    on him…gored him in the gut…bad…he dragged himself to the house to call for help…made the  call …but died.  At least
    that is what I remember being told.  Cows  kill farmers  as much or more than bulls.  Keep that in mind.


    “There, Alan, that is what I wanted  you to see.”

    “Can anyone tell me the cost of this rig?  I am guessing around $200,000 dollars.  Little wonder that small farmers
    have disappeared  and  corporate farmers are taking over.”


    “Don’t take my picture!”

    “OK”


    A few years ago I was asked to drive this stretch of  road in a new Japanese car … a commercial to be seen in
    Japan only … why would the car company want a Canadian driver on a Canadian back road for the Japanese market?

    Same stretch of road where I drove the experimental Japanese car…looking south this time. 


    I remember a line from a poem … “My days are in the yellow leaf.”

  • addition to: EPISODE 129 .PM TRUDEAU VISIT TO PCI…First he had to take a leak



    Begin forwarded message:


    From: ALAN SKEOCH <alan.skeoch@rogers.com>
    Subject: Fwd: EPISODE 129 I HAVE TO TAKE A LEAK…PM TRUDEAU VISIT TO PCI
    Date: September 30, 2020 at 11:29:52 PM EDT
    To: Marjorie Skeoch <marjorieskeoch@gmail.com>, Alan Skeoch <alan.skeoch@rogers.com>, John Wardle <john.t.wardle@gmail.com>




    Begin forwarded message:


    From: ALAN SKEOCH <alan.skeoch@rogers.com>
    Subject: EPISODE 129 I HAVE TO TAKE A LEAK…PM TRUDEAU VISIT TO PCI
    Date: September 29, 2020 at 9:24:33 AM EDT
    To: Alan Skeoch <alan.skeoch@rogers.com>, Marjorie Skeoch <marjorieskeoch@gmail.com>, John Wardle <john.t.wardle@gmail.com>


    Note…I hope this story does not seem silly…then again what if it does…who cares?
    John…take a look…you do not need to send the story out if it seems off the wall.



    EPISODE 129     PM PIERRE TRUDEAU VISITS PCI…and has to take a leak

    alan skeoch
    Sept. 2020

       The small convoy of cars pulled up in front of Parkdale C.I. and out popped

    Pierre Elliott Trudeau…our Prime Minister.  His detail close behind.  But not
    fast enough.  A girl…a  student in Grade 10 or 11…launched herself like a rocket
    towards Trudeau.  Faster than the bodyguard detail could intervene.   She reached
    Trudeau and kissed  him.   He did  not flinch. Smiled and continued towards the front
    door of the school.  It was the peak of Trudeaumania in Canada.  Her action seemed
    significant to me.


    If the hat fits , wear it.  Liberal, Conservative, NDP, Green, Bloc….or no hat at al.   IN the long run Canadian political parties
    are not that different…and that is something of which we should take pride.


    Backwards!   We have not got our politics all backwards as in this picture.  Deep down we like each other.

    In Canada, I believe we follow the Rodney King look  upon life.  Remember him?  Beaten up in California he asked the
    police, “Why can’t we all get along?”  The  difference between Bananas and peaches, between tomatoes and lemons is
    greater than the differences between Liberals, Conservatives, Greens and New Democrats.   We can ‘all get along.’  Let’s keep
    it that way.  We can talk to each other.  Most of us do not even belong to a political party.

    TRUMP-  BIDEN DEBATE…CHAOS, HATRED, VIOLENCE


    We watched the Trump – Biden show  last night.  Shocked!  Made  me think about the
    day Pierre Elliott Trudeau visited Parkdale Collegiate many years ago.  that was 
    a gentler time maybe.   But the more I thought about that visit the more I came to 
    believe Canadian democracy has much to recommend.

    One quotation comes to mind about the  Trump – Biden fiasco….”Democracy is a troubled spirit whose dream
    if  it dream presents only visions of hell.”  That sure was the case last night.  Visions of  hell”
    Even subtle suggestions of civil war.  A debate that was Out of control presenting visions of 
    hell.    I  would not invite President Trump to speak to my class.   But I did indirectly
    invite PM Pierre Trudeau to come … and he  came

    SETTING THE SCENE
    (A Grade Ten class at Parkdale C.I, west end Toronto)


    “OK, gang, I have an idea.”
    The class hurly burly settled down and most of the grade ten
    students at Parkdale Collegiate in Toronto seemed in a listening mood.
    “I think we can cajole the Prime Minister to join us.”
    “In person?”
    “Yes, in person,”
    “Why us?”
    “Because our riding is up for grabs in this election.”
    “What’s the plan, sir?”
    “You simply write him a note…an invitation.”
    “Would it not be better for you to write the note, sir?”
    “Nope.  Trudeau likes young people.   He loses  patience with older people…particularly
    teachers I believe.  Too pompous.”
    “Any tips, sir?”
    “Keep it simple.”

    So they wrote a letter.   Several letters as  I remember.  Written in Grade Ten language with
    minimum of flattery.  Hand written…straightforward, some spelling errors.   Most of the students did not expect
    the Prime Minister would ever visit our class.   But they went along with the plan.

    And then, about a week later, we got a note from the Prime Minister…quite  personal.
    The answer was a “Yes” he would visit our school…hopefully our class.

    Then the whole adventure took on a life of its  own.


    Unfortunately the visit was taken out of our hands as  the whole school  got excited.

    “We will have to open the auditorium for everyone.  This is a great honour.”

    So the visit was not to our classroom and, really, our Grade Ten students were sort
    of shouldered aside.  That did not bother them as much as I expected. It bothers me
    today.  Initially I thought One of the students
    would introduce the PM and another would  do the thank you.  That was the initial plan
    but staff changed it a bit.  Our staff of 60 teachers got excited.  The visit got to be
    teacher dominated which was partly my fault. Trudeau sent word that he would like to to a Q and A with 
    the kids.  Insisting the meeting be student centred.  That much I liked.  There were other
    aspects of the planned visit that I did not like very much.  

    A few teachers got really concerned that some of our outspoken and out of control students
    would make the visit into a disaster by rude questioning.  Like “Mr. Prime Minister you only
    came here to get votes.”  etc.etc.   Wild, even rude, questions did not bother me as I believed
    Trudeau liked that kind of questioning from young people.

    No matter.  Some teachers  decided  to keep a close eye on our more outspoken students.
    And I was asked to chair the Q and  A from the stage.  The visit was getting goddamn pompous
    but I agreed.  In retrospect that was a mistake.  A student should have had that job.  We had  
    students that would have done a fine job sitting on stage with the PM.  A shy student would
    have been terrific.  The PM would have liked that I thought.  

    In short , we over organized the visit.  Too much teacher input.  Very little student input.
    My Grade Ten class was not upset really.    None wanted the spotlight as I remember.
    Now, decades later, I wish I had not chaired the meeting.  Trudeau would have loved to see
    a student from the grade Ten class on stage.   He did meet some of them personally
    though and that was quite wonderful.

    As mentioned  the visit took a life of its own.  I was surprised when a day before
    the official visit an RCMP detachment arrived with a sniffer dog…or maybe more than
    one sniffer dog.  They did  not announce their presence but searched and smelled
    the whole school  from basement even to the roof.  A search for bombs.  Wow!
    This visit was getting the full treatment.   

    Then, the next day, the PM arrived  with an escort of unmarked vehicles.  He had bodyguards
    and also  political people with him.  But it was Trudeau who led the group.  We greeted
    him at the front door.   Shook hands  He seemed a bit agitated.

    “Thanks  for coming…(what should I call him?  I decided to use no special term)…My
    class is very excited…flattered.”

    PM Trudeau stil seemed a bit agitated when he leaned closer to me saying:

    “Where can  I take a leak?”

    “The principal’s office over here.”

    And so he disappeared for a leak.

    At this point one of our teachers sort of bulled through the crowd.  “Where is the
    Prime Minister?  I just love him.”

    I pointed to the Principal’s office and she zipped away in that direction.  She went
    right into the office.   Trudeau  was taking a leak.  Apparently she stood  outside
    the washroom door and greeted him.  I think he took that rudeness in his stride.
    His bodyguards could not stop her.  I do not think a  CNR locomotive could have
    stopped her.  It was no big deal anyway.

    What is my point?  Not much.  It is just so human.  Nothing special…a normal
    event.  

    Trudeau then took to the stage.  He stood with an open microphone taking
    questions from the kids just like any teacher wold have done in class.  it was
    very laid back.  I was not needed on the stage snd had the good sense to
    sit there and  keep my mouth shut.  Even when one  teacher moved in
    on a student who seemed bent on embarrassing the Prime Minister. The kid
    was removed.  Too bad.  Trudeau  would have liked a few sparks  flying.

    BACK TO THE TRUMP – BIDEN DEBATE

    Really our student experience  with political life in Canada was very relaxed…friendly, honest,
    straight answers to questions.  The visit lacked pomposity.   It was so far
    distant from the Trump – Biden debate.   Polite. Maybe  even boring.

    What would  I do  if facing students today after the insult laden American Presidential 
    debate?   How could I be impartial if I was an American teacher.  One thought 
    came to mind.  “Democracy can  only work well if there are two political parties
    that are not distant from each other…parties that we would  call centrists…neither
    extreme left nor extreme right.   Parties not so filled with hate for each other that
    they welcome the prospect of  violence.”   I read  something life that somewhere.
    Seemed sensible to me.  I am not a member of any political party and have voted
    for all three on different occasions.

    Certainly I do not see the rift between parties as  deep and
    hostile … The Grand  Canyon.   Full hatred.  Fire and Brimstone.  And 
    that has a fascination for sure.  

    Our political life cannot compare.   Boring.  Nice.  The Prime Minister
    has to take a leak.  The school staff worry he might be asked a rude
    question.  The  Prime  Minister, Pierre Elliott Trudeau, responds to an invitation
    by Grade Ten students.   So ordinary.  So nice.  No apologies.

    You want to know something I suspected?  I do not think many of
    my students knew whether Trudeau was a Liberal or a Conservative.
    There was no big difference.  And that…that makes all the difference.

    alan skeoch
    Sept. 29, 2020



  • Fwd: EPISODE 129 I HAVE TO TAKE A LEAK…PM TRUDEAU VISIT TO PCI



    Begin forwarded message:


    From: ALAN SKEOCH <alan.skeoch@rogers.com>
    Subject: EPISODE 129 I HAVE TO TAKE A LEAK…PM TRUDEAU VISIT TO PCI
    Date: September 29, 2020 at 9:24:33 AM EDT
    To: Alan Skeoch <alan.skeoch@rogers.com>, Marjorie Skeoch <marjorieskeoch@gmail.com>, John Wardle <john.t.wardle@gmail.com>


    Note…I hope this story does not seem silly…then again what if it does…who cares?
    John…take a look…you do not need to send the story out if it seems off the wall.



    EPISODE 129     PM PIERRE TRUDEAU VISITS PCI…and has to take a leak

    alan skeoch
    Sept. 2020


    If the hat fits , wear it.  Liberal, Conservative, NDP, Green, Bloc….or no hat at al.   IN the long run Canadian political parties
    are not that different…and that is something of which we should take pride.


    Backwards!   We have not got our politics all backwards as in this picture.  Deep down we like each other.

    In Canada, I believe we follow the Rodney King look  upon life.  Remember him?  Beaten up in California he asked the
    police, “Why can’t we all get along?”  The  difference between Bananas and peaches, between tomatoes and lemons is
    greater than the differences between Liberals, Conservatives, Greens and New Democrats.   We can ‘all get along.’  Let’s keep
    it that way.  We can talk to each other.  Most of us do not even belong to a political party.

    TRUMP-  BIDEN DEBATE…CHAOS, HATRED, VIOLENCE


    We watched the Trump – Biden show  last night.  Shocked!  Made  me think about the
    day Pierre Elliott Trudeau visited Parkdale Collegiate many years ago.  that was 
    a gentler time maybe.   But the more I thought about that visit the more I came to 
    believe Canadian democracy has much to recommend.

    One quotation comes to mind about the  Trump – Biden fiasco….”Democracy is a troubled spirit whose dream
    if  it dream presents only visions of hell.”  That sure was the case last night.  Visions of  hell”
    Even subtle suggestions of civil war.  A debate that was Out of control presenting visions of 
    hell.    I  would not invite President Trump to speak to my class.   But I did indirectly
    invite PM Pierre Trudeau to come … and he  came

    SETTING THE SCENE
    (A Grade Ten class at Parkdale C.I, west end Toronto)


    “OK, gang, I have an idea.”
    The class hurly burly settled down and most of the grade ten
    students at Parkdale Collegiate in Toronto seemed in a listening mood.
    “I think we can cajole the Prime Minister to join us.”
    “In person?”
    “Yes, in person,”
    “Why us?”
    “Because our riding is up for grabs in this election.”
    “What’s the plan, sir?”
    “You simply write him a note…an invitation.”
    “Would it not be better for you to write the note, sir?”
    “Nope.  Trudeau likes young people.   He loses  patience with older people…particularly
    teachers I believe.  Too pompous.”
    “Any tips, sir?”
    “Keep it simple.”

    So they wrote a letter.   Several letters as  I remember.  Written in Grade Ten language with
    minimum of flattery.  Hand written…straightforward, some spelling errors.   Most of the students did not expect
    the Prime Minister would ever visit our class.   But they went along with the plan.

    And then, about a week later, we got a note from the Prime Minister…quite  personal.
    The answer was a “Yes” he would visit our school…hopefully our class.

    Then the whole adventure took on a life of its  own.


    Unfortunately the visit was taken out of our hands as  the whole school  got excited.

    “We will have to open the auditorium for everyone.  This is a great honour.”

    So the visit was not to our classroom and, really, our Grade Ten students were sort
    of shouldered aside.  That did not bother them as much as I expected. It bothers me
    today.  Initially I thought One of the students
    would introduce the PM and another would  do the thank you.  That was the initial plan
    but staff changed it a bit.  Our staff of 60 teachers got excited.  The visit got to be
    teacher dominated which was partly my fault. Trudeau sent word that he would like to to a Q and A with 
    the kids.  Insisting the meeting be student centred.  That much I liked.  There were other
    aspects of the planned visit that I did not like very much.  

    A few teachers got really concerned that some of our outspoken and out of control students
    would make the visit into a disaster by rude questioning.  Like “Mr. Prime Minister you only
    came here to get votes.”  etc.etc.   Wild, even rude, questions did not bother me as I believed
    Trudeau liked that kind of questioning from young people.

    No matter.  Some teachers  decided  to keep a close eye on our more outspoken students.
    And I was asked to chair the Q and  A from the stage.  The visit was getting goddamn pompous
    but I agreed.  In retrospect that was a mistake.  A student should have had that job.  We had  
    students that would have done a fine job sitting on stage with the PM.  A shy student would
    have been terrific.  The PM would have liked that I thought.  

    In short , we over organized the visit.  Too much teacher input.  Very little student input.
    My Grade Ten class was not upset really.    None wanted the spotlight as I remember.
    Now, decades later, I wish I had not chaired the meeting.  Trudeau would have loved to see
    a student from the grade Ten class on stage.   He did meet some of them personally
    though and that was quite wonderful.

    As mentioned  the visit took a life of its own.  I was surprised when a day before
    the official visit an RCMP detachment arrived with a sniffer dog…or maybe more than
    one sniffer dog.  They did  not announce their presence but searched and smelled
    the whole school  from basement even to the roof.  A search for bombs.  Wow!
    This visit was getting the full treatment.   

    Then, the next day, the PM arrived  with an escort of unmarked vehicles.  He had bodyguards
    and also  political people with him.  But it was Trudeau who led the group.  We greeted
    him at the front door.   Shook hands  He seemed a bit agitated.

    “Thanks  for coming…(what should I call him?  I decided to use no special term)…My
    class is very excited…flattered.”

    PM Trudeau stil seemed a bit agitated when he leaned closer to me saying:

    “Where can  I take a leak?”

    “The principal’s office over here.”

    And so he disappeared for a leak.

    At this point one of our teachers sort of bulled through the crowd.  “Where is the
    Prime Minister?  I just love him.”

    I pointed to the Principal’s office and she zipped away in that direction.  She went
    right into the office.   Trudeau  was taking a leak.  Apparently she stood  outside
    the washroom door and greeted him.  I think he took that rudeness in his stride.
    His bodyguards could not stop her.  I do not think a  CNR locomotive could have
    stopped her.  It was no big deal anyway.

    What is my point?  Not much.  It is just so human.  Nothing special…a normal
    event.  

    Trudeau then took to the stage.  He stood with an open microphone taking
    questions from the kids just like any teacher wold have done in class.  it was
    very laid back.  I was not needed on the stage snd had the good sense to
    sit there and  keep my mouth shut.  Even when one  teacher moved in
    on a student who seemed bent on embarrassing the Prime Minister. The kid
    was removed.  Too bad.  Trudeau  would have liked a few sparks  flying.

    BACK TO THE TRUMP – BIDEN DEBATE

    Really our student experience  with political life in Canada was very relaxed…friendly, honest,
    straight answers to questions.  The visit lacked pomposity.   It was so far
    distant from the Trump – Biden debate.   Polite. Maybe  even boring.

    What would  I do  if facing students today after the insult laden American Presidential 
    debate?   How could I be impartial if I was an American teacher.  One thought 
    came to mind.  “Democracy can  only work well if there are two political parties
    that are not distant from each other…parties that we would  call centrists…neither
    extreme left nor extreme right.   Parties not so filled with hate for each other that
    they welcome the prospect of  violence.”   I read  something life that somewhere.
    Seemed sensible to me.  I am not a member of any political party and have voted
    for all three on different occasions.

    Certainly I do not see the rift between parties as  deep and
    hostile … The Grand  Canyon.   Full hatred.  Fire and Brimstone.  And 
    that has a fascination for sure.  

    Our political life cannot compare.   Boring.  Nice.  The Prime Minister
    has to take a leak.  The school staff worry he might be asked a rude
    question.  The  Prime  Minister, Pierre Elliott Trudeau, responds to an invitation
    by Grade Ten students.   So ordinary.  So nice.  No apologies.

    You want to know something I suspected?  I do not think many of
    my students knew whether Trudeau was a Liberal or a Conservative.
    There was no big difference.  And that…that makes all the difference.

    alan skeoch
    Sept. 29, 2020


  • EPISODE 124 VIOLENCE PART TWO FOOTBALL AND MY LITTLE FINGER

    EPISODE 124   VIOLENCE   PART TWO   FOOTBALL AND MY LITTLE FINGER


    alan skeoch
    Sept. 2020

    PART TWO


    The broken finger did not hurt that much.  It just got in the way … affected my typing.  Devastated
    my ability to take notes in class and to do homework.   All else was quite normal.

    I could still  play football.
    Even though scheduled for surgery in mid season.  Did I need surgery?  I do not remember how that 
    happened because our family was not dependent on doctors at all.  Maybe mom
    thought it was necessary.  But that operation sure changed my life.   Short term change
    was for the worst.  Long term change was for the best.

    The surgery was slated for early October. Part way through the football season in 1956.  No need to 
    tell anyone.  I just got on the bus and streetcar and went down to St. Jospeh’s hospital on the appointed
    day.  Surely such  a small operation would not affect my football playing…or my schoolwork.

    Things did not go well at the hospital.  I was cloistered in a day surgery bed. Then a nurse came in
    and began shaving my right arm.  “Why are you doing this?”  “To make sure the arm is clean.”
    “But that’s my right arm, the surgery is for my left hand finger.”  “Sorry , extend your left arm.”

    I wondered if the nurse was, like me, left handed and confused.  No matter i was prepared.  Then
    given a shot of some kind of local anesthetic and wheeled into the holding bed just outside the
    surgery room.  A long wait.

    Finally I was  wheeled into the surgical room.  It was a bit intimidating because the room had a gallery
    for nurses and doctors…and maybe others…to wach the surgery.  I was on my back looking at them
    when the first cut was made.   IT HURT…REALLY HURT BADLY.  I screamed.  The doctor turned to
    the nurse  “When was this boy given the local?”   Turned out the anesthetic had worn off so they gave
    me another shot of something then proceeded open up my finger and put the bones in place then drive
    a long wire down the centre with its end protruding from the finger tip.   

    There was blood.  I know that because some dripped out of the  cast as I went back to school
    on the street car.  Mom and dad were both working.  I told them I would be OK on my own.
    That was not the case.  At school once the antithetic wore there was pain but it was tolerable.
    I even went out to football practice after school but did not get into the usual rough and tumble.

    I was ready and willing to play by game day and managed to make a good shoestring
    tackle stopping the ball carrier.  Coach Burford commented….”Good job, Skeoch” and may have 
    noticed my hand was in a cast.   I had not told him.  That was my last game for 1956. Playing was just too risky.

    I was soon in trouble at school  My left hand was in a cast.  I could not write…no notes, no homework.
    And, worse, I was in Grade 13 and would face  departmental examinations in June.   I felt just terrible…
    like my whole world was collapsing mourned me.  The teachers must have noticed because
    coaches Burford and Griffiths cornered me in the hall months after the football season ended.
    They asked me if football was at fault.  The phrased that differently …i.e more carefully.
    “At fault for what?”  They seemed to know my schoolwork was in free fall.  I felt helpless.
    By the time my cast was removed and the wire pulled out of my finger I was way behind and 
    having difficulty with some subjects, particularly Physics.  But I did not want to admit it.

    In the departmental examinations I felt I did OK in most subjects. Not stellar. But I could write… maybe
    well enough to meet the minimum for university acceptance. Lots of blanks in my memory though. Then I had the black out in
    the Physics exam.  I could not remember one simple term…”S” … 
    in the mathematics of Physics.  So simple.  But my mind was blank.  Embarrassing, doubly so
    because our Physic teacher, Jack Griffiths, was also the senior football coach.

    GRADE 13 RESULTS…LETTER OPENED IN AN ABANDONED BUILDING NEAR COCHRANE, NORTHERN ONTARIO

    The results were mailed in July.  I was working with a survey crew near Cochrane in Northern Ontario at the time.  When the letter 
    arrived I slipped away from our bunkhouse to an abandoned shithouse outside an abandoned school.  I remember it so
    well.  A big double seater…blue or green…solid.  The letter scared  me even before I opened  it.  I knew the word
    would be bad but had a faint hope I might make the bare minimum of 75% average.  

    Let me  cut to the quick.  My average was 72 or 73%…not good enough.  I think I failed Physics.  Must have failed
    because of the black out.   My marks were too low for admission to the University of Toronto.  Mom and dad would
    not be a  problem.  They were the kind of parents that support their kids through thick and thin. All the same I
    faced a dilemma.  Was my school career over?  Or should I go back to Humberside for another year?  A failure.
    I thought about that the whole summer. What to do?   Alone and humiliated.  I think I dropped the letter in the
    shithole.

    When September came I decided to bite the bullet and go back to Humberside. I knew it would be embarrassing.
    Mom and dad did not interfere but I knew mom thought returning to school was a good idea.  Worst part
    of returning was that my brother was in Grade 12.  I would be his loser brother coming back for another year
    in Grade 13.   That first day back was excruciating.

    At least it felt so until I found my best friend Russ Vanstone was in the same position.  And many many others
    whose names I will not say.  It took guts to go back.  And it would take years for me to admit my failure.  I now
    know that failure is part of  our human condition.  We all fail sooner or later.  Many of us fail many times.
    It is not the failure that is so important.  It is how a person reacts to failure that is important. Having Russ
    with me was a great support.  We ‘soldiered’ on through life together.

    I blamed my little finger for the failure.  Now that is a laugh.   The finger may have been part of the problem
    but there were others problems.  Like not doing homework.  Our house was very small…one bedroom.
    Shared by our dad when he worked nights.  Mom on the middle room couch always.  Dad on the front
    room couch when he was on the day shift at Dunlop Tire Corporation.  No place to study or do homework.
    Now That’s a laugh.  Blaming our house for my failure.  

    Deep down I knew the failure was my fault.  And I was determined to make the best of things.  That year
    I actually got to enjoy homework…reading was always a favourite occupation with me.  An escape.
    I asked Mr. Cruickshank whether I could write the history final by my own studying. The same with English
    and Mrs.  Charlesworth.  They gave me permission.  I did not know that teachers success was measured
    by the marks their students got in the annual department of education common exams. They could have refused. They said OK.
    They also did not make me feel like a failure.  They wanted me to succeed. Nice teachers who I admired
    even if Mrs. Charlesworth had lifted me off the ground by my ear for skipping her detention one day.
    (She was the girls volleyball coach. I decided to spend the detention in the girls gym rather than
    her English room.  Easier on the eyes if you get my meaning. Seemed OK to me.  Not to her.)

    FOOTBALL…THE DEVIL MADE ME DO IT

    DO not get the idea I was some kind of nerdy suck that year.  I became a good student.  I know that..,proud
    of it actually.  But there was  a sharp learning curve.  Like my being Suspended!    A couple of the tougher guys in the
    school asked me to join them by skipping school for an afternoon just ‘spot’ one of he enemy
    teams…maybe it was Riverdale.  I thought this was a good idea to help the coach.The three of us went to their game and noted their top players…the plays 
    they used most of the time.  The quarterback…etc. etc.  Really sort of stupid was my first thought as we
    sat there among the Riverdale fans.

    Next day

    “ Would Vic —— and Ted —— and Alan Skeoch report to the VP right now”  Ted had taken me to shoot
    pool at a rough billiard hall in the Junction in the past.  W.E. Taylor, our principal actually came to the pool
    hall and escorted us back to school.  A good man.  He cared about us all.  But this seemed different.
    Mr. Herman Couke was our Vice Principal.  ..in charge of discipline.
    “I would like to see each of you separately.”
    Vic then Ted went in and came out ‘suspended’ from school for a week.
    Then came my turn.  I was not a bad  kid.  Not really tough.  Never in big trouble at school. So I
    was terrified when I met Mr. Couke.
    “Now, Alan, I have to treat everyone equally….”
    What great words.  That means I was being suspended as well as Vic and Ted.  I shook Mr. Couke’s hand.  
    “Thank you, Mr. Couke…thank you.”  What a relief.
      I had been treated
    the same as Vic and Ted.  Suspended.  Wonderful. To be treated otherwise would have had awful implications.

    As with most negative experiences in my life,  I took a good look. “Why the hell did I do that.
    Why did I skip school to spot Riverdale.  That was poor sportsmanship for sure.”  And that would
    never happen again.  Any spare time I had that year would be spent reading.  With the exception of
    one of Streak McLelland’s sex talks….like the talk on safes.  Most of the time I read.  Self selected books,,,
    all of Charles Dickens and Hardy…then Steinbeck and even some socialist philosophy.  And the biography
    of Dwight Eisenhauer.  Books of all kinds…not guided titles.  I had a journal
    that broke the days into half hours.  Each half hour I had a reading target.  If I finished early then I got
    a five minute reward to see what girls were in the reading room as well.

    That broken little finger had turned into a good luck charm.  My life became a total joy that year.  
    Shakespeare said it best.

    There is a tide in the affairs of men, Which taken at the flood, leads on to fortune. Omitted, all the voyage of their life is bound in shallows and in miseries. On such a full sea are we now afloat. And we must take the current when it serves, or lose our ventures.

    William Shakespeare


    FOOTBALL

    What a great year I had.  Very hard to believe really.  And undeserved I knew deep down
    there were other athletes far better than me.  But I could hit hard….block and tackle.  Never would I touch
    the football but we on the line did provide a route for our halfbacks and fullbacks to score.  I was even elected co-captain
    of the senior team…and President of the Boys Athletic Association.  Honours that I could not believe.
    Then one morning both coach Burford and Griffitsh called me aside with wonderful news.

    “Alan, you have been chosen for both All Star City teams…the Toronto Star and the Toronto Telegram.”
    I was speechless.
    “And Alan, we hope you realize this is as much a tribute to our team as an honour for you.”
    “I know that.  I also know there are far better athletes on our team than me.  Rich Mermer is
    the best athlete I have ever seen.  He should be the winner.”
    “He is a halfback…beaten out by other halfbacks.  We know he is a fine person.”
    “There is more to this honour.  There is a special All Star team dinner at Hart House
    and you can take three guests.”
    “My mom and dad for two…and would you come as my third guest Coach Burford.?”
    He loved the chance to go.  My girlfriend at the time was a little miffed by the fact
    she was not asked.  The love affair was going nowhere but it took a little time for both
    of us to admit that.  This failure to invite her was just one nail in that coffin.



    My final year at Humberside was terrific.  This picture was published in the Toronto Star after a victory.  Grant Weber was our
    Fullback, a glory position but he got the shit beaten out of him often.  I was a left guard, a protector of the fullback.  That final
    year for reasons unknown to me I was the All star Left Guard recognized by both the Toronto Star and the Toronto Telegram,
    daily newspapers.   Of course there were other All Stars.  The best athlete I have ever seen in my life, Rick Mermer, went
    unrecognized as did my fellow lineman Russ  Vanstone whose forearm smash hit like cement.
    My victory was mystifying but wonderful.


    These honours all sound so terribly vain.  And undeserved really.  How do I speak of
    them without sounding like a pompous ass?   That takes me back to the broken finger.
    Without that broken finger none of this would have happened.  I just want to make the
    point that sometimes when everything is going wrong and you feel lower than a snake
    in a rut life may not be bleak forever.  Failure is a learning experience.  Savour it.

    other honours followed.  The Wildman Trophy and then I was even chosen as
    Head Boy by my new Grade 13 classmates.  It was a cornucopia of good things.
    Vanity?  Probably too much of that.  Not bad for a kid that could not tell the difference
    between right and left.

    My marks were good on the 1957-1958 departmental exams.  Middle of the pack
    kind of good.  Not the top of the mountain kind of good.  I was accepted at the University of Toronto,
    Victoria College campus.   Great.  Just great.  But why am I going there?
    Why am I university bound when our parents were distinctly working class…mom
    a sweatshop worker in the needle trade and Dad a truck tire builder. Both
    proud and skilled workers.  But neither ever darkened a  university hallway.

    I had no idea.  No idea why I was going to university.  So I was careful when 
    choosing courses.  I did not want to fail again even if failure was a part 
    of the learning curve.  I loved the stories of history…the people.  Not the
    judgmental part nor the oneupmanship competition.  I loved English as
    well and for the same reason…the human stories.  And I really loved philosophy
    as presented by Dr. Marcus Long at University College.  It took some time for me
    to realize I was a humanist.

    VICTORIA COLLEGE FOOTBALL TEAM…MULLOCK CUP CHAMPIONS (not that it matters anymore).


    Maybe I chose university so I could still play football.  Today football is as dead
    as a Dodo bird at Victoria College.  Not even lamented sadly.  That is one of
    the tragedies of modern university education.  No intra mural football teams.
    The field where we practised is now some kind of fenced off flower garden.
    Football has become A ‘wasteland’ if I might twist T.S. Eliot’s words.

    “What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow
    Out of this stony rubbish?”

    Our football practice field is now a dead place.  When we were there in 1961 it was
    alive with the sound of men and boys making guttural noises and laughing at
    themselves.  Now it is ’stony rubbish’.

    Let me cut to the biggest event in my life that happened on that field when the field
    was alive.  My simple answer to people asking why I went to university.  Truth.  I was 
    looking for a wife.  Pure and simple goal that made sense to me. That is a lifetime decision.

    And it happened on the Victoria College football field.  God’s truth.

    We were doing our warm up.  Running in a great oblong circuit around the field.  Talking
    and laughing.  Then I looked up at a fourth floor window of Margaret Addison Hall which
    was the Women’s residence…really the girls’ residence.  An attractive young person was
    watching us.  I knew her from a Soph Frosh dance the day before. so I yelled

    “What are you doing tonight?”
    Then continued my circuit with the boys.  Next time round, she yelled
    “Nothing much.”
    “Meet you at seven in the student car.”
    “OK.”

    So simple.  So amusing.  So short a comment for a lifetime decision.

    Why was  she looking out that window?

    “I was looking for Jimmy Randall from North Bay.  His girlfriend wanted
    me to say hello.”   Looking for Jimmy.  Not even looking for me.  Such
    happens when the dice are rolled.  Marjorie soon got to know all the
    boys on the team.  She even became a cheerleader for the SPS football
    team…the Engineers…the opposition.

    That’s where Bob Cwirenko was the outside corner backer.  Neither of us knew that
    until in one game I threw a good cross body and took him out.  What did he say”
    Maybe, “goddamn Victoria bastard.”  No.  Bob said and I remember this clearly.
    “Nice block Alan.”  We had both been members of the Humberside teams.  We did
    not know each other well but both had the same feelings about university…nervous.
    Why were we there?   His family had trekked across Eastern Europe to escape the
    horrors of post World War II as had many Humbersiders.  We still meet for luncheons
    to this day.  

    Why tell you this?  Because being a member of those teams was a lifelong 
    experience.  A bonding that even extended into marriage.  Russ Vanstone and I
    even married roommates…had children…had careers…met often and still do.

    Recently Marjorie insisted I attend a Victoria College meeting with the Principal last 
    year.   The place seemed dead to me because our field was ‘stony rubbish’ so
    I asked the Principal how the College manages to hold boys who seem lost.’
    He admitted that there were problems.  There would be fewer problems if they
    kept the sports program healthy in my opinion.  Another problem, however, is
    the lofty academic standards.  Lots of kids come with marks in the high 90’s.
    I taught high school for 31 years.  Not many boys had those grades because
    the fires of spring burned too brightly.  i.e. They were very interested in girls.

    Summed up.  There is no longer a football field at Victoria College.  There is
    a big library but somehow the isolation of a reading cubicle does not cut it
    as much with me. Sue I spent a lot of time in those cubicles.  But not all the time.

    BACK TO FOOTBALL…HAMBURGER MOUTH AND BROKEN FINGER





    I was a lowly lineman. I never felt that way however.  I felt my job was integral to 
    team success.  On my right was our new centre, Russ Vanstone, whose forearm
    smash after snapping the ball was awesome…having experienced the forearm
    in practice.  “Wow, Russ, where did you get the power>” “When I snapped
    the ball my arm was way back…lots of leverage sweeping forward and up.
    How did it feel?” “Like a block of cement in motion.”

     On my left was a new guy.  Big guy.  Super friendly guy who just
    loved the game.   His name is Edward Jackman,  ex student from Upper Canada
    College.  His family were great donors to various charities.  Well healed folk in
    other words.  I did not know this until I really got to know Ed.   We became 
    good friends through many changes in our lives.  Still are. The son of a tire 
    Bilder and sweatshop worker…side by side with the son a leader in finance whose
    brother was destined to become Lt. Gov. of Ontario.

    One football game comes to mind.  We were playing against a very tough
    St. Michael’s College team.   We were also tough so do not get the idea we
    were crybabies.  

    On the line there is an expectation that both offensive and defensive lineman
    will launch themselves against each other.  Force meets force.  We are only
    about a yard (metre) apart so the crash of bodies is not fatal.  Rare injuries.
    Often good natured body against body.  Not a romance though.  

    Well on this particular day my opposing lineman did not charge.  He took a
    step back and waited for my charge whereupon he lifted his knee forcefully
    into my mouth.  Bloody bastard.  Back in the huddle I said to Ed Jackman,
    “That son  of a bitch opposite me is not charging.  Instead he is kneeing
    me in my mouth.  Turning my mouth into hamburger.”  That’s too many
    words.  There was No time for such
    a long comment.  “Bastard is kneeing me in my mouth.”  There, that’s
    better.

    Ed Jackman, Marjorie and Alan Skeoch


    One odd twist of fate occurred when Ed became a Dominican priest.   That allows
    me to kid him a lot about that game against St. Mike’s so long ago.


    Eddie’s response was immediate.   “Step back when the play is going to
    the right.  I’ll deal with him.”  Remember we are the left side linemen…ball
    carrier would be going to the right.  So the next chance I stepped back
    and Eddie gave the guy a good solid kick in the balls.  Message was
    received.  My mouth was spared.

    As a result Eddie and I became friends for life.  And he is now a Dominican
    priest.  I rib him often about that kick he let loose.

    Would I have met Eddie had I not broken my little finger?  Possibly I suppose.



    FOOTBALL WAS NOT ALL VIOLENCE

    Yes, football is a violent sport.  Football players do get hurt in the games and sometimes their
    injuries are life changing.  But we also had one hell of a lot of fun.  And we met each other in a non academic
    forum.  No need for one upmanship posturing.  We socialized.  Some of us got in the atrocious habit
    of going to the King Cole Room in the ritzy Park Plaza hotel for a few draughts of beer.  That was after i gave up
    trying to stop the the  team from drinking.  I must have been a real prick in my temperance role.  Thankfully
    a female friend from Humberside broke that.  “Alan, you need to take a drink…join in…you need to change.”
    I have always taken criticism seriously.  Not offended.  Camilla was right.  So I joined the boys for draughts
    in the KCR and the Embassy and other watering holes.  Eric and I could not afford many draughts…maybe two
    or three. the glasses at the time were small.   

    We were really silly…immature.  Lucky to be able to be that way.  Like the time we came out of
    the KCR and found Hugh folded neatly into the big Municipal garbage can on the corner of
    Bloor and University Avenues.   Today he would not fit in the slot…but back then the tub was big
    enough to sleep in and there was no danger of a compacter crushing a sleeper.

    THE BOB APPLE BATTLE  (now just a fading memory if that)

    Violence can sometimes seem funny.  I know some readers  will take offence at this story.  Sorry
    about that.  At Victoria back then in 1961 and 1962 there was the annual Bob Apple Battle where
    freshman were expected to capture a Vic Beany that was nailed to the  top of a big pole.  Sophomores
    defended the pole throwing heaps of garbage…apples, maybe, more likely softer fruit like tomatoes.
    Our sophomore leader was a bit on the pompous side.  Maybe he put down football playing as juvenile.
    Not sure why Russ and I disliked him.  Maybe no reason.  Maybe it was just the devil getting into our
    souls.  

    To get ammunition for the Bob Apple Battle both sides gathered garbage. Messy stuff.  We decided…maybe
    it was more my fault but Russ was a partner in the crime even if he denies it today…no matter.  I decided 
    to get slop from a restaurant on Yonge Street.  Slop?  The stuff skimmed off dirty plates or the excess  slime
    of food preparation…really bad stuff.  So bad that it had to be carried in a pail.

    No one really knew us in the rough and tumble of the battle.  So we posed as freshman.  Then pinned 
    down our target.  One doing the pinning, the other doing the pouring.  Isn’t that about the worst behaviour
    imaginable.  Disgusting.  Somehow the slop sliding off our targets face drained away his pomposity.
    Or so we rationalized.

    Now is it possible to get this email to the President of Victoria College, maybe he or she can explain
    to me why the Bob Apple Battle was cancelled.  There must be a good reason for the cancellation of
    such a mild initiation to university.  Surely it was not because the battle was silly.
    But I cannot understand why it was cancelled. (sarcasm)  Was it cancelled in 1962 because of our misbehaviour.  I hope not.
    How rude and insensitive can you get Skeoch?  I know. I know.

    At least one of the Victoria College professors, Prof Grant, came to watch the proceedings with
    interest.  Not sure about the rest of them.

    A few years later, around 1966 or 1967, the whole football extra curricular sport was also cancelled.
    Sad. Really Sad.  

    The grads of my generation were very very lucky.  Employers wanted us..  We had choices.  We were those
    lucky kids born in 1938, 1939, 1940…luckiest generation of human beings ever born.  I am serious.  That
    comment is not just a figment of my imagination.

    Our lives ran on parallel courses.  We married room mates.  Russ married Anne Hilliard.  I married
    Marjorie Hughes.   And we both…all four of us I mean…got into the baby production business as
    you will see below..


    Enough said…more than enough said…way too much said.

    alan skeoch
    Sept. 2020