Halifax and Another Hard Promise

Heart of the Matter

["Rogues Roost is one of my two favourite spots to write in Halifax"]

Part 4 - Lost in the Woods

- June 2010

(The following column was published in The Londoner, June 17, 2010)

From Halifax: Fulfilling an old promise to a navy vet 

To answer the question 'how did I get to Halifax' (specifically, onto a very comfy stool at the Rogues Roost on a warm and breezy Saturday night) is a fairly simple matter.

I set out from London on June 8th, motorcycled 2,336 km. over 5 days in an easterly direction while wearing just one pair of pants, slept in hostels each night and ate a few tins of Puritan Irish Stew - with those famous preformed chunks of meat - and cups of Mr. Noodle soup at the side of the road. (I admit, I also splurged on occasion. For example, the grilled pork tenderloin with apricot sauce at Isaac's Way restaurant in Fredericton was superb.)

But, to answer 'why did I journey to a starkly beautiful city next to the Atlantic' in the first place is a trickier task.

I suppose the short answer is, to fulfill a seven year old promise I made to my dad.

The long answer, however, (You knew this was coming, right?) began at the moment, 25 years ago, when my dad first told me he wanted to be buried at sea, and near Halifax, the city in which he first trained with the Merchant Marine.

Oh, how passionate he sounded at the time. Even adamant.

But - my mother didn't share his passion. Very clearly too.

"Where will I be buried?" she wanted to know. "Will I have to be buried alone?"

They both looked to me, their oldest and (only occasionally) wisest son for my opinion about the matter.

So, I took a long, hard look at dad's photo of a statue found in Halifax (of a sailor heading out to sea and war-time service with only a canvas bag thrown over his shoulder). And then I took another long, hard look at my mother's face.

How do you spell 'dilemma?'

I was so conflicted, because I could see reasons to support both parents, but - and I know this may sound totally out of character - I offered no opinion at the time.

Years then passed without further discussion of dad's wish. And no resolution was made concerning my mother's wish, i.e., that she and dad be buried together.

However, after my mother died in 2000, and while involving dad in the task of selecting her gravestone, I cautiously began the process of slowly nudging my dad to consider some of the advantages of being buried in his hometown.

"Your family would have a permanent place at which to visit you both, and remember you," I suggested (gently).

"Some of your children might choose to be buried beside you too," I offered (carefully).

One day, while driving along a country road north of Norwich, and shortly before cancer caught up to dad for the second and final time, he informed me that he'd come to a decision.

I almost steered into a ditch.

"Oh, what's that?" I asked.

"I want to be buried in Norwich beside your mother. I think it's for the best," he said.

I gently and carefully praised him for giving it so much thought.

After he died (in February, 2003), I built a mock bluebird house, similar to scores of birdhouses dad had made over the years, and one afternoon while standing in my basement workshop, I began the task of filling the birdhouse with his cremated remains.

Within a few seconds I realized I'd made the birdhouse a bit too small.

I stopped pouring his ashes and laughed right out loud.

"Well, dad," I said. "It looks like you're going to get buried at sea after all."

After my close family members and I buried dad's birdhouse I knew a similar task lay ahead. I felt a promise had been made.

That was seven years ago.

Five days ago I loaded luggage and a homemade wooden boat (aptly named 'SS Silver Walnut,' after dad's favourite wartime vessel and home for several months in the 1940s) onto my motorcycle, headed toward the 401 and hung a left.

And now I'm beside the Atlantic Ocean with dad's ashes safely sealed - thanks to four coats of Super Spar varnish - inside the lower deck of the Walnut.

From my perch at the Rogues Roost I'm wondering what tomorrow will bring.

Will I be able to find a friendly cove? Will the wee boat float away - gently and carefully - on a final adventure?

More to follow

["Maxwell's Plum - another favourite spot to sit, sip and write"]

Link to Halifax and Another Hard Promise

Photos by GH