Whatever He Says

It was the evening after Remembrance Day and Paul and I had a quiet evening in. He said, "I've got an episode of Inspector George Gently saved on the P.V.R. do you want to watch it?" And I said, "Yes." The episode was called  Gently with Honour, and was about top secret psychological warfare experiments on a British military base during the Cold War, with a concurrent back story about a conspiracy of silence during an earlier war. Ex military himself, Inspector Gently, attended the funeral of a soldier from his old regiment. At the pub after the funeral, where the emphasis was on the brotherhood of the men in attendance, it was apparent that Gently was struggling with something that had happened involving the soldier whose funeral it was. He was chided by his ex superior officer for bringing up events that were past.  Throughout the episode, which involves a cover up of things gone too far in the more recent past, Gently struggles with his complicity in witn...

By Belinda Last week I wrote that I had marked my calendar with events    Holocaust Education Week .  In the end I attended one event, last Saturday evening: the premiere presentation of the film,  Viktor and I  (scroll down for trailer) at  Beth Sholom Synagogue  in Toronto.  Alexander Vesely, the grandson of Viktor Frankl, and the filmmaker, was at the premiere in person!  I read Viktor Frankl's inspiring book,  Man's Search for Meaning ; Frankl's profound memoir of surviving Auschwitz and finding meaning in suffering; many years ago, at the suggestion of my friend,  Dave Hingsburger . The book is inspiring and a life shaper and Viktor Frankl was a unique man. So I set out with Paul for this event with great anticipation. Never having been in a synagogue before, except the ruins of ancient ones in the Holy Land, I saw the evening as a cultural adventure as well as one of remembrance and education.  As we foll...

Introduction by Belinda Last week I wrote about  Holocaust Education Week Coming Up  and about the Grand Opening Ceremony of The Maxwell and Ruth Leroy Holocaust Remembrance Garden. We are in Holocaust Education Week now, and I have permission to share this story, written by a woman of German descent, whose family was swept up in the tragedy that overtook Europe in that dark time. The story was shared in a speech made at the grand opening, by  Fran Kieselstein , the Chair of the Maxwell and Ruth Leroy Holocaust Education Committee. It had been sent to her by the woman who wrote it. I asked her for a copy and permission to share it and you will understand  why  when you read it.  Remembering Rainerchen I knew I had a brother who had died at the age of three. There were a few photos of him in the family album, a blond child sitting on my mother's knee. His name had been "Rainer," but on the rare occasions when she spoke of him, my mother always ...

By Belinda This morning at Sir William Osler Public school honour was duly shown to the men and women who fought in the First World War and those since. I was there with Brenda because Tippy was a runner up in the Bond Head Lion's Club Peace Poster competition. But sharing this solemn remembrance with children was especially poignant. The young lieutenant who addressed the children, reminded them that no one returns from war unchanged, and spoke of her work with returning veterans, helping them transition back to life in a country at peace after being in combat zones. The children,, after settling to quiet, listened; hushed and grave. Tippy, at 13, is just three years short of the age some boys were, when having lied about their age, they went to war. She is the great granddaughter of one who went. I hope he knows that today, especially, we remembered him, and all who answered a call to fight oppression and evil.

By Belinda We are back from our leadership conference, brimming over with good stuff learned. But tired from three long days in a row,  I went looking for previous Remembrance Day posts and found this one, posted in 2007.  I have edited and updated information but am sharing it again to keep a memory alive. In no way do I wish to detract from the true purpose of Remembrance Day. I am a soldier's daughter and understand the respect due to those who fought on the battlefields of the wars of the last 100 years, but there are those who have fought wars of their own in peacetime; in battlefields constructed of walls and locked doors--and survived against the odds. They are heroes of a different kind of war, but heroes nonetheless. This is a remembrance of one of them: Not knowing its significance to me, she gave it almost as an aside during a meeting at my office. "Miah asked me to give this to you," she said, placing it in my hands. I gasped in recognition of somet...

Susan Stewart, who writes here, sent me a link to this beautiful musical rendition of the poem In Flander's Fields, sung by Adele Simmons and set to a very moving video. I would also like to honour the memory of Susan's father (also Brenda Gresik's father, one of our blog readers,) Hugh Alden Saunders;another old soldier: March 6, 1924--February 7, 2009 (and yes, his funeral bulletin is in my loft room.)

The mystery of who wrote beautiful the words that I quoted in yesterday's post about letters, is solved. This evening after supper I went back into the loft room to continue the sorting and sifting, but not very much throwing out I'm afraid. I found one of my most treasured books, Keeper of the Springs, by Ingrid Trobisch with Marlee Alex. The quote is from that book, and is by Katrine Stewart, who is the author's daughter. The somewhat beaten up, poor book itself was given to me five years ago by Susan, my dear friend, who bought it for the princely sum of something like a dollar, because she believed I fit the author's definition of a "keeper of the springs." I believe that she is right! Ingrid writes: The things in my home are not collector's junk, the result of hoarding or cocooning: they are my lifeblood. "Just throw it away" people might say of certain objects, broken and mended. But because these things have been wounded in action, they ar...

Not knowing its significance to me, she gave it almost as an aside during a meeting at my office. "Miah asked me to give this to you," she said, placing it in my hands. I immediately gasped in recognition of something I considered a treasure. "Do you know what this is?" I asked, and she said that she did. Taped onto it was a small piece of notepaper decorated with hearts and a little picture of a girl feeding squirrels and birds. The note said, "Joanne, Please give this to Belinda, Thanks, Miah." It's hard to find the words to express what I felt, but it was as if it had been guided to the next pair of hands that were to hold it in trust; and a heart that would keep a memory alive. It was just a leather pouch, but to me it was about whose the pouch it had been. It was made ruggedly out of one piece of tan leather, folded and stitched together on both sides with flat, thin, strips of off-white leather. The flap was secured ...