We proudly reblog this inspirational story of a good friend and a terrific organization (Lutheran World Relief) which has done so much for so many refugees.
Biographical info
LOCATION WRITING IN A COUNTRY RESTAURANT GARDEN
LOCATION WRITING AT FRIESEN’S COUNTRY TYME GARDEN RESTAURANT, COLDSTREAM, BC
Here we are again in another lovely venue. Just Patricia, Miss P and Gayle sitting and writing in a cozy, shady corner of the back garden.
Sounds? The whirl, whirl, whirl of an irrigator watering a nearby field; a dog barking in the distance; the occasional lowing of cattle in the adjacent field; the clatter of dishes from the Country Tyme kitchen; the steady, low chatter interrupted by louder laughter from restaurant guests sitting around tables scattered throughout the restaurant garden; the dampened whiz of cars driving past on Kalamalka Road.
Smells? Luckily, no cow manure; just the overwhelming aroma of ham, bacon and maple syrup. Though it is already 10:30 a.m., late risers are still having breakfast and brunch seekers are arriving. It is tempting not to think ahead to what promises to be a delicious lunch for us at noon, instead of concentrating on writing.
Feelings? Caressed by soft breezes, surrounded by beautiful flowers and protected by shady trees, I am lulled into a sense of peace, an assurance of God’s presence and inspiration to work on a pressing editing project.
Moving from my lawn chair, I decide to take up a wooden garden swing close by and begin editing a prayer walk for October’s Southern Interior Lutheran Women’s Fall Event that our ELW at Peace Lutheran will be hosting. I may be retired from my former position as Program Director and Editor for Evangelical Lutheran Women, but I’ve remained in the program editing track on a volunteer basis locally. It’s nice to be back in the groove in such an inviting setting.
Editor’s Review of “From Poverty to Poverty: A Scotsman Encounters Canada”
I (Gayle) thought it was about time I got around to reviewing Ian’s autobiography, volume 1, for the Goodreads site. I listed it, recommended it and gave it 5 stars some time ago, but, with developing this blog, I haven’t had time to get a review written until now. It is posted below.
*****”I highly recommend “From Poverty to Poverty: A Scotsman Encounters Canada” to anyone interested in:
• Biography
• Scotland during the Great Depression, World War II and the post-war years
• A teenager’s life in the Salvation Army in the late ’40s
• Music making, especially Scottish folk music, brass band music and tunes of the ’40s, ’50s and ’60s
• Life of a common airman in the Royal Air Force of the early ’50s
• British military life in Egypt during the pre-Suez crisis days
• Emigration from Scotland and immigration to Canada in the mid-’60s
The writing style is folksy, humorous and honest. Ian tells it like it was!”
Gayle Moore-Morrans, September 2012
Another Campbeltown Story Inspired by James Collett’s Photography
Thanks again to Photographer James Collett for this terrific picture of Ian’s hometown as seen from Ben Guillion, the mountain pictured in our previous post. We have made the following comments on James Collett’s Photography page where we found this photo:
“Another beautiful view of my hometown, Campbeltown, from Beinn Ghuilean (Ben Guillion mountain). I have a story in my memoir “From Poverty to Poverty: A Scotsman Encounters Canada” which takes place after World War II when I, as a boy, “salvaged” a machine gun from the wreck of an aircraft on Ben Guillion and lugged it to a hiding place in the middle of some whin bushes, much like those shown on this picture. I never was able to find it again (probably just as well.) Here’s the story which happened around 1946:
I think I was about twelve when the following happened. Just to the south of the town, and bordering on it, is Ben Ghuilean (the Gaelic spelling; normally now it is referred to as Ben Gullion. The word “Ben” in Scot’s English means “mountain.”) This is a reasonably-sized mountain. I have already referred to a small airfield five miles from town. This airfield was still used after the war to some extent for training Royal Air Force pilots. One foggy day a two-seater aircraft plunged into the side of that mountain, killing both airmen.
It was quite a climb to the crash site and, needless to say, there were lots of (morbid-minded) townsfolk who just had to make the climb, though they would never have considered doing so at any other time. Apart from the strenuous effort, it was well known that there were adders on the mountain. (Adders are a type of viper, a little over two feet long. The bite of this snake, while it wouldn’t kill you, would make you very ill for some time.) This thought didn’t bother us brave (or stupid) lads, as we spent quite a lot of time on various faces of the mountain. (I had killed an adder some time before and preserved it in alcohol in a glass jar to keep in the house. No one objected at first, but later I had to keep it where we kept our coal.)
No one was allowed anywhere near the crash site until the bodies of the two airmen were removed. People were collecting bits of this and bits of that—stuff that probably went into the rubbish bin (garbage) a few weeks down the road after they had lost interest in the incident. Not so with “yours truly.” I noticed that there were two machine guns, one on each wing, and I set about removing one. What did I want a machine gun for? Maybe I was going to take it to class for “show and tell.” Na, we didn’t have that silly exercise in those days. I really had no idea why I was taking it. I guess it is what the modern kids would call “cool.”
Anyway, I struggled with it for ages and finally got it free. Even today, I still marvel at the fact that I got a machine gun from an aircraft without having a spanner (wrench) or even a pry-bar. I carried the heavy thing down the mountainside on my shoulder to the foothills, where I hid it by throwing it into the middle of some “whin bushes” (furze or gorse). These bushes were evergreen, covered all over with long, sharp dark green needles, standing three or four feet high and at least that across, with nice yellow flowers. (They grow wild in Scotland, but I don’t believe they grow in North America, unless maybe on the east coast.)
I hid the gun because it was still daylight and I didn’t want anyone to see me walking into town with a machine gun over my shoulder. Besides, I had to walk past the police station! I would probably have been arrested (or worse still, maybe even talked about). So, what did I do when it was time to retrieve it? Well, I got hold of some old potato sacks (gunnysacks), my friend Ian McKenzie and his four-wheeled cart, and the two of us headed back up to where I had hidden the gun.
What do you know? It wasn’t there! Did I have the correct bush? “Look over there …. No … try this one … .” There were lots of clumps of bushes. We just about went crazy! I was quite sure that I had taken note of where I had hidden it so that I would find it again. It should still have been there. Well, the two of us searched for ages, all around where I thought it should be, but with no luck. Since the bush was very prickly, I had to get flat on my belly, as low as possible to try to avoid the needles and crawl into the bushes at every place I thought the gun might be. It was awful! We got all scratched and thoroughly disgusted before we decided that it wasn’t there. Remember that during this “carry-on” we little boys were wearing short trousers that came only to our knees.
What I finally figured was that someone had seen me hide the gun and, after I had gone, removed it and took it to the proper authorities. Either that, or I had got really screwed up and there is still a machine gun hidden among some bushes for future archaeologists to find a long time down the road. Anyway, it was a very stupid thing to do and I don’t know what my mother would have said if I had walked into the house carrying a great big machine gun. One thing’s for sure—I would have got a thick ear!
Quoted from “From Poverty to Poverty: A Scotsman Encounters Canada” by Ian Moore-Morrans, copyright © 2012. Friesen Press.
An “Eye Opener” Review of “From Poverty to Poverty”
The following review appeared on Amazon.ca for Ian’s memoir, “From Poverty to Poverty: A Scotsman Encounters Canada.” Thanks to author Harry G. Kapeikis for his “eye-opening” review. (The emphases below are ours.)
I thought I had it tough as a boy refugee during, and as a displaced person after World War II. Peanuts on that! Just read Moore-Morrans’ memoir of his growing up years in Campbeltown, on the Kintyre peninsula, Argyllshire on the west coast of Scotland during the Great Depression. Ian adds or better said, subtracts from my concept of poverty to give it horrifying dimensions. “Yes, we were destitute!” he writes. “…we were, without doubt, the poorest family in that little town. – “…we were the poorest, by far, for no one else in our town lived in such pathetic conditions as we did.” Home, was a 10 foot square room in an attic of a run down house, practically unfurnished and most of the time unheated. Clothes? Best described as rags. It was not until Ian enlisted in the Royal Air Force at age 18 that he discovered “what it was like to have a full belly of half-decent food”. Get away from it all. Australia? Best to go to Ontario? Canada? Yeah, sure. Be brave and read on. My immigration to North America was like a Cinderella experience but Ian’s more like a nightmare. Starting with misunderstanding and misrepresentations of what to expect in Canada from certain Ontario government agents to watching their belongings get dropped to the ground by a malfunctioning crane, smashed at their port of entry, all in all made Moore-Morrans’ immigration a “…Poverty to Poverty” ordeal. The Morranses, a family of four now, Mom (Mary), Dad and two daughters (Audrey and Shirley) finally did manage to purchase a new home at Hillsburg, Ontario in 1970. “We’ve come a long way,” he writes. Indeed they had come a long way in many and varied ways on a road resembling an obstacle course. I was fortunate, but many an immigrant will identify with Moore-Morrans’ experience. I dearly recommend Ian’s book. An eye opener for sure.
MOOMOR PUBLISHING 