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It’s been a good life so far, with nothing happening that was out of the ordinary. And, like Mr. and Mrs. Jones in the prologue to Jessica Jones and The Gates of Penseron, for that I am constantly grateful.
I was born in York, England in 1942, and emigrated to Canada in 1956 with my parents and siblings, which at that time consisted of two sisters and a brother. A second brother was added later, much to mother’s surprise. They all still live in various parts of Western Canada.
Arriving in Canada was like falling into paradise---particularly going to school. Not only was the curriculum relatively easier (my Latin and French, among other subjects, lasted me through grade twelve), but instead of only boys, girls now shared the halls of learning! And one of them was someone very important: Marie Harrison. I met her when she was in grade ten, and I in grade twelve. We have now been married for over forty five years, and have decided we’re in it for the long haul.
We have three children. The oldest, Randy, has inhabited various parts of the world since 1991, primarily Greater London, England. He’s the family adventurer, having lived on the edge in South Africa, Bosnia, Croatia, and Iraq. Among other things, he’s an Emergency Medical Technician, an ex-paratroop sergeant (Loyal Edmonton Regiment), a qualified diver (advanced), and holds several certifications in seamanship.
The middle one is Corinna, or as she insists: Cori. She holds a BSc. in Animal Science, which leaves her eminently qualified to raise our three grandchildren: Jessica, Jake, and Jeremy. She’s a good looking girl, married to Carl, a forester, whom she met during her last year of university. Actually, it was the last year and a half. She mysteriously opted to take a few more courses for an extra semester, even though her degree was already in hand. At the time, we wondered why...
And the baby of the family is called Travis, though well into his thirties, the description hardly fits anymore. He’s a millwright, still single but not for long, and works for Shell Oil in Fort Saskachewan.
Which leaves the grandchildren: Jessica, Jacob and Jeremy. The wonderful thing about grandchildren is they seem to be so much brighter and entertaining than your own kids ever were. All I can say is that ours are terrific. Right now they’re thirteen, ten, and eight respectively, which is about the same age as they are in the book. And all three grandchildren really are, in the more important ways, very much like the three characters in The Gates of Penseron. One of the few differences, though, is that their last name is not Jones!
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Not much exciting in this area. I was halfway through the British grammar school system when we emigrated to Canada, and came to Edmonton. I finished high school at Bonnie Doon Composite, and was part of the student body that walked into class the year it opened in 1958. It’s very sobering to realize that was fifty years ago.
From there, I articled with the firm of Christensen, Morrison & Co., and obtained the professional designation of Chartered Accountant in 1966. It was a gruelling course and, recently, I received my forty year membership award, which, most importantly, brought with it an end to a lifetime of paying of dues!
Of course, like most people, a huge part of my education came from what happened after the formal part was over. There was the school of ‘hard knocks’, of course, but the particularly interesting stuff came from reading. My current interests range far and wide, from biography, history, professional, current politics and world affairs; to novels that include history, mystery, the very occasional sci-fi (that seems to abate with age), adventure, humour, and anything that’s just plain interesting.
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My professional career, as mentioned above, spans forty years, the first four of which were in what we call ‘industry’. Or, to put it another way, working for a corporation, rather than in an accounting office open to the public. I held financial management positions in the chemical industry (Chemcell Limited) in Edmonton and Montreal; the aviation and plastics industry (Northwest Industries Ltd.); and the liquor industry (The Albert Liquor Control Board).
I gained a good deal of knowledge during those four years, including the fact that I didn’t really want to work for anyone else. Even now, I still have the odd dream of doing exactly that. It’s like one of those ‘I’ve gone back to smoking’ dreams (I quit smoking in 1968), only you don’t wake up with the bad taste in your mouth.
The realization of how I wanted to work, coincided with a desire to move to the country. A position came up in rural Alberta at just the right time, and I snapped it up. I came to Westlock in December of 1971, and the family arrived in January of 1972. We’re still here, and if it was 1971 again, I’d do it all over.
Small towns are the best kept secret in our country, and especially those within easy driving distance of a major city. It’s far easier to live where people ‘get away from it’, and go to the city, than live in the city, and try to ‘get away from it.’ Community work is an area in which you can lose yourself, if you so chose. I’ve been on the Ski Board, the Library Board, the Drama Society Board, the Scholarship Board, the Cultural Arts Board, the Winston Churchill Society, and a member of Mensa Canada. I’m still on several of them today. And there’s also been the provincial Progressive Conservative Association (past president); the Army Cadet League (provincial past president), and the Rotary Club (past president).
Marie and I have also farmed for many years. There is a saying: anyone can become a farmer; but not everyone can farm. I’m not going to say which category we fit into. We do, however, have a very small farm by Alberta standards, and run a cow/calf operation with about sixty cows grazing the grassland (and two bulls).
Along the way I have operated (by default) a home manufacturing plant, and built log homes in some of the remotest parts of Alberta (with some very nice people). And then there was the gold mine! Both investments offered knowledge earned the hard way, and the latter followed a lengthy proxy fight that was a plot unto itself. Our side won, and after some very hard negotiations, I ended up as co-chairman of a publicly traded gold company! The other chairman turned out to be a very nice man by the name of Tony Rhatigan, from Ireland (international intrigue). I believe each of us took the job believing the other to be a thoroughly rotten villain. My opinion proved to be wrong. I like to think his was, too.
And finally, I served seventeen years with the Canadian Armed Forces reserve force. I joined the Militia in 1959, while still in grade twelve; I left when Chemcell transferred me to Montreal, seven years later. I rejoined in 1988 at the age of forty five, and retired on reaching fifty five (which was mandatory at that time). I left as a transport captain. I’m glad that I served with the Forces. In fact, I’m proud that I served. I highly recommend the experience.
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