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Page A-12 - Tuesday, February 2,2993 - The Squarreish T ~ Q S
It just isn’t fair.
When it comes
to romance, we
elders have. a
great deal more
experience (or
seniority, anyway)
than you
young whippersnappers
out
there.
In the first place, our romantic memories have
been honed to a golden glow by the passing of
time.
In the second place, by virtue of our great years,
it would seem reasonable to suggest that we have
had the opportunity of collecting an abundance of
such experience - to which the callow youth
among us have still to look forward.
So it would seem only just, would it not? - that
t should win, cooled out and going away, The
rimes’ “What’s your most romantic moment?’
contest.
“Not eligible,” was the ruling. “Because you
write for us, the flowers and the chocs, perforce, go
zlsewhere.”
Sigh.
Guess this means I don’t get to reminisce about
hat blazingafternoon we tobed one of the isles of
3reece together, holding hands in an open carriage.
Not romantic enough for you? How about the
he we strolled the native quarter in Tangier,
where a hawk-nosed son of the desert offered me
15 camels for her?
(Master bargainer that I am, 1 had him talked
!own to 10 when she put a stop to the nonsense.)
Then there was the incident when we met in
!dinburgh, where she was staying in a hotel for
vomen, and the dear old haggis on the desk
leclined to accept even the most ironbound proof
hat we were - and had been for years - married.
“Not a foot past the lobby!” she bugled I as we
:ollapsed in laughter. ’ f.
The silence of the Sistine Chapel w& a romantic
nomeat, but so was feeding each other lobster in
iew Bmswick.
Riding a busted old sailing ship through the
3ahamas on OUT 25th anniversw certainly quali-
ied; so did the stay in a rickety old hotel in Pans
vith an elevator like a birdcage and - if you
ic
There’s just a day left before deadline for The Times’ “Most Romantic
Moment Contest”.
In 100 words or less, describe for us this special moment (remembering,
of course, that this is a family newspaper!) - and we will award the top
three entries respectively with a dozen red roses from Billie’s Bouquet, a
pound and a half-poubd of delicious Chocolates by Annette.
We’ll publish the winning entries, as well as others as space permits.
Entries must be sent to the Squamish Times, Box 220, Squamish, B.C.
VON 3G0 or dropped off at OW ofice on Cleveland Avenue by 5 p.m. on
Wednesday, Feb. 3. Winners will be announced in the Feb. 9 issue.
Remember to include your name, address and telephone number, and be
sure to specify if you choose not to have your name published with your
entry.
, ....
SUPPORTS
% Operation
craned out far enough - a glorious night-time
view of the Arc de Triomphe.
Then there was the only time we ever travelled
together on a working assignment.
The date was Aug. 19, 1977, the place, Dieppe.
The assignment was to cover the 35th anniversary
of Operation Jubilee, the raid on the Nazi-occupied
coast of France that cost more than 900 Canadian
lives in the blazing nine hours that the troops were
ashore.
The two of us went to lunch in a restaurant
perched high above that beach. In a far corner, at a
window, sat a lone figure in a black raincoat, a clerical
collar at his throat.
We apologized for intruding on his privacy and
he made us, and our bottle of wine, welcome.
This was a man I had wanted to interview about
Ais part in that bloody afternoon in 1942, but sometimes
grace overrides the crassness of our profession
and I didn’t.
We talked about all sorts of things and when he
learned that we had been married for 30 years, he
smiled and took a small book from an inside pocket
of that black coat.
Had we ever considered renewing our vows?
We had not, but we renewed them then. Quietly.
In that. window overlooking that beach.
The man was John Foote, who, as honorary captain
and padre ofthe Royal Hamilton Light
Infantry, had stowed away with his regiment on
Jubilee and crashed ashore with them.
There, pinned down with the others by fire from
the cliffs, he comforted the dying and carried the
wounded - one by one - through the bullet-
ripped surf to the evacuation boats until the last
evacuation boat was pulling out.
Sailon tried to pull the padre aboard, but he
shook them off and waded back ashore where there
was more work to do. He became a prisoner of war,
along with all the others who survived at Dieppe.
When the war was over, the man who wasn’t
even supposed to have been on that beach was pre-
sented with the Victoria Cross, the highest award
for valour his COWI~~ could bestow.
Yes - that was a romantic moment, renewing
our vows, alone, with such a man in such a place.
But most romantic?
No, she said. None of the above.
You see, our most romantic moment - like
yours, we hope - still lies ahead.
ll
ll
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