I was born in 1936 in Peterhead, Scotland (a small fishing town on Scotland’s northeast coast). For most of World War 2, my family lived in Aberdeen, a city that was heavily bombed by the Germans. I can still remember the whistling of the falling bombs, the explosions, the fires, and the piles of rubble the next day. One day a German plane strafed our building, shattering the glass behind me as I raced down a stairwell to the air raid shelter below.
Every June, I returned to Peterhead to spend the summer holidays with my grandparents. They lived in a tenement flat that was very primitive by today’s standards. No electrical appliances and no electricity. Cooking was over a single gas ring and a coal fire. No indoor toilet, no bathtub. Nevertheless, Peterhead was an idyllic place for a small boy: I caught little fish in the tidal pools along the rocky shore; I watched fishermen land their creels full of slippery, silver herring; and I rode on my grandfather’s horse and cart, sometimes holding the reins, as he delivered sacks of coal from off his back.
After the war my family immigrated to Canada. We crossed the North Atlantic in a small boat carrying only 20 passengers. Not an easy undertaking in the middle of winter. When we encountered gale force winds, the boat had to do a complete 180* turn-around. At the time I was seated in a big leather chair, which careened form one side of the lounge to the other, and then back again. But Santa Claus managed to find us, and made his way down the ship’s funnel.
As a teenager in Toronto, I worked at several jobs: delivering newspapers, cashiering at a Canadian Tire store, and working night shifts for several summers at a Canada Packers meat processing plant making wieners and baloney.
In high school I took three years of German, five years of both French and Latin, and one year of Greek. And in my final year, I took both piano and bagpipe lessons. Together with good marks, this unusual resume earned me a fine scholarship to McGill University in Montreal. I took a mixed bag of courses at McGill, both sciences and the humanities. My mother wanted me to be a doctor, and I did enter med school at UBC. But after my second year I decided I didn’t want to be a doctor and I dropped out. Meanwhile, however, I fell in love with Vancouver and I have spent the remainder of my life here.
New to Vancouver, I heard the mountains calling to me and, with a group led by Philip Hewett (who was then the minister of the Vancouver Unitarian Church), I climbed Mount Sedgwick, a fine mountain on the west side of Howe Sound above Woodfibre. The weather was wet and miserable on that trip, but I felt exhilarated, experiencing the mountains for the first time. I joined the BC Mountaineering Club and climbed other mountains like Sky Pilot and the Black Tusk in BC, and Mount Rainier in Washington. Over the years I continued to climb: Volcano Acantenagua in Guatemala, Mulhacen in Spain, Popocatepetle in Mexico, Mauna Loa in Hawaii, and Mont Blanc in France.
Kayaking also appealed to me, and for many years together with two other couples in our church, my wife Beth and I went on trips to all the major inlets on the west coast of Vancouver Island and to Haida Gwai. Travelling in the wilderness we had to pack everything we would need into our kayaks before setting out.
Walking the Camino de Santiago has been another of the great loves of my life. There are many different routes and I have walked 7 of them: Camino Frances, Norte, Le Puy, Vezelay, Arles, Primitivo, and Via de La Plata. I am often asked why I like to walk the Camino, and I reply: There was a time when we hung our clothes on a clothesline to dry. And there in the sun and wind, the clothes not only dried, they were brightened and freshened. When I walk the Camino, each morning I hang my spirit on an 800 or 1600 km long moving clothesline, and as I move it along my spirit is brightened and refreshed.
I have travelled to India and Nepal, and to many countries in Central and South America, and in Europe. In the year 2000, I shipped a small camper van to Germany and lived in it for about 9 months, mostly around Paris, but all the way up to the Orkney Islands north of Scotland. Occasionally in my travels I have been privileged to pass through the veil that separates the surface of places from the life that lies behind that veil. One such experience was living for a week with a peasant family in Molinalco, Mexico. There I tried my hand at ploughing a corn field behind a team of oxen with my host Ysidro. And I watched Altagracia, my hostess, grind corn using a metate, a stone kitchen tool like a rolling pin, that has been used in Meso America for more than 5,000 years.
Another such experience was volunteering in Honduras. There, I helped to build one-room cinder- block schools and kindergartens for impoverished communities in remote mountainous parts of the country. People there lived by subsistence farming, growing corn, beans, and a little coffee, and keeping a few hens and animals.
My life’s work was teaching in Burnaby — first teaching high school history and geography, and later doing learning assistance in primary school. I enjoyed history, but sometimes I got into trouble for things like teaching in a critical way about the war in Vietnam.
After living for many years in West Vancouver, Beth and I moved to Bowen Island, where we lived in a waterfront house for some 20 years. I enjoyed island life. As I drove across the island returning home from work, I felt like I was going down a rabbit hole into a different world — a rural world with big trees and sandy beaches, populated by deer, ducks, eagles, otters, and seals. We used to kayak to a lovely little archipelago just offshore. Sitting on our rocks, looking out at the water, we sipped sherry and nibbled tortilla chips and salsa, before going in for dinner.
As we left the Island, Beth and I split up after being married for 47 years. Fortunately, we have managed to remain good friends. We often invite each other for dinner or a picnic. And we have gone on trips together to France, Iceland and Scotland. We have three grown-up children: Leslie, David and Sheila, who have all turned out very well. Leslie is now a retired lawyer, a great knitter, and the former owner of a specialty yarn store. David is a Supreme Court judge. And Sheila is an events planner at BCIT. We have five grandchildren who are also all doing well.
My spiritual and religious journey has followed a trajectory from evangelical Christian to Unitarian atheist with a stop along the way as a member of the Student Christian Movement. The most influential book in my life was Patterns of Culture, by the anthropologist Ruth Benedict. Reading it, I could see that all cultures and religions (including our own) are relative — that none of them reflect an absolute truth or an absolutely ideal way of life.
I suppose I have been a “seeker “ as I have been making my journey through life. In the 1960s and 70s there was a new social movement called the Human Potential Movement, and I jumped on board. Hoping to improve my performance as a human being, I spent three months at the Cold Mountain Institute on Cortez Island attending workshops and encounter group sessions. Sometime later, after a painful romantic breakup, I spent two weeks at Findhorn in Scotland, also hoping for some kind of self-improvement. I believe these psychological excursions were helpful but not life-transforming.
I have been living now for 19 years on False Creek near Granville Island. I like it here. Most of my destinations (like Costco, the Granville Market, and my local library) are easily reachable by bicycle, and so I ride my bike more than I drive my car. Several busses will take me downtown in not much more than a few minutes.
The Unitarian Church has been a great influence in my life’s journey. My first foray into the mountains was on an excursion led by Phillip Hewett. My friend Rose Nauman (now deceased) was a member of our church, and a big influence in my love of travel and my journey to Nepal. I was one of our church’s Lay Chaplains for some 20 years, a position I highly valued as it let me work with couples and families at critical moments in their lives. I find our Sunday services full of intellectual nourishment. I often hear ideas and principles that I can apply to my every day behaviour. I value being a member of our church community.