Joanne and I are spending this Easter Sunday on the lengthy journey from Faro, Portugal home to Halifax via Lisbon and Toronto. We had a great time on our two week Portugal vacation. This was our fifth visit to Portugal. Lovely country, lovely people with such a rich history. If you have never been may I suggest you consider.

Our monthly newsletter seems to be getting longer each month with all the material being sent in by association members. Keep it up as it makes my task that much simpler.

Angus Cross

C'60 - Editor, Alumni Connection

Alumni Garden Update

As promised this is an update on the Alumni Garden project which is quickly taking shape. The team applied and competed for a Jane Goodall Institute grant and, based on their presentation and a lot of help from Brock Cummings (Class of 76) Facebook post, was awarded $1,000, beating out 40 other schools.
In the photo, team leader for the project is Science & Technology teacher Jana Jensen (Class of 94), second from left, assisted by teacher Liam Thompson, extreme right, and students Arisha Ali, extreme left and Aline Nguyen.
I think the best way to describe what they have planned is by showing you the drawings produced by the team.
If you look closely you can see the picnic tables that the Alumni Association directors built and donated several years ago. There were originally eleven but a couple were stolen and others beaten up until they were no longer usable. I look forward to seeing the finished product and will keep you posted as the work unfolds.
On a final note, the directors are pleased to announce that a $2,000 donation will be made by your Association to help finance the project.

Harvey Carter C'60 Life Member & Assoc. Sect'y/Treas.

Welcome New Alumni Association Members and renewed Members

New Regular Member
Suzanne Hubbard (Dean)
Class of 1970
from Ottawa, ON

New Life Member
Jim Groundwater
Class of 1959
from Ottawa, ON

New Life Member
Barbara Feick (Ferrie)
Class of 1960
from Calgary, AB

New Life Member
Brian Millward
Class of 1969
from Brownsburg-Chatham, QC

Renewed Membership
David Latter
Class of 1964
from Toronto, ON

Renewed Membership
Stella Charleson (Misiaszek)
Class of 1958
from Kirkland, QC

Renewed Membership
Carol Johnson (LeBlanc)
Class of 1959
from Vaudreuil, PQ

Renewed Membership
Flo Hinks (Trudeau)
Class of 1960
from Prince George, BC

Renewed Membership
Gus Jones
Class of 1964
from Hermitage, NFLD

Renewed Membership
Kay Rylander (Dickson)
Class of 1956
from St. Lambert, QC

Renewed Membership
Steve Brethour
Class of 1968
from Chatham, ON

Renewed Membership
Bill Hand
Class of 1961
from Rockwood, ON

Renewed Membership
David Corbeil
Class of 1966
from unknown

To renew your membership visit
Renew your membership
for membership options and payment plans.

Memberships expiring in April
Tomlinson Paul Vernon 1959
McNeilly Tom 1960
Smith Douglas (Doug) 1965
Bulmer John 1959

More memberships expiring in April
Fraser Norm 1966
Gloutney Ann Marie 1980
Maben (Townshend) Ruth 1953
Lyle Seaforth 1953


Thanks, for another excellent issue.
I like the way you have used link on the Header page to get into the Newsletter.
I enjoyed reading the long tale of the young Swedish girl who came to Canada.
Bravo for all your excellent work!

Peter Payan

C'59 Life Member, from Montreal, QC

Great edition as always Angus. I enjoyed reading about the Cote family trip. Great to see the Girls in later life! Jean

Jean McHarg (Fraser)

ex CCHS teacher - Life Member, from Bridgewater, NS

Algarve Coast in
Southern Portugal

Angus, the first time you and I met it was in a hotel room you and Joanne booked during the first CCHS Reunion. We discussed “Portugal” ‘cause you had been recently and Pat & I were about to go. You mentioned quite a bit about the Algarve, and that’s where we headed to begin our journey. In the beginning we stayed in Tavira, but did tour most of the Algarve. We also toured a lot more of the lower half of Portugal and ended up in Lisbon.

Warren Mackenzie

C'57 Life Member, from London, ON

The Alumni news is always interesting! This past edition was thoroughly enjoyed.
Thank you for your ongoing work to bring this to us,and to keep us connected.

Your pending visit to Portugal sounds beautiful...all that sun and surrounding beauty. Bon Voyage!

Carolyn Vance MacDonald

C'58 Life Member, from Halifax, NS

I loved the Febuary issue, and the most recent March issue. Also wanted to report the passing of Mary Cyr at the age of 102. There’s not many of us that do not have wonderful memories of Mrs Cyr. I’ve reconnected with her daughter Rosemary over the last few years at the St Lambert United Church of which my folks have been regular attendees. I go there once in a while for a bit of “ God talk”. My mom and Mary were both in the Charles Lemoine Hospital in Longueil where Rosemary and I met in the hall were able to talk about the inevitable. Mary passed on and my mom is soldiering on at 93.

Bruce Charron

C'68 Life Member, from Montreal West, QC

Put your car keys beside your bed at night.

Ian Cross C'64 non-member
from Chester, NS

Tell your spouse, your children, your neighbors, your parents, your Dr's office, the check-out girl at the market, everyone you run across. Put your car keys beside your bed at night.
If you hear a noise outside your home or someone trying to get in your house, just press the panic button for your car. The alarm will be set off, and the horn will continue to sound until either you turn it off or the car battery dies.
This tip came from a neighborhood watch coordinator. Next time you come home for the night and you start to put your keys away, think of this: It's a security alarm system that you probably already have and requires no installation. Test it. It will go off from most everywhere inside your house and will keep honking until your battery runs down or until you reset it with the button on the key fob chain. It works if you park in your driveway or garage.
If your car alarm goes off when someone is trying to break into your house, odds are the burglar/rapist won't stick around. After a few seconds, all the neighbors will be looking out their windows to see who is out there and sure enough the criminal won't want that. And remember to carry your keys while walking to your car in a parking lot. The alarm can work the same way there. This is something that should really be shared with everyone. Maybe it could save a life.



Fergus Groundwater, Rod Tait and Dennis Reilley had lunch the other day in South West Florida. Rod and Fergus have been here for years (Fergus only in the winter) and I have just moved from wintering in the Dominican Republic to SW Florida. I'm not certain if I have all the class of 1956 email addresses as we would like to gather down here at least once a year to celebrate the first class education we received at CCHS. We know that Gilbert Elliott is down here somewhere. There may be others. Anyone down here please contact either me dennis_reilley@hotmail.com (or the other two at: rodtait@aol.com ; fgroundwater@yahoo.com

Share Your Own Memories

If you have a memory you wish to share Please contact Angus Cross at bluenoseangus@gmail.com

Why Sweden

By Lilian Puust (Soomet)
C ’57 Life Member
From Toronto, ON

Why did my parents and I come to Canada from Sweden? This year, 2018, is a good time to talk about that since Estonians are currently celebrating the 100th birthday of Estonia since it declared its independence from Russia on February 24th, 1918. Estonia, however, has gone through periods when its independence was lost or regained.

My parents, born just before 1918, were fortunate to grow up, be educated and marry in a free and independent Estonia. My father was a good student, well-respected for his integrity, sense of responsibility and knowledge. As a scout leader he was posted to the Scouts Battalion, a voluntary military unit, formed to help defend Estonia. This led to an opportunity to attend a top-level police academy. At twenty-one, he became a police constable in Kuressaare, my mother’s home town. She noticed the young constable chaperoning the school dance she was attending and arranged to be introduced to him. As the orchestra played a waltz, she asked him to dance. A few years later, they married and moved to Tartu where he studied law while working full time, becoming assistant commissioner of its police department.

At twenty-eight he was asked to join the government of Estonia as Chief of Staff in the Department of Security and Homeland Defense.

Then World War II began and in June 1940 Russia occupied independent Estonia. My father went into hiding. During the first year, the civil and political leadership, higher military and police officers, economic elite and intelligentsia were arrested, deported or executed. In 1941, about 10,000 ordinary Estonian men, women and children were shipped in cattle cars to Siberia, where many perished. Included were those who might influence others – teachers, the clergy, anyone in government. Everyone was affected as family members, friends, colleagues or neighbours disappeared. Also, 34,000 Estonian men were forcibly conscripted into the Red Army and later sent to Siberia where fewer than 30% survived. In the summer of 1941, Hitler’s army conquered Estonia. Some Estonian national leaders were incarcerated, food was rationed to supply the German war machine and Estonian men were conscripted this time into the German army to fight the Red Army. The small country was caught between Stalin’s and Hitler’s empires. My parents managed to survive.

It became clear that Hitler was losing the war. In late September 1944, as the German army was leaving, there was a small window of opportunity to flee before the advancing Soviet army re-occupied the country. About 80,000 escaped fearing for their lives, knowing that the atrocities of Russia’s first occupation would be repeated. My father and other family members would certainly not have survived. My father had no choice but to flee. He risked his life to help my mother and I and others to escape, before boarding one of the last sailboats which left before the Iron Curtain closed shut.

Those who could, crossed the Baltic to Sweden, often in small open boats. Others fled overland or by sea to Germany, which was still at war and being bombed by the Allies. Eventually, many immigrated to Canada, United States and Australia.

In 1949, in occupied Estonia, the Soviets deported 20,000 more Estonian men, women and children to Siberian prison camps. Over half perished. The Soviet occupation finally ended on August 20, 1991. Since then, modern Estonia has experienced rapid economic growth, joined NATO and the European Union, and uses the EURO as its currency.

My family and those who made it to Sweden were fortunate since the Swedish government kept Estonian refugees in camps for just a few months and found jobs and apartments for them by the spring. My father had a job at the Natural History museum and we shared a lovely apartment with another family in Solna, where many other Estonian families were also placed.
Here are some moments which I can remember from Sweden.

A Child of the Forest

I am seven years old. I live at Hasselstigen 6 in Solna in a modern light-coloured building. From our balcony I look over Råsundavägen on which streetcars run to downtown Stockholm. There is a big forest beside our building where I like to play.

The pine trees in our forest always smell like spring or licorice candy. They stand up very tall and straight and try to reach up into the clouds in the sky. Sometimes they line up in rows and their top branches touch, but they always leave enough space for me to run between them. We play on the cliffs in the forest. They let us slide down their backs on pieces of cardboard in the winter and also in summer. We use their moss and little sticks to make houses until we have villages. Then we explore paths through the forest as far as we dare or until we discover another neighborhood. We only find out that we have gone far when they say that we have been away too long, and they tell us not to do that again, that they were worried. We never get lost. Why should they worry?

My father sometimes tells me about the Vikings. Long ago, they lived in Sweden but there were also Estonian Vikings. They liked to sail big Viking ships to explore and look for new lands. Sometimes they got into battles. One time, some Estonian Vikings sailed to Sweden and in a battle over some gold burned down their village of Sigtuna. It is so fortunate that the Swedes have forgiven us since we now live in Sweden.

I don’t want to burn down villages, but I am a Viking since I have been an explorer all my life. I just have to know what comes after the next street, where does that forest go and where does it end. My mother tells me to stay away from water, so I cannot be a sailing Viking. I am, therefore, a forest Viking. It often gets me into trouble. My parents tell me that I shouldn’t explore far from home, but there are no borders or fences. How do I know where far is?

Tõnu, our friend Rein and I usually play outside all day in our forest. My parents go to work every day. Tõnu’s mother, Mrs. Perem, is supposed to be looking after me, but she sends her son Tõnu and I out to play and I don’t see her that often.

One time, my parents and I walked to another town to visit the Ainver family. They have twins who already go to school and know a lot about a lot of things. A few weeks ago, I walked there by myself. I know the way, through our forest, past Next Neighborhood, past Next Forest, along the road beside a lake, past the cows in the field, past the bull
(I was careful not to wear red that day), and further along the road until I get to Ainver’s town. They were very surprised to see me by myself at the door. I played with the twins for a while, but I was so disappointed when my father came. He was angry that I had walked here. I now know that the twins are “too far.” I wonder if Viking kids also had parents who spoiled their plans.

Every day, when it is lunchtime Tõnu goes upstairs to have lunch with his mother. But I have to go through the forest, over a cliff to another neighborhood to have lunch at a stranger lady’s apartment, which it seems is not far since my mother sent me there. Stranger lady always has a big group of friends there sitting around the dining room table talking and laughing. They ask me questions I don’t know how to answer. Then they ignore me. There is a big pot of fish soup on the table. A lady fills my bowl. There is something in the bowl looking at me, a huge eye, a big fish’s eye in the middle of the bowl staring right at me. I sit there staring back at the soup.

“Come on, eat up. It’s very good soup.” I take a little spoonful. Hidden in it are sharp little bones. Why can’t I just have lunch with Tõnu?
I find new children in their neighborhood. A little boy spins around holding a branch. I watch from the side. Suddenly the branch hits me in the eye. My eye fills with blood. Someone leads me to an apartment. They call my parents. I don’t know if I can see. All I can feel is blood. At the hospital the doctor sews up my eye. He says I am very lucky since I can now see. I have stitches under my eye and I look like a Viking who has been in a big battle.

My parents always leave for work in the morning before I awake. My father works at the museum classifying mushrooms. It has nothing to do with his law degree and what he did in Estonia. My mother used to work at the Maribu chocolate factory and sometimes brought home chocolates, but now she works at the large downtown post office where other Estonian women work and talk to each other.

Every morning, before she goes to work, my mother cooks a bowl of hot porridge for me. She leaves it in a bowl with some butter and milk on top. By the time I see it, everything is cold and beige. Mrs. Perem says I have to finish it all. The only way I can do that is if I imagine that the butter is a frozen lake of gold and that the white milk is ribbons of rivers.

In October, my father says that they just found space for me at the Estonian school in downtown Stockholm. I have to go, even though it is for just two months.

“Tomorrow morning, cross the street to the other side of Råsundavägen, get on the streetcar to Stockholm. Look for other Estonian children on the streetcar, and when they get off and transfer to another streetcar, follow them until they get off at Eriksdal school,” my father tells me. My parents go to work much earlier, so I have to get there myself. The next morning, I do as my father said. On the streetcar I do hear children speaking Estonian. I don’t know any of them, but I follow them to school. I am the new girl in Grade One and I have to catch up.

In December we are leaving Sweden and going across the sea.

“Will we be going to places the Vikings went to?” I wonder.

Murielle Parkes (Fraser) - Class of 1953 Life Member - from Mansonville, QC

Just found “Dancing Girls” in one of my albums ... all members of Bertha Wilde’s grade 9 class of ‘51-52. For sure, they were a hit act at the December 1951 CCHS Christmas concert. Clearly, photo would benefit from better identification of all the dancers!
BTW: If photo’s looks like it’s been painted with food colouring ... it probably was. Way back then, it was one way to get a coloured photo.

Back row: Tom Carmichael, Bob Dorion, Wallace Henstridge, Tom Jeary, Lorne ?
Middle row: Andy Little, Stuart Fickett, Ross ?, Bill Brown, Willy?
Front Row: Malcolm Morrison, ??, Allan Walker, and Tom ?

Stephen Campbell
C'72 life Member
from Vaudreuil-Dorion, QC

I am sitting here on a dreary Friday Afternoon looking forward to my partner having a week off from her job at The Lester B. Pearson School Board. I was born in Verdun but had the privilege of moving to Brossard in 1963. I went o Préville Elementary School and then CCHS and Champlain Regional College. CCHS were the best years of my life because the school was not over populate like the new regional high schools were at the time. The parents were also very involved and really helped us as we "matured". I made life long relationships during my extended stay on Green Street. They call those years formative years but you don't truly appreciate the crucible that the school actually was. I am progressing far too quickly through my sixth decade in this unending trip around the sun and I find myself appreciating the gems of truth acquired along the way. Currencies and governments always fail at some point but the most valuable commodities are far too often small pieces of a greater treasure that are only revealed when everything else around you becomes worthless. Perhaps I am prejudiced but I think that we had the best of all possible worlds at our fingertips and we are now responsible for investing that wealth back into this world. Hence...my story for this day...1 The Console Radio You know that you are getting older when you actually surpass the stage that we love to call “Nostalgic”. Nostalgia occurs when you have a pleasant memory of a time that seemed to be better than the time that you are presently living in. I am beginning to fear the worst about my present state of mind because memories from when I was only six years old are more tactile than the memories of what I did yesterday.

For instance; The 51st Anniversary of the Ice Storm that paralyzed Montreal in 1961 a poignant of the Ice Storm of 1961 populated my entire mind this past Sunday. The world was falling apart around us and I was wandering through the lanes of my memory and remembering what an insignificant impact that an ice storm had upon us in those days before we totally depended on electrical appliances and devices. I literally heard myself saying,” In my day it didn’t matter if the power went off because you just kept going on.” It reminded me of my Grandparents saying that all of the technology and the “advances” that they were seeing in the 50’s and 60’s were making people lazy and forgetting how to be self-reliant. I remember quietly and very secretly smirking at their comments and thinking that they belonged to another century. In fact, they were from the end of the century that came before the century that I was born in. In kind, my memories of the Ice Storm of 1961 are from the century that came just prior to this one.

The day that I was born in 1954 I inserted myself into a loving Family of Evangelical Baptists in Verdun. The Second World War had just ended and an age of prosperity for the working class was the badge of honour worn by the majority of the population. Prosperity was still being measured in pennies and success in this new age meant that you had a steady job, a roof over your head and children being born into a world that was looking brighter every week. A car was still a status symbol and the car didn’t need to be new, either. People lived in rented accommodations and still helped each other to get along down this new road of prosperity together.

Our Family was no different and definitely not exceptional in any way and we blended seamlessly and invisibly into this newfound majority of Canadians. In 1953 My Father bought a used two door Chevrolet sedan and instead of taking the Tramway all the way to Lachine every day he drove himself to work. Before long he acquired passengers and his drive was no longer lonely or boring. He bought a Television set and a free standing Console Radio that had a concealed record turntable that slid out on a drawer from inside the console. Those purchases were mad just prior to my arrival and to this day my two older Sisters will swear that the T.V. and the Radio were far more welcome in our second story flat than I was.

The television required antenna to pick up the few available television stations. There were two Canadian stations that you only needed “Rabbit Ears” (an ancient form of an internal antenna) to receive. What we really wanted was the three American station broadcasting from just south of the border in New York and Vermont. If you wanted to be ahead of the wave you also installed a rotor to turn the external antenna until you could properly tune the American stations in. That required equipment and someone knowledgeable enough (and brave enough) to install all of that equipment. There were two insulated wires that powered the rotor and carried the signal from the antenna to the television. I had an Uncle, Edie Conlon, who was both brave enough and knowledgeable enough to attempt crawling up on to the flat gravel roof of our flat in Verdun. Uncle Eddie also doubled as Santa Claus every year and never missed a Christmas Eve for which I will be eternally grateful. I will be eternally grateful to him for everything that he did for our entire collective Family, God Bless You In Heaven Uncle Edie.. He secured the antenna with cables and ran the wires down into the flat and voila!!! We were entering the most advanced decade of the century up to that time. We now had five television stations and a radio with a record player. Before everyone had a T.V. in their house a house with a T.V. meant that you acquired a lot of friends who were inevitably invited to come and watch T.V. with you. Saturday Night Hockey games were the event of the week and everyone brought something with them as the “Front Room” filled with neighbours and friends and we all watched T.V. together. What a concept that was; everyone in the same room at the same time doing the same thing at the same time…together…at the same time.

The radio was no slouch either. Its heavy walnut cabinet stood taller than I did at the time. It was absolutely immovable from its perch on the wooden planked floors that led directly from the kitchen at one end of the flat to the living room at the other end of the flat. Its companion was an oil heater that stood as tall as it did just off to its left. The steel pipes that shot out of the top of the heater ran the length of the flat and the radiant heat that travelled the length of those pipes heated the flat in the winter. Natural Gas was what cooked our food in the stove in the cramped kitchen that shared space with a refrigerator, a table for five and a wringer washing machine. Luckily the ironing board was built into the wall with its own electrical outlet and a place for a decent electric iron. Note to self; attach the ironing board with the provide clasp when finished using. Failure to do so would result in an embarrassing and painful introduction to a heavy wooden ironing board the next time you opened that door.

The radio was electric but required huge tubes that we constantly replaced at the Rexall Drug store on Bannyntyne Street just a few blocks away from our front door. I would sometimes “help” My Father replace the tubes. That required mitering the radio away from the wall to expose the open tube tray. One by one the tubes would light up with an eerie green glow and their hand blown glass cases would remind me of the scenes from “The Wizard of Oz”. If one didn’t light up it was plucked out and replaced in its original box. My Father was a meticulous man and when he purchased a tube he would place the box in a compartment in the front of the console. A failed tube in an original box meant that we would soon be on our way to the pharmacy where we would test the tube in the Sylvania Tube Tester. If there was actually a problem the tube would be replaced and brought home. The new tube would go into the vacant spot on the tube plate and when it glowed green My Father would glow as well because his job was done and all was well in the world again. The radio tuner had an interesting feature about it. Right in the center of the illuminated screen on the front of the radio console were four bars etched into the glass face with frequencies in varying degrees marked so that you could “tune into” your local radio stations. The impressive feature that I used to almost meditate upon was the “Cats Eye” acknowledgement that you had found the exact frequency that you were searching for. The blank gray eye would begin to glow green around its edges as you tuned the crystals of your radio near the desired frequency. When you were right on the spot where you had achieved 100% frequency the eye magically filled with the same green light that the fresh tubes in the rear of the console had glowed with as they had been replaced.

I was just old enough to tune in stations on the radio and once they were tuned in I would sit with my back up against the stucco covered concrete blocks that made up the walls of the flat. The air inevitably flowed through the windows in the living room and down the hall and ventilated the always busily occupied kitchen. Depending on the direction of the wind you either inherited wafts of whatever was happening on the streets below us or you received the privileged smells of something that was destined to be the main dish for supper and maybe even the dessert that followed.

I now realize what a privileged and extremely rich life that I was born into and raised by until I left my Family Home. All of these memories flowed back to me because of a Facebook message that I sent my Sister Patricia Campbell DeGruchy. I am an extremely family oriented person and the sun rises and sets on each and every member of the extended family that I am a privileged member of. My Family has seen the best and the worst decisions that I have ever made and they remain as fiercely loyal to me as I remain fiercely loyal to them. There are already two generations following behind me. That makes me think of a sermon that I heard by the now late reverend Billy Graham. I heard that sermon repeatedly because My Father had purchased an LP that the Billy Graham Group had released. The beauty of that format was that any time that you wanted to hear the late Reverend’s words all you had to do was lay that wax disk on the steel plate on the phonograph that was hidden inside the console radio on a sliding drawer. This was cutting edge technology in the fifties and we certainly took advantage of it as a Family. The console had a huge Wurlitzer single speaker that picked up all of the frequencies that were embedded into that wax disk and bellowed out at you if you were fortunate enough to be seated right in front of it. There were curtained doors that hid the record player and the inner cavities that housed the few records that we owned. I always chose to open the doors and feel the full impact of the sound that belched out of the incredible speaker. That unfortunate habit would be a life curse. I always need to hear every note, every impulse and every vibration of any music that I ever listened to. That usually put me in the front row of a concert or encouraged me to buy more and more powerful stereo units and then crank them up to their full potential. If I am partially deaf today I credit Rock Music listened to properly for the demise of my hearing.
In the fifties I would afford myself the luxury of listening to the most gifted speakers whom I have ever known. Perhaps it was his North Carolinian accent or perhaps it was the way that he could decipher all of the knowledge confined within his Doctor of Divinity and make it reveal itself to an impressionable six year old boy. I would close my eyes and imagine myself being an adult at one of his stadium meetings listening to the Canadian born singer George Beverly Shea sing “Just As I Am” followed by the invitation from America’s preacher to come to the stage and renew your Faith.

One of the stories that The Reverend Billy Graham used on that LP was one of a Father leaving his Family on a stormy winter night to go to a bar. His young son followed his Father’s tracks in the snow and appeared at the bar to find his Father. The Father asks his son what he is doing at the bar and the son replies,” I am following in Daddy’s tracks”. Inevitably the Father sees the error of his ways and renews his commitment his Family and His Lord. I was horrified at the time to think that such a thing was possible because I could not imagine that happening with my own Father. I thought that the Reverend Billy Graham had told me a lie because in my world that event was not a possibility. There were other tender and funny and enlightening moments on that LP and before both sides of the record had played I had returned to the safety and security of the privileged world that I had been born into.

I delivered the eulogy at My Father’s Funeral. I included the Reverend Billy Graham’s story about the young boy and his Father. I also reminded the Congregation that in this particular life I was always one half inch shorter than My Father. Dad and I wore the same size sits and shirts and gloves and…shoes. I pointed out that the half inch of height mean that I would always look up to My Father. I might have been able to shoulder his clothes bit I knew that I would never fill his shoes. I said it that day and I say it again; if I ever become half the man that My Father was…I would be ten times the man that I ever thought that I would be. Dad and the men of his generation are where their Lord intended them to be. That generation led by example and not just by words. If you had the intellect and the stamina to follow them then there was a strong possibility that you might actually leave this life and this world in a better place than you found it. The generation that gave us life, both men and women, were the Lighthouses that guided and warned us of the storms that inevitably would come. They gave us life and they gave us strength and then they pushed us out of the nest and begged us to fly. They have all gone on to their just rewards and we are left to ponder the relevance of their inherited knowledge and their commitment to us and to the betterment of the world that we have inherited.
I have wandered away from too many of the traditional beliefs that I was rained with. Technology allows us to investigate at our leisure all of the contradictory statements that abound. There are Conspiracy Theorists and Angels an Demons out there. If you come up with a theory that flies in the face of “accepted” belief you can immediately fins a few thousand “Believers” who support your position on any given subject. I have experienced firsthand the amount of abundant counter intelligence available to tis world. I think that we live in a time that whatever you believe in or wish to believe in can be justified by the number of other “Searchers” who support your particular point of view. If numbers are the ruling factors in your beliefs than there are ample numbers of ways to support your beliefs.

The passing of The Reverend Billy Graham reminded me of something. Faith is important. Whatever heals you or supports you or helps you survive and avoid the transgression that this particular life will bring your way is worth hanging on to. You know that not every Soul will vibrate exactly the same way. You know that every Soul is here for a reason. You know that you were put here to help this world survive itself. I beg everyone to search their own Soul and see what merits saving and what merits disposing. I have so many cherished memories of being a really good Evangelical. Unfortunately that bubble got burst. Every institution that I was raised to believe in has failed me. This is not a Swan Song by any means, however. I now realize that as you progress through this particular life you will be blessed by many people and many individuals. All of the thoughts and all of the desires of all of these people make up the intricate tapestry of the world that we live in. I may no longer be an Evangelical but I applaud the morals and the substance of what they shared with me. Like a properly constructed house they gave me my foundation. More than one structure has been erected over that foundation but every phase of the building has been an improvement.
I wholeheartedly applaud the generation that gave us life and I grieve their loss…each and every one. God Bless Our Parents. May they receive their just rewards.

Class Contacts Needed

If you are interested in representing your class year as Class Contact. Please contact Angus Cross at bluenoseangus@gmail.com.


Mary Cyr
CCHS teacher
1962 to 1970

CYR, Mary 1916 2018
Mary Doyle Cyr passed away peacefully in her sleep in the Champlain Palliative Care Unit February 21, 2018 in her 102nd year. Beloved wife for 60 years of William, cherished mother of David (Mona), Virginia (Bill) and Rosemary.

Robert McLaren C'57 July 10, 1940 - May 1, 2017

It is with deep sadness that we announce the death of Robert Irvine McLaren. Robert was born on the kitchen table in St.Lambert, Quebec July 10th 1940 and died in Regina, Saskatchewan , May 1st, 2017. As the third of six brothers born to John and Elizabeth McLaren, Robert's childhood was filled with sporting endeavours and many adventures. After graduating from Montreal High School his academic career took him to Mt. Allison University, Cornell and the University of Pittsburgh. It was in Ghana in 1962 that as a young Canadian CUSO worker, Robert met a young American Peace Corp volunteer who turned out to be his best friend and the love of his life, Susan. They were married in 1964 and were to be together for 52 years. Robert spent his teaching career as a Professor in the School of Administration at the University of Regina before retiring to spend many years travelling the world with Susan.

Editor's Note: Bruce was a grad of St.Lambert High School, Class of 1949, and an Honorary Member of our association. Over the years he contributed many photos for our website.

And Finally...

I went into the confessional box after many years of being away from the Catholic Church.

Inside I found a fully equipped bar with Guinness on tap.
On one wall, there was a row of decanters with fine Irish whiskey and Waterford crystal glasses.

On the other wall was a dazzling array of the finest cigars and chocolates.

When the priest came in, I said to him, “Father, forgive me, for it’s been a very long time since I’ve been to confession, but I must first admit that the confessional box is much more inviting than it used to be.”

He replied, “ You're on my side, you moron .”

We all went to visit Grandma. She was so pleased to see us. She''s getting old, and her eyesight is waning.
We wanted to help her enjoy this final stage of her life, have quality time with her, and enjoy our visits to help remember her when she's gone.