Alison Dare Blog Tour Wraps Up

The clock has just struck eleven and I am wondering how my grandfather felt all those times he went to the cenotaph to honour his comrades in the Seaforth Highlanders. He must have been wondering what his life would be like if he hadn't been gassed and contracted TB in the trenches.

In the early 1900's my grandfather emigrated from Selkirk, Scotland with other young men from his village. They made a new village in West Point Grey, Vancouver, where they settled and had families. Many of their children fought in World War 2, and some of them died. Those boys were my father's best friends, just as their fathers had been to my grandfather.

If my father too often found his soul trapped in a bottle of Scotch, who can judge? The memories of war are terrible.