1980s Ontario, Canada
I left England as the bonfires and fireworks of November the fifth, 1979, were lighting up the darkened land and I landed in Montreal, Quebec, Canada, in the early hours of the following day. I’m sure I wasn’t the first immigrant to arrive there, but it seemed like it to me.
My schoolboy French was useless, and they appeared not to speak English. As I had to catch a connecting plane to Vancouver, I was understandably, I felt, anxious. Looking back, I think they just enjoyed toying with English-speaking newcomers for, suddenly, when all seemed lost, I was free to go and caught my plane with minutes to spare.
Vancouver is a blur. I only worked there 3 weeks when the company won a big order in the eastern Canada Province of Ontario. I flew to Toronto before November was out and into a freezing spell like I’d never experienced. I’ve never left. I like it cold. I was intended for Arctic or Antarctic exploring, only born fifty years too late. I’m still hoping for that new Ice Age I was promised in the Fifties, Sixties, and Seventies but I know now that was as unlikely as the ‘burnt to a crisp’ our so-called experts promise today. That’s the benefit of reaching 70+ with your memory intact. You know ‘experts’ are not expert, and they never have been.
