POSTING #121

NOTE: This Posting is being uploaded a little early because I am tied up for the rest of the week.

A Thief or a Spy, or Both?

I enjoy reading mystery novels, especially ones involving courtroom action.

Recently, while reading the excellent mystery, "The Guilty Plea" by Robert Rotenberg, a prominent Toronto criminal lawyer, I remembered a story told by a solicitor we met while we were living in London in the 1960s.

I have to warn you at the beginning that I don't know how the story ends.

I am going to have to ask you to make up your own ending.

If you decide to stop reading at this point---well---I will understand.

Let me carry on, for those who are still with me.

Our solicitor friend specialized in criminal law and had great stories about 'the old lags' he was defending (translation: a British expression for people who have been in and out of prison frequently). He didn't actually argue cases in court but in accordance with the British system he would brief a barrister (think of Horace Rumpole) who would don a wig and robe and argue the case in the Old Bailey.

He said that the old lags knew the legal system well and if caught by the police they knew what to say ("I'm innocent gov'nor, and I'm not saying anything until I gets my solicitor") and what not to say ("I'm sorry, I'm guilty").

One night at dinner, he told a story about a different kind of case. A bookkeeper with absolutely no criminal record had been arrested for stealing money from his employer.

As soon as he had been assigned the case, the solicitor hurried to the jail to interview his new client. When he was brought into the interview room, the prisoner, a man in his 50s, appeared to be in a state of shock, shoulders down, eyes looking around aimlessly. He  looked very vulnerable---not cocky like the old lags.

The solicitor introduced himself, sat the man down, took out a pad of paper and started to talk. He told the man that he wasn't to say anything until he, the solicitor, had finished.

The solicitor told him that as an officer of the court he was required to reveal to the court whatever his client told him about his guilt or innocence.

"If you tell me you did it, then I will have to tell the court that you are pleading guilty."

The man started to say something but the solicitor cut him off. "Remember I told you that you are not to say anything until I have finished."

The accused closed his mouth and sat back in his chair.

"Now, on the other hand", the solicitor continued, "if you tell me you are not guilty and that you have an explanation for what happened then I am duty bound to accept  those statements at face value and give you the best defense I possibly can".

The man started to say something, but the solicitor put up his hand, "I am not finished!"

"Now what I would like you to do is spend tonight in your cell thinking about what you want to tell me about what happened. Remember, if you tell me you stole the money we will have to enter a guilty plea, but if you tell me you didn't and have an explanation, then we will plead not guilty and I will defend you. In the meantime, you are not to say anything to the police or other prisoners."

When the solicitor returned the next day, he saw that his client, despite a night in jail, appeared less distressed, more confident.

"Now", the solicitor said, "remembering everything I told you last night, are you ready to tell me what happened?"

The accused nodded and began to talk.

He had worked, he said, for several years as a bookkeeper for an import-export firm owned by the USSR, a firm that organized the shipment of goods to and from the Soviet Union. He was frequently given large sums of cash from the officers in the firm, all of whom were Russians, which he would deposit in the firm's account in a British bank. The firm's officials now claimed that they had discovered that he was not banking all the cash he was being given---that he was stealing some of the firm's money. They had called in the police.

The solicitor looking at the police report about the arrest said, "According to this report, the firm has documentary evidence that you kept some of the money you were given. How do you explain that?"

"Well, what you have to understand is that the firm is not a legitimate import-export company. It's a front for a spying operation."

The solicitor sat up, this was a far more interesting story than any of the ones his old lags came up with. "Go on", he said.

"After I had been working there for a few months, the head of the office asked me to do some spying for them on commercial matters involving other London companies. He explained that in return they would let me keep a portion of the cash depending on how valuable my information was to them. So the money they claim I stole was actually payment for my spying."

The solicitor sat back in his chair, stunned. "So are you admitting that you spied for the Soviet Union?"

"Yes, but I never stole any money from the company. The money I took was payment for the spying I did."

The solicitor looked around the dinner table at us and said, "So now I have to find a barrister who is prepared to argue this defense before a judge and jury at the Old Bailey."

We discussed the case for a while with people around the table offering questions and comments. Someone suggested that the firm may well have been a front for a spying operation---there had been a number of incidents of Soviet spying in Britain in the 1960s---but wondered why the firm would have called attention to itself by asking the police to investigate the alleged theft? Another person wondered whether the accused realized that spying was potentially a more serious offense than stealing?

The solicitor didn't attempt to respond, and when someone asked him whether he thought the bookkeeper was guilty of theft, he just smiled and said, "I leave guilt and innocence to the jury"

Our foreign service tour in the UK ended shortly after the dinner, and we returned to Canada.

Life got very hectic and we lost touch with the solicitor.

So I don't know what happened to the accused bookkeeper.

Did the case go to trial with the spying defense?

If so, was he convicted, or not?

When the Soviet company realized that he was going to talk about spying, did they withdraw the charges?

It's frustrating not to know what happened.

But life's like that sometimes, isn't it.

Too many damnable mysteries that we have to learn to live with.

A Reward

I feel guilty about leaving you high and dry, without a clear conclusion to the above story.

To compensate you in some small measure, I would like to offer a gift---a recipe that you may find useful.

First, some background.

For years I have been experimenting with mixes of various kinds of fiber, trying to find a combination that induced a healthy regularity.

I finally found a mix that works for me and have been using it for some years. Lately, friends and relatives who pooh-poohed my mix  (it is hard to avoid double entendres when talking about regularity!) have been trying what they had always laughingly called, "John's Potion".

And finding that it works.

And asking for the recipe.

So, here is the recipe, which must be accompanied by the usual caveats: that I make no medical claims for the mixture or myself and that persons should check with their doctor before trying it.

Add to a large bowl, and then stir until well mixed, equal quantities of the following (for a month's supply, I use one and a half cups of each ingredient):

1. Psyllium husks---I buy it at Bulk Barn. I tried powdered Psyllium husks but prefer the non-powdered husks.

2. Oat bran ---I use Quaker's Oat Bran

3. Ground flax seed---I buy organic flax seed and grind it in a cheap coffee grinder with a rotating blade. Mine is made by Braun. Bulk Barn sells ground flax seed but I prefer to grind it fresh.

4. Ground almonds---I use the blanched type, and pulse them in the above grinder until they are fine.

And that's it!

Perhaps a comment about the choice of the ingredients. Psyllium and oat bran are well-known aids to regularity.

When I was young, I remember farmers using flax seeds whenever a horse was constipated, so I decided to include it in my mix.

Finally, I have added almonds because of their manifold nutritional benefits and because they make the mix more palatable.

I put a heaping tablespoon on my porridge in the morning and another on a small helping of cereal before I go to bed. When I'm travelling, I sometimes mix it with a little juice and spoon it down. Other people have found that one heaping tablespoon a day is enough.

I would suggest starting with a teaspoon or so until you know how your system will react to it.

As with any fiber, it is important to drink plenty of water during the day.

Finally, what to call the mix?

"John's Potion" sounds too medical.

Pat and I had a brain-storming session. I started off with "John's Fiber Booster" but we agreed that was just too pedestrian. After considering a whole slew of ideas, Pat came up with the winner.

 "Skip to the Loo".

I like it because it's yet another double entendre---I confess I like double entendres---that combines regularity with memories of the ever-popular Saturday night square dances in the Arthur Town Hall.

If you try the mix and like it, please feel free to pass on the recipe---there is no copyright or patent. I would be grateful, however, if you would use the name, "Skip to the Loo", so we can track its progress.

  

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See you on September 18th for Posting #122 with more stories from our family’s universe! If you have comments or suggestions, please leave a comment at the bottom of this posting,  or email me at johnpathunter@gmail.com.

On September 11th, you may like to check out the next Posting of The Icewine Guru. http://theicewineguru.blogspot.com/

POSTING #120

Memories of Prince Edward Island

The recent visit of Will and Kate (aka the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge) to Prince Edward Island brought back memories of trips I have made to that lovely island over the years.

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During the early fall of 1964, we were back in Canada for home leave after a posting in the United Kingdom. Following a holiday, I set out with 3 other foreign service officers on a cross-Canada re-familiarization tour. We arrived in PEI in September just as the province was getting ready for a visit by the Queen and Prince Phillip that would take place in October. The trip was to commemorate the centennial anniversary of the Confederation Conference held in Charlottetown in 1864.

The province and its people were excited by the visit and were using a lot of elbow grease to make a good impression on the royals. Houses were being painted, trees were  being trimmed, lawns and flower beds were being weeded, fertilized and watered.

That kind of thing.

On our first day on the island, we were being taken to a brand new seafood processing plant a few miles outside of Charlottetown that the Queen and Prince Phillip were to visit. As we drove along an asphalt  road, we could see a large red brick building on a hill---the new factory.

As we got close to the factory, our host, the manager of the local Canada Immigration office, pointed to the road. He said that it had been a gravel road but it had just been paved---especially for the royal visit.

Smiling, he said that the paving stopped just over the crest of the hill. Islanders felt that it was important to put on a good show for the royals, but there was no need to get carried away.

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As the day of touring plants and businesses came to an end, we asked our host if he could recommend a restaurant where we could have 'a good feed of lobster'. He shook his head. No restaurant at the time served lobster---fish sticks maybe, but no lobster. Residents went down to the dock, bought lobsters from the fishermen, took them home and cooked them.

Church groups occasionally had lobster dinners for tourists but there was none scheduled for that time.

We groaned and complained about how we had been dreaming about tender lobster bits dipped into melted butter.

Our host took pity on us, said he would arrange a dinner that we could eat back at the motel. He asked us what we would like for dinner. Our menu was simple: lots of lobster, some beer and perhaps some pie.

Leave it to me, he said,

Will you join us, we asked. Of course, he said.

Our first stop was at the dock where he arranged with one of the fellows to boil some lobsters. We would be back to pick them up.

Then it was off to the provincial beer store. There were some scruffy looking men loitering outside the beer store. They stopped us as we were about to enter.

"Are you from off the island?", one asked. We said we were.

"Well then, could you buy us some beer." He explained that locals could only buy a certain amount of beer a month, whereas visitors could buy as much as they wanted. He held out some bills.

They looked thirsty and our inclination was to be good Samaritans and help them. At that point, our host who had been watching from his car, came over and shooed them away. He explained that they didn't want the beer for themselves, but that they were working for a local bootlegger. Any beer they cadged went into his stock.

We mused about the differences between Quebec, which we had just visited---where beer was sold freely in grocery stores---and PEI (or Ontario for that matter).

We got our box of 24 Molson's Ex and headed for a local 'greasy spoon' restaurant for an apple pie, which we knew would be made of canned apples with a cardboard crust---it was---but what the hell, you couldn't have a 1960s dinner without some pie.

Then to the dock for the lobsters and some melted butter.

Back at the motel, our host produced a bottle opener (this was before screw tops) some nut crackers and picks. And we started some serious lobster cracking.

I'm not going to say it was the best meal I have ever had, but it was clearly the best lobster dinner ever.

000

Later on, after I had left the Foreign Service, I went often to the Island for conferences and meetings. I loved the island and the people, and decided that Pat should have a chance to enjoy it.

Leaving the kids with a motherly woman who was used to looking after them, we flew to PEI for a holiday at the family-run Shaw's Hotel (which is still in business---after 150 years!) 

It was early in the season and we were the first guests that year.

I had of course told Pat about the wonderful PEI lobsters so we didn't have to look at the dining room menu. It was going to be lobster.

The young and cheerful server went off to the kitchen with our order. She came back with a delicious salad and some fresh rolls.

We finished the salad and waited. There was laughing in the kitchen but no lobster.

The server came back and took our empty salad plates. The lobster would be ready soon, she said.

And we waited some more. The laughing in the kitchen continued.

Finally, as I was about to knock on the kitchen door, our server came back, flushed from laughing. She said that the chef for the season had just arrived on the Island that day. "He's from Winnipeg", she smiled, "and doesn't know how to cook lobsters!".

We discovered later that he was a good looking young man, and our server and the other young women in the kitchen had obviously enjoyed teaching him how to boil lobsters.

The lobsters when they came were fine, but perhaps not quite as good as the lobsters at the motel.

Must have been the motel's ambiance.

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After breakfast one morning at Shaw's , we joined an elderly local for coffee. He had lived his whole life on the Island, and told some marvellous stories about growing up on PEI.

We mentioned our lobster dinner experience and he laughed about a chef from the West who didn't know how to cook lobsters.

He said that when he was growing up, his family was poor but they never went hungry---they always had lobsters and potatoes. His father had a few lobster pots and a large potato garden.

He said that he and his brothers and sisters had always gone off to school with lobster sandwiches for lunch. He remembered asking his mother why they couldn't have bologna sandwiches like the other kids. She had explained that bologna was too expensive for them.

He looked out the window and mused, "Who would have thought?"

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In the early 1970s, while working as a social policy officer at the Privy Council Office, I was part of a team looking at ways of increasing the income of  what at the time were called 'have-not provinces'.

PEI was one of the provinces.

The team was looking at a variety of solutions including adjustments to  the equalization payments made by the Federal Government, and different kinds of development assistance.

In the midst of this work, I found a survey that had just been conducted by a reputable  Toronto firm in which they had asked Canadians to rate their level of happiness. The survey found that the happiest people in Canada lived in---you guessed it, Prince Edward Island.

I suspect that if the survey were repeated today, the results might well be the same.

What is that old saying: 'Money doesn't bring happiness'.

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See you on September 4th for Posting #121 with more stories from our family’s universe! If you have comments or suggestions, please leave a comment at the bottom of this posting,  or email me at johnpathunter@gmail.com.

On August 28th, you may like to check out the next Posting of The Icewine Guru. http://theicewineguru.blogspot.com/

POSTING #119

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NOTE

In my last Posting---#118 at the beginning of July---I asked permission to continue my blog holiday so I could finish some chores around the house.

Things have gone well.

I can now go into the garage, the work room, my study and the store room without shuddering at the confusion and disorganization. When I want to find something or fix a problem, it is a breeze.

Now I am ready to get back to blogging.

As I have been bringing order out of the chaos, my mind has been working away on its own, as minds sometimes do.

The mind is suggesting that I should have two blogs, not just one.

The rationale is that I should have one blog for telling stories ---this blog, Letter from Virgil---and a second blog in which I can discuss current issues.

I have always tried to avoid mixing opinions in with the stories, and looking back over the Postings I think I have generally been successful. (There have been some slips, for example, when I offered some comments on the US health care system.)

My government career involved a fair bit of policy development, which I enjoyed. Today when I read or listen to pundits discussing this or that social, political or economic issue I find myself arguing with them. "You are giving too much prominence to this factor and not enough to that." Or, "You are overlooking an underlying trend that makes your proposal nonsensical."

Instead of just continuing to complain to Pat, who I must say is a very patient and tolerant listener, I have decided to send my views into cyberspace. Hopefully this will reduce the number of tirades that Pat has to put up with.

The second blog will be called, The Icewine Guru, and will be found at http://theicewineguru.blogspot.com/

It will consist (hopefully) of lively and entertaining Postings of imaginary conversations between two friends, one a semi-retired consultant whose hobby is producing the world's best organic icewine, and a retired high school history teacher.

When in my government work, I had to come up with recommendations on complex policy issues, I sometimes imagined a debate between two intelligent, well-informed people who although strong-willed were open to being convinced by a proposition that involved better facts and stronger arguments.

The two blogs will alternate, with Letter from Virgil one Sunday, the Icewine Guru the next.

The first Icewine Guru Posting will appear on August 14.

Please give The Icewine Guru a try and let me know what you think.

Now, here is today's Letter from Virgil.

The Contractor and the Lincoln

There is a story that I have been wanting to tell for some time involving a friend I have known since we were young, let's call him Freddy.

But I didn't want to tell it until I had a chance to check the facts with him, which I was able to do recently.

When we were young, I was always envious of Freddy's skill in woodworking. In shop class he could turn out bird houses that didn't need plastic wood to fill in gaps from  poorly fitting joints---I always had a problem with joints (to be clear, I should say we're talking here about joints of the wooden, not pot kind).

He could take a block of hardwood and shape it into a glorious fruit bowl.

He was a whiz.

After leaving school, Freddy started working as a carpenter building houses and ended up as a very successful and respected contractor,  building not just houses, but apartments, nursing homes, that kind of thing.

Freddy never advertised and always had more work than he could handle, because of word-of-mouth recommendations.

On one occasion, the owner of a Lincoln dealership intent on diversifying his savings tried to persuade Freddy to construct an apartment building for him as an investment property. Freddy declined, saying he had enough on his plate, he just couldn't' handle any more work.

The car dealer tried to sweeten the deal by saying he would throw in a  new Lincoln.

Freddy thought about it, and agreed to drop by the dealership some time and check out the Lincolns.

Now, Freddy's success was largely due to the fact that he was a hands-on manager. He didn't sit in an office, he was on the site each day pitching in with whatever task was falling behind.

At the end of  a particular workday, he showed up at the dealership in his dusty  boots and overalls. The salesman, dressed in an impeccable suit and tie---he was selling Lincolns, after all--- clearly didn't know what to make of this strange customer.

Freddy opened the driver's door of a big Lincoln and leaning in checked out the dashboard and the fine upholstery on the seats.

"That looks OK, " Freddy said as he shut the door. I imagine the salesman started breathing again when it became clear that this man in the dusty overalls wasn't going to get in and sully the Lincoln's pristine upholstery.

 "Could you open the trunk?", Freddie asked.

"The trunk?", the salesman looked puzzled. No one buying a Lincoln was ever interested in the trunk.

"Yes, I just want to see if I can get a wheelbarrow and a bag of cement in it."

The salesman gasped, but he opened the trunk and Freddy checked it out.

Nodding, he left the dealership, leaving behind a totally confused salesman who couldn't wait to regale his colleagues with the story about his bizarre customer.

Freddy rearranged his projects, and soon took delivery of a large silver-grey Lincoln, provided by a grateful dealer.

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When I checked the above details with Freddy, he said that I had the story right.

He added one factor. He said that at that time he had been suffering from back pains and his doctor had been trying to persuade him to stop driving a pickup truck---to get a sedan instead. After checking out the Lincoln, Freddy had asked the doctor if he thought that a Lincoln would be better for his back.

The bemused doctor thought for a moment and then gave his considered medical opinion---that a Lincoln would indeed be just fine for his back. He may also have been wondering whether he was in the wrong business.

Freddy added another story about the Lincoln. He was once driving on the 401 highway on his way to a project, with the trunk lid up and a builder's jack sticking out the back.

An OPP constable waved him over. Freddy rolled down his window and the constable said, "OK where'd you steal this car. No one who owns a Lincoln drives around with the trunk full of stuff and the lid up."

After Freddy showed his documentation, the policeman walked back to his car shaking his head.

Although around 80, Freddy continues to work, helping his son who has now taken over the business. The company still doesn't advertise and still has more business than it can handle.

A Sequel to Jonas Robinson

At our anniversary party (see Posting 118) I had a chat with a cousin from Florida who had seen Posting 108  in which I described buying some paintings from---at that time---an unknown Ottawa Valley folk artist, Jonas Robinson.

My cousin said that the story reminded him of two paintings his father---my uncle----had brought home some years before his death,

His father had read about a terrible fire on Lake Rose, near Orlando, in which a man had died and his artist wife had been badly burned. When the wife returned from an extended stay in hospital, his father had driven over to see if he could help. He found that the woman had resumed painting and he bought  two paintings---of pelicans---as a gift for his wife.

The paintings hung in the living room of my cousin's parents home on the Inland Waterway, near Edgewater, Florida. He says that his parents loved to look at the paintings and then move to the porch to watch live  pelicans fly over or glide onto the Waterway.

When his dad and mother had died, my cousin and his siblings had to sort out their belongings. They studied the paintings, found them attractive, but the cousin and his siblings couldn't figure out what to do with them. No one had space on their walls for the rather large pictures (24 by 30 inches), and yet they didn't want to get rid of them.

Finally, it was agreed that one of the siblings and his wife would take the pictures and store them in their laundry room. Recently they  saw a  newspaper story about 'a local artist', Joy Postle (pronounced 'postal') Blackstone who for years before her death in 1989 loved to paint Florida scenes, especially of pelicans and flamingos. An author, Judy Madsen Johnson, had just published a book, "Joy Cometh in the Morning: the Joy Postle Blackstone Story"

My cousins checked the paintings in the laundry room and sure enough they were by Joy Postle Blackstone.

(I have found that many articles about the artist refer to her just by her maiden name, Joy Postle.)

The University of Central Florida has recently developed a website featuring Joy and her work. Here is a another sample of Joy's work, taken from that website.

The Wikipedia Encyclopaedia has an article on Joy Postle Blackstone in which she is described as "...a pioneering American environmental artist and creator of celebrated murals depicting Florida wildlife." 

The paintings have now been moved from the laundry room to the living room, and my cousins are delighted they had the good sense---and taste---to keep the pictures. (I am grateful to them for taking the pictures of the pelican paintings shown above!)

Jonas Robinson and Joy Postle are similar in some respects. Their paintings are being rediscovered after their deaths, and they were both devoted to preserving, through their work, the world around them.

But there are marked differences.

Jonas was a self-taught artist who captured local scenes in a lively and happy but naive style. Joy on the other hand was a highly-trained artist who produced elegant pictures in a variety of media: oil paintings, water colours, murals etc.

According to the articles I have been able to read, she lived a life full of both adventure and adversity, and through it all she kept on painting.

I wonder how long it will be before someone in Hollywood decides that Judy Madsen Johnson's new biography should be turned into a movie.

I am so grateful to my cousins for introducing me to Joy Postle, and for giving me some (more) warm memories of their parents---my aunt and uncle---who were very special people to all who knew them.

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See you on August 21st for Posting #120 with more stories from our family’s universe! If you have comments or suggestions, please leave a comment at the bottom of this posting,  or email me at johnpathunter@gmail.com.

On August 14th, you may like to check out the first Posting of The Icewine Guru. http://theicewineguru.blogspot.com/

Tags: my contractor friend and his Lincoln, Jonas Robinson, Joy Postle Blackstone, Judy Madsen Johnson,