Big Vacancy

A big vacancy in community

Owen Sound Sun Times, Dec. 26/97.

Letter to the Editor: 

The passing of Margaret Ellen (Dixon) Quinton leaves a large vacancy in this community. Few others have contributed so much time and effort for the benefit of their fellow citizens. She was an extraordinary wife and mother, a dedicated church worker, a long time Women's Institute member, the first woman councillor in Holland Township, community centre and board member, a faithful senior citizen and organizer, member of District Council for Boy Scouts of Canada and a Cub leader, a local historian and member of Historical Society, and an active member of local citizen ratepayer groups.

These are but part of Margaret's contribution to the community and society; all this in addition to a life time dedication to her family.

She diligently pursued her many interests successfully.

Her passing leaves us a legacy of memories that can not replace her, but can not be taken away from us.

We thank God for the privilege of knowing her and being her friend. May she receive her just and deserved rewards. We share her family's sorrow at this time.

The Community of Walter's Falls

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Thank You

 

(from) the Meaford Express, Dec 24/1997

THE FAMILY OF the late Margaret Quinton wish to thank our friends and relatives for their generous support in the sudden loss of a loving wife, mother and grandmother. A sincere thank you to all who sent flowers, cards, and donations, and to those who called or travelled to offer their condolences. Our heartfelt thanks to Rev. Wm. Rowles and Rev. Al Robertson for offering spiritual guidance and conducting a beautiful service; to Hazel Davey for her beautiful organ music during the service at the church; to the staff of the Currie Funeral Home, Chatsworth, for their professional and compassionate support during a difficult time; to the Walter's Falls Women's Institute for their kind generosity and caring thoughtfulness at the lunch after the funeral service; to the Meaford Express for the kind tributes and support you showed Margaret over the years; and to anyone who helped in any way. And above all, to the community of Walter's Falls: your words of encouragement, compassion and comfort were appreciated and will always be remembered 

The Quinton Family thank you.

A similar Thank You note appeared in the Owen Sound Sun Times and ended with:

To anyone who helped in any way our heart felt thanks. May God's richest blessings be given to our six sons who carried their MUCH LOVED MOTHER to her final rest in St. Philip's Anglican Cemetery. 

— In deep appreciation, Maurice Quinton and Family.

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Tribute Appreciated

Tribute to mother was appreciated

She loved writing for The Express

Editor:

I am writing to thank you for your column, about my mother, Margaret Quinton, which was in the Dec. 17 edition of The Express. It has been greatly appreciated by all of my family. As a little boy, I remember my mother taking time, from a hectic household schedule to write for your paper as well as others in the community. It gave her a great deal of satisfaction to know that she was writing for the paper and informing the community. Though I must confess that I did not read many of the earlier contributions, as I did not want to know who had visited who, or who was ill or whatever it was she used to put into those community news columns. I hope that at the time some people appreciated them. I can now understand that those columns were a means, for some readers, to connect and interact, in some manner with their community.

My father bought copies of the paper, with your article, for his children who do not have subscriptions. I believe some of my siblings get your paper even though they live in Hamilton, Ont. and Fort St. John, British Columbia. I guess The Express is a connection to home, a connection to Walter's Falls and a connection to my mother.

Fortunately we are now in a time period where computers have spell check and printers. I know my mother could have benefited from such tools. But those were the days of less technology and even less money; my mother scratching away and you at the other end deciphering and editing. I do not know if I am expressing myself well. I am not a journalist. It is difficult to say how much I appreciate not only the article you wrote but also your years of patience and acceptance of the work of my mother, who like me, was no journalist. I applaud you and your paper for helping my mother become the woman she was. 

Thanks again.

Yours truly, Paul Quinton

This was a letter to the Editor of the Meaford Express published sometime shortly after mother's death — I'd guess Dec 24 or 31, 1997. Document scanned and Google Eye used to capture text. REQ ‘21/04/26

FIRST GLANCE

FIRST GLANCE: Correspondent passes away

(from) The Meaford Express, December 17, 1997

Longtime Meaford Express correspondent and Walter's Falls native Margaret Quinton died last Thursday, December 11, at the age of 77.

Funeral services were held Monday at St. Philip's Anglican Church in Walter's Falls, officiated by Rev. Wm. Rowles, and afterwards many paid tribute to her contribution to her community.

"Her passing leaves a large vacancy in this community. Few others have contributed so much time and effort for the benefit of their fellow citizens," states a tribute to her life submitted to the Express by the citizens of Walter's Falls. She was a wife and mother extraordinary, a dedicated church worker, a long-time Women's Institute member, a community centre board member, a local historian and member of the Historical Society, and an active member of local citizen ratepayer groups.

"These are but a few of Margaret's contributions to her community and society, all this in addition to a lifetime dedication to her family," said the tribute. "Her passing leaves us a legacy of memories that cannot replace her, but cannot be taken from us. We thank God for the privilege of knowing her and being her friend."

Mrs. Quinton is survived by her husband, Maurice and their seven children, Ellen Edmonstone, of Brampton, Larry and his wife Jean, of Brampton, Anthony of Fort St. John, B.C., David and his wife Gail, of Hamilton, Reginald and his wife Kate, of London, Dale and his wife Sherrie, of Mission, B.C., Paul and his wife Judy, of Milton. She is also survived by 10 grandchildren and three great grandchildren. Sister of Grace Whieldon of Markdale and Wm. (Mac) Dixon and his wife Shirley, of Mitchell. Predeceased by two sisters, Edna and Iva and a brother, Walter. Interment followed the funeral at St. Phillip’s Cemetery.

The "Please see Page 4." is reproduced in this blog as the entry "A Shining Example".

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A Shining Example

A shining example of hard work, love and dedication

(from) The Meaford Express, Dec 17, 1997

Editor’s Notebook. By Scott Woodhouse

I was introduced to Margaret Quinton just over 12 years ago when I started work at The Express. We didn't really meet. I was handed a piece of paper with some extremely messy handwriting and was told to "decipher it" and type it into the computer.

That's also how I learned about Walter's Falls. Like clock work, once a month, I'd receive a small envelope marked "NEWS" with Margaret's latest missive from the Falls. They were always full of interesting bits of information, community events, and Women's Institute news. I even received one in the mail last Thursday, typed it up and ended it, as usual, with her byline: Margaret Quinton reporting. Life is full of little ironies.

I received a call on Saturday telling me she had passed away Thursday afternoon, probably at the same time I was finishing her latest article, I was shocked and saddened.

In the years since I started at the paper, I've worked on a few stories with Margaret and typed up countless numbers of her community news reports. As I got to know her better, I realized what a special woman she was.

A lady gifted with many talents (neat handwriting was not one of them, sorry Margaret) and boundless energy, she showered them endlessly and unselfishly on others her family, her com munity, and her church.

To me, her name is synonymous with Walter's Falls. Her dedication to the tiny community she called home for so many years was unquestionable.

The day she died, she spent the morning putting up Christmas decorations at St. Philip's Anglican Church with her husband Maurice. Even though she had moved to Owen Sound, she maintained close ties with her community, looking after the church, hosting Women's Institute meetings, and reporting Walter's Falls community news in the Meaford Express.

For many years she served on the board of directors for the Community Hall, acting as chairperson for several terms. She started the Wolf Cub Pack in the Falls, and was its leader for five years.

She has been a life-long member of the Walter's Falls Women's Institute, was its president on several occasions, and this past summer at the 100th anniversary celebration of Women's Institutes held in Hamilton, she was presented with a special award recognizing her years of service.

Along with her active volunteer work, Margaret accomplished a couple of "firsts" of which she was extremely proud.

She was the first woman councillor elected to Holland Township Council and she was the first woman delegate to the Anglican Huron Synod at London, Ont.

Margaret Dixon was born in Holland Township in 1920 and moved into the village of Walter's Falls when she was two years old. She attended Holland Euphrasia S.S.#11, a one room school house. When she was 18, Maurice came along and swept her off her feet and they were married on June 11, 1938. They moved to Waterloo for one year, but soon realized Walter's Falls was home, and returned to run a trucking business and raise seven children.

Margaret and Maurice were dedicated to each other and would have celebrated their 60th wedding anniversary in June. She was a leader and dedicated member of St. Philip's Anglican Church, decorating it for special occasions, caring for the sacred and vessels, preparing the altar, giving leadership to the A.C.W., and serving as a warden for the past four years.

She enjoyed many hobbies, including making hasty-notes with pressed flowers, quilting, hooking and needlework, and reading.

She was held in high esteem by all who knew her and the large crowd that assembled at the small St. Philip's Church at the funeral service Monday was a testimony to that fact. She lived life to the fullest and her memory will be cherished by all who knew her.

I'm going to miss Margaret and her distinctive handwriting, but I'm a better person for know ing her.

Her life was a shining example of hard work, love, and dedication to her community.

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Obituary: Margaret Ellen Quinton

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(from) the Owen Sound Sun Times. December 15, 1997

 QUINTON-Margaret Ellen

Of Owen Sound and formerly of Walter's Falls, at the Grey Bruce Regional Health Centre on Thursday, December 11th, 1997, in her 78th year. Dearly beloved wife of Maurice Quinton. Dear mother of Ellen Edmonstone, of Brampton; Larry and his wife, Jean, of Brampton; Anthony, of Fort St. John, B.C.; David and his wife, Gail, of Hamilton; Reginald and his wife, Kate, of London; Dale and his wife, Sherie, of Mission, B.C.; Paul and his wife, Judy, of Milton. Grandmother of ten grandchildren and three great-grandchildren. Sister of Grace Wheildon, of Markdale and Wm. (Mac) Dixon and his wife, Shirley, of Mitchell. Predeceased by two sisters, Edna, Iva and one brother, Walter. Margaret was an exceptional woman. She lived life to its fullest and her memory will be cherished by all who knew her. Friends called at the CURRIE FUNERAL HOME, 239 Garafraxa St., Chatsworth, from 7:00 to 9:00 p.m. on Satur day evening and 2:00 to 4:00 and 7:00 to 9:00 p.m. on Sunday. The funeral service will be held at St. Philip's Anglican Church in Walter's Falls, on Monday, December 15th at 1:30 p.m. Interment to follow at St. Philip's Cemetery. As an expression of sympathy, do nations to St. Philip's Anglican Church or to the charity of your choice would be appreciated by the family.

The Sun Times would like to apologize to the Family of the late Margaret Quinton and the Currie Funeral Home for our error in not running the notice on Saturday, December 13, 1997. We sincerely regret any further grief this may have caused.

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Travel Notes

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England & Scotland, November 8-16, 1997

Transcribed August, 2026 from travel notes recently found. There are minor corrections, additions and edits.

"Hamlet, Hamlet. Acting Balmy. Hamlet, Hamlet. Wants his Mommy." — Friends of Fiddler's Green

Finally, on Thursday November 6, Reg got his formal job offer from Waterloo (University of Waterloo, Department of Information Systems) and we finalized the deal selling our house in St Marys. The job starts January 1, we move to St Marys in February of 1998.

Friday afternoon, Reg's mates at Information Systems (University of Western Ontario) took to him to the Grad Club (Middlesex College) for drinks and to the celebrate his new job. Rob Brennan was telling us how the PeopleSoft group were in shock. Somebody came into his office and said to him, "I'm going to ask you something. Now don't lie to me. Is Reg leaving?" Rob answered that he was and the person said, "I told you not to lie to me!". Mike Bennett (recent chair of IST/UWO) sent Reg a kindly e-mail telling him how much he would be missed.

"Nashville is rough on the living, but they surely speak well of the dead." — Shel Silverstein

Saturday, November 8. Woking

We're out of bed at 5:30am (we lived in London, Wortley Village, Old South) and flew from London to Toronto at 7:00am. After walking 10 miles in Terminal II (at this writing in 2026 it no longer exists!) we finally reached the International area. One entrance had a very long snaked line of black men with carts loaded up with things wrapped in cardboard. They would have been seasonal workers headed back to the Caribbean. The other line was shorter (people without carts) and we went through there and to the duty free where we stocked up for our trip — a litre of "double vodka" at $15, a half bottle of Crown Royal, another half bottle of Johnny Walker at $8.50 each. Then another 5 miles to our gate. There were a lot of black fellows there but they were waiting for another flight.

Our daytime flight to England was less than one quarter full. The stewardess suggested to Reg that we should fold down the seat backs in front of so we could put our feet up! What a great flight! The one male and three female attendants were really, really nice and the booze was free. We also saw two movies which weren't too bad — the second Jurassic Park and a courtroom/lawyer police movie with Andy Garcia (perhaps that was Night Falls on Manhattan (1996)). This day time flight was very much more pleasant than the overnight flights where you're packed in like sardines and struggle to catch a bit of sleep.

The flight left Toronto at 9:00 am (our time) and we're into Heathrow at 9:00 pm (London time or 4:00pm our time). We've rented a car and are off to see Mom² and Dad² in nearby Woking where we stay overnight. Kate has already made, and revised, several plans for tomorrow.

We arrived at "Winterset" (the home of Jean and Chuck) around 10:30pm. They were pleased to see us and somewhat surprised that we made it there before midnight. They have a 12 week old puppy, named "Brie" (the mother's name was "France"), who is also excited to see us. So excited she poops on the floor! While sitting around chatting, to well past midnight, Kate had the newly purchased DK Eye-Witness guide to the UK lying on top of her travel bag by her chair. She heard this gnawing sound for a about a minute or so and looked down to find that Brie had eaten the corner off the book! When that was taken away from her she started on Kate's runners. After that, we hid our stuff away. Such is life raising puppies. Jean and Chuck dote on Brie — all is forgiven.

We visited with Jean and Chuck until 1:00 am and went off to bed. Reg fell asleep immediately.

Mom is very nice and sweet. Chuck is very right wing but also very clever and funny. Eg. Q: "What does Martin do?" Chuck: "Nothing, he's a senior manager"; when discussing whether a late fall means and a late spring Chuck says, "Well sure it does. Trees have to have a period of rest ... just like teachers".

Sunday, November 9. Stonehenge

We got up at 9:00am this morning. Had some laughs, took some photographs and, by noon, we're on the road heading west.

Our first stop is Stonehenge on the Salisbury Plains where the sun immediately went behind the clouds and the wind and rain whipped up (right after we'd paid the £7 admission). Kate, as usual, is not dressed for the cold weather. She takes about 3 quick pictures and runs back to the gift shop and the car. Reg, dressed more suitably spent a bit more time ruminating on the rocks and snapping gloomy pictures.

Kate writes: Being a passenger on English roads (other than the motorways) is perfectly awful if you're prone to car sickness. The stomach ache is made worse by the white knuckle sensation of careening down narrow winding roads on the wrong side where a car or something else might pop up at any minute all the while navigating with a map and trying to figure out the the signage at round abouts which seem to occur about every 3-5 miles. It makes one long for the roads of Manitoba, Wyoming, or even Southern Ontario.

Every village looks like a movie set. Most houses around here are made of stone. It's very picturesque; although, no thatched roofs as yet (except for the hokey painting in our hotel room).

We left Stonehenge around 2:30 pm and didn't know what time it got dark so decided to find one of our "Flexiplan" hotel rooms prior to further touristing in Bath or Cheddar Gorge (the gorge after which all cheddar cheese are named).

We found our hotel, the Centurion. It was very nice with all the amenities. The gals on the front desk were nice and efficient. However, there's hardly anyone here this time of year. November is definitely off-season. It's a modern hotel built around 1990 on a 9-hole golf course near Radstock, Midsomer, Norton — all of that is near Bath where the Romans bathed in the hot springs.

We found our way to the hotel with some help from gas station attendants and a lot of good luck. We had minimal direction. Ps. 1997 is well before the days of GPS, cell phones and Google Maps. How did we find anything back then?

We found a neighborhood market, a small one, just as it was closing (actually he had already closed when we were going around the block but let us in anyways) and got some orange juice and beer (not a lager, that's German!). The beer came with a free glass — a souvenir — that arrived much like a lottery.

The day was getting late, around 4:30, so we didn't go out to do more touristing. Instead we went for a swim in the small pool at the hotel. It was perhaps 10x8 meters, no bigger. We could have gone to play squash at one of the two courts or gone out golfing on the 9 holes. But Reg was unwilling (spirit) and Kate's knees where shot (her body is weak).

We sat for the 7:00pm dinner at the hotel. It's quite dark out; the next morning at breakfast we were able to take in the view of the gardens (in England a "yard" is like a "scap yard" or "junk yard"; be careful how you express yourself) and the golf course.

Reg had mussels (why not), lamb with Colman's mint sauce and a cheese tray with port for dessert. Kate had cannelloni (the beast she's ever had), Scottish Salmon/Kilted (Ok), with Praline and Meringue for dessert (she thought it to sweet and pawned it off on Reg). We shared a bottle of Hardy's Bankside Shiraz (Padthaway, Clare Valley, 1995). 

"A lot of people in this country poo-pooh Australian table wines. This is a pity, as many fine Australian wines appeal not only to the Australian palate but also to the cognoscenti of Great Britain." — Monty Python

Monday, November 10. Cheddar & Bath

After an uneventful night — apart from the sirens at the school next door which went off several times — we're up before 7:00am, went down for breakfast (and the view of the garden/gold course) and we're on the road by 8:00am. Kate is not much for breakfast; Reg is.

We arrived in the commercial area of Cheddar Gorge by 9:00am, having driven down through the impressive gorge, where we stopped for photos, etc. But it's Monday, off-season and nothing in Cheddar is open until 10:30am ... well there might have been a cheese shop opening at 10:00. We parked our car and were stopped by the bar owner, "That'll be £1 sir." Somethings are open for business.

We walked around a bit taking pictures, enjoying this quaint village, and decided to climb "Jacob's Ladder" (some stairs to the top of the gorge). It was closed or at least not open. There were gates to open and Kate was afraid we'd be arrested and deported (or at least yelled at — like the bar owner at the car park). However, there's no one about, no one stopped us, the climb wasn't that difficult and at the top we went up a tower to take even more snaps.

Following that climb we're back in the car and stop at the Chewton Cheese factory where we bought a bunch of cheeses (including an unpasteurized version) to take with us and some other souvenirs. It was a pretty neat place where we watched them making cheese from an observation area. They were wrapping a large round of cheese with cloth for aging. The gorge is famous for caves that were/are used as cool aging places for the cheese. As it's off season, there are no tours or lectures on the process. That would have been interesting. 

The Blanchard-Nissouri Cheese Factory near Wellburn, just south of St Marys, made wonderful unpasteurized cheddar. But, had closed around this time.

At the cheese factory Reg bought a bottle of "Cripple Cock, Farmyard Scrumpy" to try later. He got it as much for the name as the slogan "Have your crutches handy, this be a toe curler" not really knowing what "scrumpy" is.

"Scrumpy is a traditional, strong, and cloudy alcoholic cider originating from the West Country of England. It is typically un-carbonated, dry, and unfiltered, made from a mix of local or windfall apples." — Google AI

So far, so good. We left for Bath and arrived around 11:00am. We drove around in mpossible traffic for about 40 minutes trying to figure out where we were, where to park, where are the baths, who are we and why are we here? We found our way to the "Royal Crescent" and en route parked illegally in the "Circus" (a square of houses only in a circle) to take a few photos.

While Reg wandered off in search of that "perfect photo" Kate stayed back guarding the car (illegally parked) when a familiar face approached on the sidewalk — it was her colleague Virginia Carver from Ottawa who was in the area visiting with her mom in Box (a village about 5-10 miles outside of Bath). Kate and Virginia could not stop laughing; it was so funny to bump into each other so far from home. Reg came back, wondering who had Kate met, and joined in the jocularity. We went our separate ways with promises to see one another back in Canada.

The "baths" at Bath are from Roman times and seem to have been excavated/restored fairly recently. It's organized as a museum where you walk around getting little lessons on particular features of the baths from your hand held taped personal guide. There was a picture from 1914 of people lunching up on the upper balcony (probably swimmers below). But now you can't get out to that balcony and, of course, no one goes into the waters. We had to told Mom we'd go to Bath, for a bath, how wrong and naive we were.

The museum has a bit of a 1984 feel about it as people walk around quietly with taped guides held to their ears, not talking to one another, and being educated on ancient Roman history. Kate writes: As far as I can tell there aren't any functional spas from the Roman era in England anymore — they're all just historical sites. Although it was interesting from an historical perspective. It's just that we had selected the site for soaking in the water, not for soaking in history.

We ended up driving around for 40 minutes or so trying to leave Bath, getting on the wrong road because the right road was closed, etc. However, we finally made it onto the motorway where we back tracked to Bristol and finally are headed north towards Nottingham shortly after 2:00pm.

At this point the diary includes Kate's relieved comment: "Reg did much better with the car today."

At a very posh, somewhat pretentious inn, the Riverside Country House — chosen because the food was supposed to be outstanding (and it was) — and again part of the FlexiPlan, we stayed in the "Orchid Room". There was a small problem with the hot water for a bath (the bath we missed in Bath) but that was ultimately fixed. At the dinner there were four couples (including us). It's a small dining room with space for 6 groups of 4 or less. 

For dinner we had anchovies on potatoes with black olives as the appetizer (Kate passed on the anchovies); for starters Reg had the smoked salmon and grilled scallops while Kate had a wild mushroom soup; for a refresher we had strawberry sherbert; for the main Kate had Bambi while Reg had most of Bessie (beware mad cows!). Very nice dinner.

We starting talking with a couple from Sussex (south of Woking on the channel). Reg called him "the Dragon" because all through the dinner he kept making loud yawning, sshsshing and grunting noises. Perhaps a Tourette's victim. They had come to celebrate her 60th birthday and were quite nice — perhaps a bit racist/zenophobic but that seems pretty normal for Brits and Europeans generally. They told us one of the other couples was also from Ontario. Kate was surprised as she had heard the lady speak and it seemed to have an English accent. We were talking with them later that evening in the lobby. He was from Ontario but she was originally English. They live in Creemore, famous for it's craft beer, in the Highlands near Collingwood.

Tuesday, November 11. Nottingham & Malton

We buzzed up the road in the morning heading north to "Morton" — the home of Jane Eyre — with great views of the "moors" in all directions. Reg startled a sheep who bolted into the traffic and almost got killed right before our very eyes! Fortunately, the Brits are used to dodging obstacles that pop up on the road; they alertly swerved and avoided any bloodshed. In this part of the country they don't have fences to keep livestock contained. Instead they wander the moors at will.

We drove on to Nottingham where Kate had a meeting with a colleague, Phil Leather, at the University. Reg wandered around the campus while Kate was at her meeting. It was a brief stop in Nottingham. Martin, Reg's BFF from university days, Jean and Chuck's son, did his undergraduate work here. Ps. Later Martin's son Christopher did his Engineering PhD here. I suspect that Chuck may be an alum as well but I should check.

From Nottingham we continued on the Malton which is just north east of York and stayed at the Talbot Hotel. This old hotel is right on the highway which is very busy, very noisy, the cars thunder through the narrow streets of town. Kate asked for a quiet room away from the noise and we were given a very odd room at the back of the top floor. The sign outside our door said "break glass and turn handle in case of fire". Our door didn't close properly as it (and we) were the fire exit. Instead, to keep the door closed, you had to insert this church key into a hole and lock it. If there were a fir, the entire hotel, or at least our floor, would be tromping through our room to the fire exit! An odd place.

In our room there were two emergency fire exit doors (break glass and turn handle). One in the bed room proper and one in the bathroom (sic!). I suspect the renovations might have been done by Larry, Darrel and his other brother Darrel of the Bob Newhart show. But we had a good dinner and a good sleep — it was quite quiet at this end of the hotel.

For dinner: the appetizer was a Waldorf salad with tons of mayo on a slice of pineapple (yech!); Kate had turkey (quite good) and veggies for her main while Reg had Scottish salmon with some veggies; for dessert Reg had creme caramel (of course) while Kate had a raisin cake with custard (for her it was the best part of the meal). We shared a bottle of Chateau La Claire, Medoc, 1992.

Wednesday, November 12. York & Hayden Bridge

For breakfast at the Talbot Hotel in Malton Kate ordered fried eggs "runny" as that's how she likes them. But then she got scared and lost her appetite when she remembered stories about how some British eggs have salmonella and ought not to be eaten raw. In Canada that's not been an issue. 

The hotel tonight, the Anchor Inn, Hayden Bridge, has a sign as you enter saying they're proud to serve British Beef. Mad Cow disease was a major crisis, poorly handled, it was a real fiasco.

The "Mad Cow Crisis" was a major public health and agricultural emergency centered on an outbreak of Bovine Spongiform Encephalopathy (BSE) and its human equivalent, variant Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease (CJD). Over 180,000 cattle were infected, millions were culled, and 178 people died after eating contaminated beef. The crisis peaked in 1992 with over 37,000 new cases in a single year.

Back to breakfast at the Talbot Hotel in Malton near York. Reg had the whole nine yards for his breakfast: bacon (it's really ham), bangers (in the EU they can't call that meat), fried bread (yes deep fried), fried tomatoes, spuds, eggs and toast. He passed on the blood pudding. Kate had less of the above but much of the same.

All of the Brits in the breakfast room clicked the knives on their plates as they packed their forks with morsels of their dinner. They do this click click incessantly and it drives Kate crazy. She's very noise sensitive in the morning. This is one feature of British dining that drives her up the wall.

As we are checking out it's the same clerk from the night before. Likewise the same waitress from the dinner last night. Don't they ever sleep or get some time off?

We drove back to York (centre/Northwest of England) for the day. Getting into town was pretty easy, getting out was much harder. York is a walled city, or at least a lot of the wall remains, with a large "minster" they call, oddly enough, "York Minster". It's an impressive very old cathedral. A fire in the early 1908's had almost destroyed one wing but the restoration following the fire is very impressive. The walls and ceilings are now all clean and white with beautifully gilt ornamentation. Often times these old churches are grey and dreary from years of soot and grime. It's impressive to see how it might have been orginally.

We went to the top of the minster for a view of the city. It was hazy and smoggy, the usual condition in most English towns, so we didn't see too much to be impressed by. Other than, I'm impressed we climbed the 270 steps to get to the roof! It's not St Peter's in Rome but it is very big. You climb up one tower on a wing to the roof (150 or so steps), then across the roof to the central tower where you climb another similar height to the very top. Both towers have a narrow circular staircase of 150 or so steps; it's quite narrow and you go up/down in shifts so you don't meet others going the other direction.

We also went to a Viking Village in York. It's a museum/dig that was only lately discovered. It's under ground where things were found during some building project. They have this interpretative ride backwards through time to the Viking era. And then you go through a village, some homes and shops. You even get to see a Viking on a crapper — a pit with a some wattle walls. Very impressive.

A real Viking guy (i.e. a person, not a model) was going to chop off Kate's head with a big broadsword but relented when Reg paid him £1 for a replica coin that he stamped with a small sledge. The Viking pointed out that his helmut didn't have horns, he told us that no Viking helmut ever had horns — that's a fiction Hollywood will have to pay for.

There were some neat souvenirs in York. Kate bought some lace calendars at the York Market and some fruit for our travels.

That evening we stayed at the "Odd Fellows Hall" in Hayden Bridge. They have lots of "blue" china and other odd things for sale at the gift shop but oddly, no odd fellows. Kate bought a doily for Brenda. At our dinner that night Kate had the lentil soup and chicken tikka (the special) while Reg had the trout with lots of veggies, salad and fries. The service was more than ample, enough to feed a small army. We shared a bottle of 1995 Sait Emillion (brick colored but fruity). And, oh yes, the dinner menu is at 7:00pm not 6:30pm.

Thursday, November 13. Hadrian's Wall

Hayden Bridge, no surprise is a real bridge, on the Tyne River. Out hotel overlooks the river and the bridge. We have another English breakfast (deep fried toast, deep fried sausages, deep fried back bacon, deep fried mushrooms, fried tomatoes and scrambled eggs) at our table overlooking the river. There's a bit of a drop there with a slight water fall/rough rapids. We watch the salmon jumping as they desperately try to make their way up stream to spawn. During our breakfast we saw a couple make it and probably another hundred attempts.

We're outside to take pictures of the hotel, the bridge, the river, fish jumping, etc. when Reg notices that the battery on his camera is running low. He had a look of sheer panic on his face! We asked in the post office about a camera shop, a place to buy new batteries, but we end up having to return to Hexam where we find a store and battery. In Hexam we explore the Hexam Abbey.

Next, off to Hadrian's Wall. It was difficult to know which part of the wall to focus on, and, from the car it was hard to identify it from an ordinary "Farmer in the Dell" kind of wall. Ultimately we select a National Park headquarters, it happened to be closed for the season, as a starting place. There was a road leading to the wall and a "Park & Display" parking lot where we put our car. We set off to explore the spectacular scenery and clambered over the wall despite the signs telling us not to. Kate didn't see the signs, Reg did but ignored them — more on unseen/misunderstood signs later in this saga.

Hadrian's Wall was actually pretty darn impressive but more impressive was the country side around it. After taking far too many pictures and climbing yet another steep hill we had enough and left.

We decided to take obscure "B" roads into Scotland, at that point we still had lots of time left in the day. We followed a road for about a half hour or so through the usual narrow lanes with periodic round abouts, stone walls and building abutting the roadway (Kate was worried we might clip the passenger mirror and what would happen should someone else meet us). We drove along , it's getting less and less urban, more forested, and at one point encounter a sign that says "Ministry of Defence, Private Road, No Access". We assumed this referred to some lane off the nicely paved road we were travelling on and continued on. After a bit, we passed another sign saying the same thing, but once again thought it was interesting but obviously not relevant to us. Until a few more miles down the road we stopped at a barrier, military gate, and small gate house. At this point we thought it might be a good idea to ask for directions from the staff (military with guns) at the gate house. So Reg went in to ask (the sign outside at the gate said something about searching people, etc. which we weren't that keen on).

Well, apparently we had missed our "B" road at one of the many round abouts and we were on the wrong road. One of the reasons we hadn't twigged to that was we're in a National Park, an unpopulated area, where there was but one road shown on the map (the road we weren't on). The road we were on was not on the map, purposely, as this was some sort of secret military operation hence the signs we had ignored. They kindly sent us back the way we had come (without any strip search) and we decided then and there to stick to the "A" roads which are confusing enough.

This travel Diary ends abruptly here. Photo album is wine and beer labels found in the diary.

Edinburgh

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In November of 1997 Kate was invited by her colleagues Martin and Moira Plant to a conference/meeting in Edinburgh. We flew into Heathrow London, visited with our Mom² and Dad² at "Winterset" in Woking before wending our way across the country up to the north and Edinburgh in Scotland. The picture at left is Edinburgh harbor -- click on the image for more photos.

It was an odd time to visit -- fall weather, a bit cool and damp with trees mostly having lost their leaves. It was well outside tourist season. Roger, our travel agent at the time, had arranged a coupon book that had us travelling through the country side staying at country inns of one sort or another. The package included dinner at the inns and breakfast in the morning. We had some very nice dinners and traditional English breakfasts in the morning. As it's off season often there would only be a few us there for our meals.

We'd never experienced an English breakfast before. It's mostly fried foods -- eggs (of course), some rashers of bacon, perhaps some blood sausage or bangers of some sort. Then mushrooms, tomatoes and even toast fried in the bacon drippings. I enjoyed them, Kate as a pescaterian, was not so keen on all the meats. She especially didn't like all the clicking of forks and knives on plates for those who pack their forks "English Style". When we met up with Martin and Moira we asked them if people really ate that kind of breakfast every day in the United Kingdom. Turns out they don't -- they have toast and jam with cereal and milk with perhaps a bit of fruit like the rest of us but load up on these high fat feasts for breakfast when they're on holidays. It's a "holiday" tradition to have a "traditional English breakfast."

Most of the inns were quite lovely, we were very pampered. There was on in an older hotel that had the fire escape for that floor through our room. Compromises were made to keep these older hotels in business.

We set out from Woking with the idea of seeing Cheddar Gorge (for the cheese), Stonehenge on the Salisbury Plain and foolishly believing we would be having a swim in the Roman Baths at Bath.

England & Scotland

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In November of 1997 Kate and I were in England. She had a meeting in Edinburgh. We flew into Heathrow, visited our second Mom & Dad in nearby Woking, then puttered our way up to Edinburgh via Stonehenge, Cheddar, Bath, York, Hadrian's Wall and more.

This is a place holder. The album and this note need a lot of work.

 

Summer

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I bumped into a folder of slides marked "summer of 1997" and thought I ought to scan them — it's 26 years later. Scan them if only to find out what's there. What follows is some commentary on the contents. They are interesting to us and might be to you.

The slides start with a lovely picture of Kate smiling in sunglasses; it's a very good picture and nice to have found it. There's some photos in and around the town of St Marys. This would have been before we moved there in February of 1998.

Our home was in London but, beginning in 1990, we had a park model mobile home, with an attached sun room, parked at the Science Hill Golf course north of St Marys along the Thames. We spent our summers there. It was a great time, but this would be our last year at the trailer. In the fall I resigned from Western, took a position at Waterloo (effective January 1998) and we found our home in St Marys. When we moved here we had no need for the trailer. We ended up selling it to some people who moved it to another park near Severn River. They got a very good deal.

I note that the pictures of the train trestle over Rice Lake in St Marys are from before it was converted to a walkway with lights and railing. At the time it would have been off limits. Pictures show the Creamery was busy on a sunny summer day.

Next there's some pictures of Jack and Doreta (Kate's parents) at Westport. They had a cottage on a lake not too far from Westport and we spent a lot of our time there. Jack and Doreta sold the cottage when they were no longer able to tend to it. They had offered to give it to their 3 children (Bill, Gord and Kate) but none of them wanted to deal with it. There are a lot of cottage stories to tell — like the time Jack threw me in the lake and more!

There's some pictures of a weekend at our trailer. Pat and Cindy are there. Ken, our nephew, and his two sons Mordecai and Kane who stayed with us for a week or so. Our nephew Mark and his wife Kathy (they parted) are there. Ken had recently had a brain aneurysm and a stroke following surgery. He's in pretty good shape in these pictures but the stroke left him aphasic — he has real trouble finding his words. Ken and his wife Jeananne were parted at this time. Shortly after Jeananne and the kids moved to Victoria, BC. So this would have been the last summer we had with Cai and Kane. 

There's a couple of pictures of rides at the St Marys Agricultural Fair. The fair shut down not too many years after. We took Ken and the kids to Rock Glen Falls, near Parkhill. And then onto Grand Bend where we played in the sand and had another swim.

One of our favorite adventures with the kids was the water slide at Sportsworld in Kitchener (long since gone). Kate loves the water slide. There was also a wave tank crowded with kids. No chance for Kate to do any of her swimming laps around the pool! The two kids tried out the rock climb. It was a busy and successful operation for many years.

Lastly there's a visit to the African Lion Safari which is near Cambridge. There are quite a few interesting animals to see up close and personal from the safety of your car. Some of the apes (baboons maybe?) like to sit on your car, rip off the wipers or rubber from around the windows. Lions and tigers too. I recall they used to have an elephant parade that we had seen with Kaitlan and Alana (another pair of nieces who would visit in the summer) on another visit.

There are many family and friends in these photos we sadly miss. But it's nice to see them again and recall the fun times we had back in the summer of 1997 when we were much younger — I was a lad of only 45 years. Doreta always said that your 40's were your best years. Perhaps she was right.

— Slides scanned and notes prepared April 2023 from hazy memories of fun times.

Iceland

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In June of 1997 we attended Kate's annual KBS conference. This year it was in Reykjavík Iceland! We had never been there before so we pretty excited to see the country. How far north could we be, when would the sun set,  etc. We flew Delta through Boston on the way there (where we had a brief visit) and through Baltimore on our way back (where we almost missed our flight).

This blog was composed in April of 2021 from notes and stories compiled at the time. The photo album at left (click on the image) is from slides taken on the trip and scanned during April of 2021 during the COVID pandemic.

Some of the notes in Kate's photo album are pretty interesting and worth sharing ....

Sagas from Iceland -- Juri the Lawyer

The first night in Reykjavík, we went to a restaurant that specialized in Icelandic lobster. There was a lone man seated at the next table. We spent some time going over the menu deciding what to order. During this process, he leaned over and apologized for interrupting but said that he went to the restaurant about once a month and he highly recommended the lobster soup. Peculiar travel suggestions being dancing lessons from god (that's Kate's guidance from Kurt Vonnegut), we followed his recommendation and the soup was, indeed, very good (of course, it should be at $19 a bowl!).

When he had finished his dinner, he told us he was going upstairs to enjoy his coffee and he would be very happy if we would join him when we were done our dinners. The washroom was upstairs, and Kate had noticed on her visit there that there was a rather brothel-looking lounge area where people were having coffee and liqueurs and had commented on this strange set up to Reg.

Peculiar travel suggestions... etc., we went up to join him, even though it was getting rather late (it was getting close to midnight but this seemed a good place to watch the sunset). By the time we arrived, Juri was quite intoxicated and very hospitable, expansive and funny.

He told us about his dad's farm where he had been eiderdown picking ("my fingers still stink — here smell them " Thankfully, this was said to Reg who obliged! He said he was a lawyer who specialized in evicting people from their homes ("very interesting legal issues"). We discussed the violence that reportedly occurs among youth in Reykjavík after the bars close on Friday nights. He attributed the violence, especially the increase in knifings to the fact that the parents of these kids had used drugs. We discussed with him Reg's halfhearted search for his former graduate student colleague. After a bit he became involved in a lengthy argument with the waitress in Icelandic, following which he handed his car keys to her and she left. We were watching this quizzically and so he turned to us and said that he had drank too much and couldn't pay his bill and they were holding his car. We thought this was pretty funny (and not a bad idea), but then the waitress returned with a phone book wrapped in cellophane and gave this to him with his car keys. He had sent her out to his car to get one of the new phone books he had recently obtained so that we could look up Reg's former colleague! He also had to underline for us his name in the phone book as well as his dad's name and address and give us the phone book. We gave him our phone number in London and told him to look us up if he came to Canada. He told us those sorts of invitations were asking for trouble (we weren't as intoxicated as he was but we were mellow enough to figure we could risk it).

Sagas from Iceland — The search for Egils beer glasses

Not too many years ago Iceland was famous for near-beers. After prohibition they allowed only near beers of about 2% alcohol (I got stuck with that one day, and even worse another day — beware of Malt Extract but that's another story). People brewed their own and bars spiked the beer with vodka so that ultimately by about 1988 they gave up and allowed real beer — the revolution had begun.

Now they make a couple of beers — Egils and Viking beer (probably only one beer as the Viking beer seems to be made by Egils as well and tastes about the same). They may make more but we never saw any, and all the bars seemed to serve Tuborg (Danish) on tap. Around the corner from our hotel there was a small brewery we could smell it and I saw where it was from the top of the — cathedral but it had no identifying markers nor any tours. In any case, these beers are your standard fair German style lager — light and hoppy at about 5% (a lot like Blue or any other Canadian beer) (Egils also made a dark beer that was very nice). Kate had the inspiration that beer glasses, of the sort they serve beer in the pubs (since 1988!), would make a nice souvenir gift for some friends. We had brought some back from trips to Europe we stole some from the top of Mount Titlis and bought some in Cologne — and hoped to do something similar in Iceland.

So we went searching without any luck along the main shopping street just down the hill from our hotel. This gave Kate an opportunity to see the strip which, with the conference, she had not got to stroll too much. It's pretty active with the occasional interesting punkers in the Björk style — polyester bell bottoms and platform shoes. These days there's the Kringlan mall out in the burbs and the downtown is supposed to be suffering — we thought not. In any case, there were lots of shops (and record stores selling CD's for 2000 kr which is about $40) but no stores that sold Egils glasses. I was not surprised.

At this point we saw a bar with an Egils sign outside and so decided to try to buy beer glasses from the bar. We entered the small pub where there were a few drinkers and approached the barkeep (this was during Kate's lunch break so it wasn't busy even though the sun had not set — little joke there) — "Do you have any of those Egils beer glasses?"

"But of course, do you want a large [500ml] or a small one [300ml]?" he replies thinking (of course that we want a drink but are fussy about what we drink out of rather than what we drink).

So we start to explain how we're looking for small glasses as souvenirs and he asks, "How many do you want?" — Everyone in Iceland speaks English so the conversation really didn't require any of the preamble ("Do you speak English?", "Of course, no problem.").

Kate says "Do you have six of them?" and he replies "Of course, no problem." as he starts shuffling around under the counter digging some out for us. 

Now at this point we haven't established a price (because if they're 100kr each then we'd buy quite a few but if the 500kr each, well then six is plenty). So we try to establish a price but he says "No problem, you can have them." And we start to argue that he can't do that, you're too kind, and so on. He tells us the brewery gives them to him, so what's the deal?

The short story then is we got our souvenirs gratis (and that's important as everything else was so expensive). 

Sagas from Iceland — Icelandic swimming rituals

Iceland is famous for near universal literacy and swimming — everyone swims and many swim every day. You might recall how Juri said "Smell this" after a day of eiderdown robbery at his father's farm and a shower at his local pool. He told us that he swims every day and we gather that many others to do too. This is unusual for a seafaring nation — most work under the rule that if you go down in the ocean it's better not to know how to swim. Either the ocean is very warm, or perhaps it's very cold. But in any case, they swim in Iceland.

Throughout the city of Reykjavik there are public pools for swimming with hot tubs for soaking. Perhaps a dozen or more public pools, each within a short walking distance and all are naturally heated. Actually all hot water in Reykjavik is natural hot water — it comes from deep underground and it's pumped around the city as a hot water source they way we pump cold water. No one has a water heater or a furnace since hot water is a public utility like electricity. We understand this is pretty common throughout the country and lots of places have public pools.

On our first day we struck out on our rented bicycles to swim in the pool in Reykjavik that seemed to be most highly recommended from the guide books. There was an indoor pool only a block or so from our hotel but we wanted to try an outdoor pool (in fact, we never went to our local pool). This pool we went searching for was particularly large with a great water slide at a big park with a stadium overlooking the pool. Unfortunately it was closed when we got there, and closed for the week. Damn!

But we did get to go swimming. Not too far from the University and Kate's conference there was a pretty good outdoor pool our first and Kate even got to take swims in her lunch break during the conference. It had several hot pots (38-40 degrees, 40-42 degrees and 42-44 degrees — just right for cooking shrimp, lobster and the very brave) but no water slide. Another great outdoor pool we went to after a long bicycle ride (recommended both by Juri and the girl at the snack bar at the closed pool) was an indoor/outdoor pool with a great water slide — a slide for kids and Reg and several large hot pots. It was a very modern affair with a glassed over indoor portion.

The ritual of going to pools isn't too strange — unless you don't know it. Admission to the pool is fairly modest and you can even put it on your MasterCard (they're almost a cashless society). Each change area (separate for Kate's and Reg's) starts with shoe rack where you're supposed to remove your shoes (Kate determined that right away, for Reg's it took a bit longer Anne told us later that she'd had her shoes stolen there one time). You have a locker (or perhaps, as at the Blue Lagoon, you give your gear to a locker attendant) and key on a rubber band for putting on your ankle or wrist — Kate thinks there's firmer rules about the protocol (i.e., the key goes on your ankle period); Reg thinks not. Then you have a shower before going swimming making sure to wash your hair and the naughty bits — they have posters to tell you what naughty bits you're supposed to wash thoroughly. Whilst showering on the way in or out you're supposed to leave your towel in your numbered slot (again Kate has figured this out right away (no she didn't the first time she had some mildly disapproving looks — but of course) while Reg has more trouble). But nobody yelled at us, but of course! And we got to go swimming on days you wouldn't even consider going near the water. They swim all year — I suppose under lights in the winter.

The fancy indoor outdoor/pool (with the slide) had some more interesting features —mini geysers you could play on, relaxing spots to lay with a thousand tiny scrub brushes urging you to let go, and a water fall that comes down as a very wide sheet; Blue Lagoon mud (Kate bought some for Doreta) at more than Blue Lagoon prices; and a nice view looking out over the city. But no nudes.

You're swimming outside in reasonably warm water — just right for Reg but a little too warm for Kate who wants to do lengths. And people are sun bathing in what little sun, and what little shelter from the wind, is available. Lots of folk must be regular sunbathers judging by their tans. There were a few "serious" swimmers but the kids were there to have fun and the blonde babes were there for the sun tan. Mostly it seems people go to the pools to have fun.

So we had fun and enjoyed the several swims we had. If you're ever in Iceland, you really ought to go swimming and we know of a few good pools you should try (and the bathing ritual so you can fit right in).

Sagas from Iceland — The Wind

"Will this wind be so mighty as to lay low the mountains of the earth?"

Iceland gets big winds. We were aware of this, having read in the guide books that bicycle riding (at least outside of the city) is something of a challenge because of the wind. But we were not prepared for how windy it could be. After all, any wind is a problem on a bike. However, we'd never seen a wind before where you couldn't stand up!

In our hotel room, on the 3rd floor, sand collected on our window sill when we left the windows open. I assumed that was because of some work out front with the interlocking brick but now I think it was likely sand blown in from the interior of Iceland!

We certainly weren't prepared for the wind on our bus tour to Gullfoss and Geyser when we had our first stop to view the scenery. The view of the outlanding low lands was in an open space a little up on the hill side where the road runs down to Eden (the regulation tourist stop at a green house with bananas (sic!) and more). We all tumbled out of the bus and a goodly number continued tumbling on as the wind caught them. Photos, if possible at all, were taken with the photographer at an extreme angle laying into the wind. Someone decided to have a cigarette and the pack went off bounding across the countryside swept from his hands. If he had a cigarette at all it would have burned away in a very few minutes. Reminded me of the wind you experience on a motor bike when you're barreling down the highway at 100Kph!

At Gullfoss (the Golden Falls) the wind was just as bad, only this time you had the spray from the falls as an added feature designed to chill you to the bone. A few brave souls got themselves close to the falls there was a path where you could get right up to the brink of it. Not for me! I was quite cold enough, and Kate was freezing having not dressed properly at all. Her colleague Asa lent her a scarf (one of many — she's Icelandic and she came prepared) which helped a lot. But what Kate and other likeminded friends did was lie in the grass soaking up the sun and avoiding the wind. It would have been a nice spot if hadn't been so windy!

Sagas from Iceland — Faye and the Geyser

On the bus tour to Eden and Gullfoss (Golden Falls), we also stopped at Geyser — the original Geyser after which all others are named. It and several other bubbling hot spots are there by the road for any and all to stop and view. But before going in we get the warning — "These geysers are hot, the water is boiling, so make sure you don't put your hands in the water and make sure you're not down wind when the Geysers erupt. You can and will be burned very badly." And there's several signs around various geysers, especially the very hot ones, advising you of the water temperature (in Fahrenheit and Celsius, in Icelandic and English). One is forewarned.

The Geyser used to erupt regularly but hasn't in quite a while. They used to stuff soap and other gunk down it to force it to erupt but realized after a while that's not such a good idea. I gather they stopped doing that foolishness within the last few years say within the last 10 or so. That it's not erupting now is no big deal. It usually stops for a while just before the next big volcanic episode. And as it's been quiet for quite a while the expectation is that any day soon there should be some volcanic activity to start things up again. Iceland gets volcanic eruptions fairly regularly. You may recall that last year there was one that went off under an icecap! And the icecap melted (or at least a large portion). And a great flood followed which wiped out part of the highway that rings the island — no lives lost, business as usual.

So there's lots of these boiling/bubbling geysers there with sting of the steam rising water which is indeed very warm (of course we felt it!). Some are quite big. The quiet but original geyser is about the size of a backyard pool. The water smells faintly of Sulphur, but all hot water we ran into even your everyday hot water from the tap — smells that way. Some geysers were very clear and you could see the bottom. Others were a cloudy blue color. And a few of them bubble away like a pot of boiling water (which one would be foolish indeed to put one's hand in).

But there's one that does erupt regularly. Every seven minutes or so. And this one has a rope around it — the "stay away from here" kind. And it doesn't have a pool of water. What it has is a steaming chasm it looks like a small crater. Most people are wise enough to not cross the rope but a few brave souls went over to have a closer look. Most people recognized the wind conditions and, having seen it erupt once already (we saw it several times from a distance before we got up close and personal), wisely stayed up wind. The really big gale that was blowing that day.

Faye, a colleague from Washington DC, had planted herself with her camera ready for the next big eruption. Everyone gets their cameras ready to take the next big eruption. I say to Faye, "You know you're down wind from this" and she says "Well, I've seen it go off already and I can see the water spray from when it last went off so I think I'm safe enough here". No way man! But we are about 50m or so down wind from things and a lot safer than the foolish fellow who is peering down the funnel waiting for it to erupt.

But I get ready and place myself near Faye. But a little over so I'm out of the way of the spray. And when it goes off there's these young kids (no, not with us) who are directly down wind and right at the rope. Too close, far too close. So they light off as fast as they can and I'm moving too as I feel I'm a little to close for comfort. But I get some nice pictures and only a little wet as it gushes about three or four times in a gigantic cloud of steam and hot water high into the air before settling down for the next cycle.

Faye meanwhile is down wind and lost in a cloud of steam which clears to reveal a quite wet and giggling Faye. She assured me that the water was nicely warm by the time it got that far down wind to her — she was not burned and in fact found the hot water a welcome relief from all the cold wind we had endured. So she survived, as we all did. I don't think she got any pictures of the maelstrom as it enveloped her. I hope her camera survived.

But of course even warm water cools off pretty quickly in all that wind. So although she may have had a brief respite from the cold she cooled off again pretty quickly.

Sagas from Iceland — Snow and sleet on the Blue Lagoon or "Where are the babes?" 

On our last day we arranged (through our hotel) a tour that would take us around to a few sites and drop us off at the airport (for a not so modest fee). The airport is quite a distance and the direct bus, which we had taken on arrival at 600kr, wasn't that interesting and certainly not worth repeating (besides we didn't have Flo to pay our way). So we had a planned trip where all the worry and headache was some one else's. And some sites to see.

The best part of the trip, and perhaps the only reason for us taking it, was a stop at the "Blue Lagoon". That's an interesting swimming spot in a large lagoon of very hot water and highly recommended by tour guides and our colleagues. Martin Plant told us a bit about it and led us to believe that the swimming area is quite small — turns out to be much bigger. Not so big as it appears on some postcards but more than large enough. And we had these interesting postcards of people laying around in very blue water soaking up the sun — blonde babes in bikinis. We were very interested (Reg was quite excited) about the prospects.

The lagoon is between Reykjavik and the airport. It's all a volcanic peninsula jutting out into the ocean with the city on a bay, the lagoon is inland a bit and the airport the very tip of the peninsula. The lagoon is at the foot of smallish mountain on the volcanic plain that reminds one of Arizona or other deserts -- only it's a volcanic plain with hillocks where lava has boiled up long ago. Mountains are volcanic eruptions too and some are quite a large.

Pictures show a lovely blue lagoon, with people relaxing and swimming, with steam rising off the water and what looks like a formidable industry behind with larger billows of more steam. Turns out it's not a factory (or at least not as such). The trick is the Icelanders decided some years ago after burning up all the trees and peat that it might be a good idea to find heat sources elsewhere or freeze. Given all the volcanism the obvious came to mind — let's tap this stuff as a heat source. The Blue Lagoon is a rather late development of that. They've drilled a deep well down to a hot water source and they use that. There's pipelines from the lagoon going off in several directions to nearby towns and the airport. Looks bib like a gas pipeline only it's hot water.

The hot water is ocean water that's slipped through cracks and crevices in the rock down to hot volcanic sources. So it's salty and has some small critters in it that have been cooked by the heat. Now the water they pipeline off is for heating and a hot water source out of the tap — so that's ordinary hot water not salt water.

Besides, salt water would corrode the pipes. The function of the big industrial complex is do to the heat transfer of salty water to ordinary drinking water. In the process they end up with hot salty water (after extracting some of the heat) that they don't know what to do with. What they've done is just dump the hot salty water onto the desert plain and the water has collected to form a lagoon. I suppose most of it drains off into the water table and I hardly imagine that helps, but it's a desert and nobody seems to care much.

The net result is a lovely blue lagoon, very warm and very salty. The lagoon has a muddy bottom — the layer of accumulating dead microscopic critters who were in the sea water. The mud is "famous" (at least amongst Icelanders) as a beauty treatment — you can even buy it and take it home in a tube. The water is likewise famous as a treatment for skin ailments (psoriasis et al). Both claims are debated but we'll let them stand. But in any case, one is a bit disturbed at the prospects of to having a shower and washing thoroughly to get clean when you're entering water lately used by those with very blotchy skin.

But we went swimming. On a day where no babes were laying about enjoying the sun.

Our bus tour was on a very cool and windy day. The temperature was about 2 Celsius and the windy was very mighty — earlier, I asked the tour guide:

"Is it always this windy?"

"No, somedays it's much worse."

Not only was it very windy, but there was a bit of snow in the air and the lifeguards were dressed in snowmobile suits to keep warm while they watched the brave folk dunk themselves in the healing waters. This made for an interesting swim. People didn't dawdle about waiting to get in, they got in quickly. And when you were in you searched out the warmest spots some spots were so warm you quickly swam off elsewhere. Also, while you were swimming you did your best to keep most of your body in the water no laying around sun tanning. The wind and snow were so brisk and cold that you tried to keep your face away from the wind, and even then your hair would start to freeze up. But it was definitely nice to be in the warm water and considerably less painful getting out than it was getting in.

We had fun for the hour we were there, we could have easily stayed much longer (if only to remain warm). Kate bought some souvenirs and on we went to the airport.

An important postscript when we got home to Canada and were showing some friends the postcard of swimmers and sun bathers at the Lagoon on warmer days we noticed something well worth going back for (says Reg). Among the sun worshippers was a topless babe! I don't think anyone would have dared to sunbathe nude or not on the day we were there. But I'd be interested in going back on a better day just to check things out.

These notes and photos were scanned April, 2021 during the COVID-19 pandemic. In Ontario we are currently in a "stay at home" lockdown. Kate and I have recently both had our first Pfizer vaccine, can't wait for the second.

Boston

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On our flight to Iceland we had a long stay over at the airport in Boston for our Delta connection to Reykjavík. Kate had the very good idea that we should take a quick ferry across the harbor to down town Boston and explore a bit — which we did. We had never been to Boston before and haven't been since, but it looks like an interesting historic city.

I like the idea that you could easily skip across to the city on a ferry rather than be stuck in the airport waiting for hours. Since 9/11 I suppose that's no longer possible.

This note composed, and these photos scanned, in April 2021 during the COVID pandemic. In uncertain times we cherish the past.

Washington D.C.

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Kate had a meeting in Washington D.C. We made a bit of a trip of it and drove there with our friend Cindy.

Along the way we stopped in to see Punxsutawney Phil (oddly Jimmy Stewart is from the same town), Franklin Lloyd Wright's Falling Water and Jefferson's Monticello.

In Washington Cindy and I tramped around the mall taking in sites like the Vietnam War memorials, the Lincoln and Jefferson memorials, the Holocaust Museum, some of the National Galleries, the Capitol itself and the old post office. We also visited the Washington Cathedral (which is far from the mall).

This note and the album need a lot more work ....

Ps. this note and photo album created during the COVID-19 lockdown in February of 2021.

Socket Programming

Click image for PDF paper ...

This note was written in January of 2026 and filed to the date of the paper at left — the blog entry is a bit of a retrospective.

I worked in the Department of Information Technology Services at the University of Western Ontario (now called Western University) from 1984 until 1998 when I took a position as Sr. Tech. Security in the Department of Information Systems and Technology at the University of Waterloo. In both places I wrote a few technical papers and presented at conferences; very few of these have survived. Many are lost to time.

While browsing the internet the other day I bumped into a paper that had survived: "An Introduction to Socket Programming" filed away on the personal web page of Taieb Znati, Professor Emeritus, of the Computer Science Department at the University of Pittsburgh. The paper was prepared as a tutorial for my colleagues. There are copies elsewhere but it's fading fast.

I have copied the paper into my Google Drive to share; so it won't be lost. You can also, at least for the moment, follow the link to the copy at Pittsburgh.

The original paper includes a copyright notice:

Copyright 1991-97:

These notes are the property of the author, the Division of Information Technology Services (ITS), and the University of Western Ontario (UWO), London, Ontario Canada. Permission is granted to freely copy and distribute provided that No charge is applied and due credit is given to the author, ITS and UWO.

Death Valley

Click image for more photos ...

Kate and I had a winter holiday week in Death Valley -- a place where you're guaranteed it will be sunny and warm. We flew into Las Vegas, spent a bit of time there, and then drove to Death Valley and stayed at Stove Pipe Wells. We were there for a week and did a lot of exploring. There's a lot to see.

This is a placeholder. More work is required on the album and this note.