Eventually, I would grow out of that, but Mom kept tending to the flowers because she said it made her feel closer to Nan and it kept Gramps from attempting to do it with his bad back.
I kept up with the piano, honing my skills in her memory. Mrs. Prichard, one of Nan’s dearest friends, took over my lessons, and I played in several recitals over the years. My skills eventually landed me scholarships to Dalhousie.
My love of music and abilities had only flourished in Nan and Gramps’s care—as did my older brother’s. We were sent there often while our parents worked, but we never minded, even if our parents worked a lot. While with our grandparents, we’d go on local adventures to all the touristy sights. It was educational too. We learned everything there was to learn about the history of our province; and why music was a fundamental part of our community.
Gramps taught us that music was composed in Canada’s colonies and settlements during the 18th century, although very few popular named works have survived or were published. Indigenous Peoples, the Irish, the British, and the French were the diverse influences that shaped the music of Canada. They all had different music styles, and they all brought communities closer together.
Gramps was an immigrant himself. He came over on a boat from Ireland when he was younger with his family. Although Nan had been born in Halifax—her great-great-grandparents had come over in the early 1800s from the Western Highlands of Scotland. They settled in Halifax, later relocating to Mahone Bay, where Nan lived until they got married.
One of the things I would miss most about Gramps was his stories. He had so many of them about his time as a line drummer for the Cape Britton Highlanders, and later…about the Canadian Armed Forces Tattoo in 1967. Out of every experience Gramps ever had with the military, the final Tattoo had been his favourite tales to tell. I loved hearing him talk about it.
The Canadian military’s contribution to Canada’s 100th birthday in 1967 was a tattoo that toured the country from coast-to-coast. It was made up of three parts, the first part of the tour comprising of two identical shows, a blue train and a red train with 450 men each. Gramps was one of the 450 men on the blue train.
In February, he traveled to Picton, Ontario to begin rehearsals. The first show was in Peterborough, Ontario on March 31, 1967. After touring, both trains united in Victoria, British Columbia and were augmented by more military personnel to form a show of 1700 men and women for the second part of the tour.
Stadium shows were the second phase of the Tattoo, first playing at an expanded Centennial Stadium in Victoria on May 25th, 1967 for three shows. Then they were off to the Empire Stadium in Vancouver, followed by the Autostad at Expo 67 in Montreal and the CNE Stadium in Toronto.
The third—and last part—was a smaller contingent similar in size to the train shows that toured the Maritimes in the late summer and fall of 1967. The last performance of Tattoo 1967 was on October 11th, 1967 in Chicoutimi, Quebec, after over 150 shows in forty-two cities across Canada, a record that has never been broken, let alone equaled.
Gramps had always been so proud to have been such a part of history, and I’d always been enthralled with the idea of it myself.
“What was it like to play in the Tattoo? To travel all over Canada?”I remember asking this question so many times.
“It really was something. I missed your nan and your mom desperately, but I sent postcards from each city we stopped in. We all knew we were a part of something that would go down in history. And it did! After the last performance, the show was relegated to Canadian history, never to be seen again.”
He retired from the Canadian military shortly after and went on to get a teaching position at the local high school. He taught music, organized music festivals and talent shows, and played locally, just for the fun of it.
He continued to volunteer within his community, weaving music into everything he touched. He helped build up music programs at the local high school that connected students to talented musician teachers at the Academy, so students who couldn’t afford private schooling still had the opportunity to work with some of the best music teachers on the East Coast.
It was no small wonder the local newspaper had wanted to do a feature on Gramps to commemorate him. The piece had turned out quite nice, honouring all of the noteworthy things Gramps had done in the course of his lifetime. His notable contributions to music programs in the community were mentioned, along with his years teaching.
Mom and I made the mistake of reading it before the funeral. We stood in the living room, dressed in black, pouring over the newspaper after it’d been delivered. A photograph of Gramps from his line drumming days was front and center. The same photo sat on the end table by the sofa.
“It’s a beautiful tribute,” Mom sniffled, smiling through her tears. “Gramps would be touched.”
I wrapped my arm around her, hugging her to me. “Front page news, he would have loved it. We should frame it.”
“Good idea.” Mom smiled, hugging me back. She dried her eyes with her palm, drawing in a breath to reset. “I should see what’s keeping your brother.” Letting my arm drop, I nodded, my eyes still on the photograph. Mom pressed a kiss to my cheek and headed upstairs, leaving me to my thoughts.
I hadn’t seen Dare yet, although he’d been back for a day. Not seeing him had been torture, but I hadn’t been able to sneak away the night before. Calum wasn’t around much and Dad was getting crotchety about it, and Mom was agitated because she felt Dad’s grumpy mood was keeping Cal away.
They’d had a disagreement about it when Mom called him out at dinner last night. Dad had been complaining that yet again, Cal wasn’t home for dinner. “Of course, he doesn’t want to be around us, you scowl every time he’s here.”
“I don’t scowl.” Dad had scowled in response.
“You do scowl,” I’d interjected gently, keeping my eyes on him.
“Well, maybe I’d scowl less if he spent more time with us than galivanting around town doing God knows what,” Dad had replied. He found an excuse to go to bed early because he was upset with us both but didn’t want to show it. He likely knew he was being unfair, but I’d stayed in and kept Mom company instead of sneaking out to see Dare.
In less than hour, I’d get to see him again—but I wouldn’t get to touch him or be held by him. I’d have to pretend he was just Dare, and I was just me. That there wasn’t anything between us but friendship and years of knowing one another.
You can do this, one more day, I told myself, turning away from the newspaper and going to the window seat. I loved the window seat, tucked between two tall built-in bookshelves. I’d escaped in many books there over the years and written many of my songs there.
Or I’d sit there and daydream, picturing what it might feel like to perform my music on stage.
The weather was cold, rainy, and dreary, matching my mood. I pressed my forehead against the windowpane, wishing for sunshine to see him off. Gramps was full of light, a brightness in our lives. The guidance he’d always provided for us all was acutely missing. It wasn’t uncommon for weather like this in April, but I still hoped it would clear up in time for the burial.
“Hey.” Calum’s voice stirred me from my ruminating.
