My British Uncle Vic
01/06/2004 07:33 p.m.
Every Christmas for decades, my Aunt Miriam, near Dorset, England (and Uncle Vic, her husband)send us a letter, on the folded long envelope air mail paper we used to be able to buy here too. I’d use “Santagrams” like these to write them every year too. Now I just use ordinary paper or air mail letter paper. But it’s not as fun. Different versions from Miriam would be sent to other members of my family here. We used to also exchange updates of photos, of our families back and forth. Miriam writes their letters, but they are always resplendent with news of she and Vic and my two female cousins, and their children.

Often they take marvelous continental trips especially around this time of year, and have been to Venice, Egypt, Ireland, as well as Canada twice, and while here, went coast-to-coast as well as covering much of the U.S.A.

Miriam is my late father’s sister and only relative we have of his, besides his family here.
She and Uncle Vic visited Canada twice, many years ago now, and I visited their place twice but only once when they actually were home, and that was their London home before retirement. I always wanted to visit their home in what I call “writer’s country,” Devon, Dorset, Land’s End, etc. they are near. Especially while they were both well and active etc. They were always inviting any of us that could, to go over to England whenever possible.

I only was blessed to get to know them personally (otherwise by home movies, of dad’s) in my later teen years and we were all delighted with one another. Mom was instrumental, I think, in re-connecting my dad and his sister to a better degree, later in life. Dad came to Canada very young, and had left home before that so Miriam, his half-sister (though I hate those divisive terms) and he didn’t have much sharing through those years since until Mom kind of pushed the issue and traveling across the ocean had become more frequent. So she re-united them by her inspiration, and visits began back and forth. Before this, the last time my dad had seen his sister was on the death of their father. My initial meeting with anyone of my “British connection” was quite amusing, as I look back. I was on a school trip at l6, to Europe and Britain (as they weren’t called the same then, now that’s an issue there as they’re considered part of Europe).

I was to travel away on my own from my school group, with permission from mom, and dad, to find my Aunt’s home near Rayner’s Lane, off the tube. I’d never traveled the tube much, let alone, on my own, but with the directions off I went. After a few mis-stops, and having to re-route,
I found the place near Harrow to get off. But then it dawned on me, no-one had told me what my cousin, Roxanne, who was to meet me at the station, looked like, nor told her what I looked like. The only images I knew of her were from films, when she was much smaller. We were the same age, roughly.

It turned out when I stepped off the tube, we recognized each other immediately. We looked quite alike, same height, coloring, our faces quite similar! Lucky for us. We had a lovely day together, and she showed me Harrow-on-the Hill, where the famous school was, served me "trifle" and treats at their beautiful home,(her mom and dad were traveling somewhere so I only met Roxanne that trip).Aunt Miriam was a home economics teacher (not called that there, but domestic sciences I believe) so the place and food were exquisite. Roxanne was a fine hostess. The blood of relations soon proved thick enough. We shared giggles and she showed me the family albums, with my grandfather in them.

When I met Uncle Vic, on their visit here to Canada for the first time, (and the first time I met Miriam too) I found him incredibly fun and friendly. He liked to say “slimming”’ for dieting, and loved chocolates etc. so when we all shopped during their visit, or traveled with them to Quebec City, and other outings, he brought up the topic often. I guess he was slimming, and so was I. He took to me and I to him splendidly, and because he worked in communications at the time, he used to call me often from England after going back, and even at my government office, on what he called his “satellite,” which I’m sure it was. He was so technological even then.
When my son was born, my first delivery, he called to say, on behalf of both of them, “clever girl” which is what the British like to say often, I gathered, when proud of someone. Whenever I heard it from them, I felt terrific.

Miriam and I struck up a close connection right away too, and kept close in spirit though it was Vic in his working years who kept everyone in news faster. Still, we maintained contact as much as possible, and one Christmas, (their first on retiring and moving into their house in Devon) my husband, on assignment overseas, was there to stay for a short while and help put up their first Christmas tree in that home. How I wished I could be there, that year. They came for Thanksgiving one year, and my husband and I'd delayed our son's christening until that weekend. Miriam brought a handmade white crochet gown for him, and shawl, which he wore.

Our letters haven’t always been as frequent as we’d like. They were great travelers and usually away if anyone from Canada was over in Europe, but we have kept a very special connection. She, in turned out, had no other nephews or nieces but her ones in Canada, and was delighted to be called “Aunt” for the first time by me. Like me, she loves theatre, church, English literature and languages like Latin. In many ways they are my closest links to my dear dad.

Uncle Vic was a navigator flyer of bombers in WWII for Great Britain, which was difficult for me to picture as he was a gentle, jovial type, but certainly performed his service with dedication and participated in the Air Force reunions of the comrades when they held them. My uncle in Canada also did, and went to England for one of these, being a flyer in WWII also. They met and became friends in Canada as well.

In any event, this year’s Aerogram brought the tragic news that my sweet Uncle with the wonderful sense of humour and kindness, who loved his miniature Lionel-style train and all the trimmings set-up in his backyard, etc. is in the hospital due to a vicious return of the prostrate cancer he’s been fighting tooth and nail for twelve years. He took all the hormone therapies, endured the humiliation of some of that, and fought valiantly over the years, but now Miriam writes that after 59 1 /2 years of marriage, she is facing losing him any day. He is at the very end it seems. It returned about six months ago, but more recently she got the terrible news and he is very weak now.

I had written them in the Spring about my poem being published in The Wolf Magazine, and launched in London, but I’d mentioned I hadn’t seen a copy at the time. Apparently Uncle Vic went looking for one, didn’t find any, but when I read this the other day, I was so moved by this. I won’t be able to thank him for the effort now or show him the work, but will send a photocopy to my Aunt and her family.

I often feared that I wouldn’t get over again (it’s so expensive and time-consuming but I’d love to) while they were both fit, as they are getting on of course now. I am glad she has her grown children and their children, and her love of faith and the church involvements, but she will certainly be living like her right arm is gone now. They have known an amazing love. It touched me so how she put the ½ after 59 years of marriage in her letter.

Although I knew he was hospitalized and not coming out again, Mom didn’t show me her actual letter (we all get different versions from Aunt Miriam and mom had the full news) until after New Year’s. But my instincts had told me something terrible was up, when my cousin (their daughter) sent a card, before Aunt Miriam’s letter, on their behalf, and I’d feared someone was ill. I think Gabrielle did this last year too though, so then I decided perhaps it meant nothing but her sending her seasonal wishes separately.

I finally wrote Aunt Miriam last night. Of course the words, even to a writer, at such a time fail us in any degree of adequacy, but I did my best.

And to Uncle Vic, and the Lord watching over, I say, if only I were a clever enough girl to eradicate cancer and endings, on earth. And I hope the Satellite will work from the better place that’s waiting for you, to relay and receive our messages from Canada.

I am currently Depressed