So much is happening, so quickly — but then, at times, the second-hand on the clock seems to visibly vibrate as if contemplating a backwards "tick".
Whether its speeding by, or barely dragging on, time moves along. COVID or not, those precious seconds are passing, taking with them not just what was before, but also who was there before.
On March 7, I lost a friend. Dave McArthur died after a valiant battle with illness that shadowed him for several years. Dave was 83 — and he was a Highlander. Not the immortal kind, born in the village of Glennfinan on the shore of Loch Shiel (he'd appreciate that reference — mainly because it's a movie with Scotsman Sean Connery), but the military kind. Dave was an Argyll and Sutherland Highlander, an infantry regiment of the British Army. He saw active military duty in the Suez in the 1950s.
Obviously, Dave was a son, dad, a husband and brother as well a friend to many, but it was his military life that first connected us. I had the pleasure to first meet Dave in 1992. He was one of the first people I met when I moved to Lac La Biche to begin this illustrious journalism career that has granted me a pretty interesting worklife spanning the newsrooms at the Lac La Biche POST, the Edmonton Sun and the national indigenous publication Windspeaker. Through those years, there have been thousands of contacts and sources. Dave started out as one of them. He was one of my Legion contacts and a person I'd talk to for all things military.
He soon became one of my first friends in the community. We hit it off. We were both Brits. My West Midlands accent long 'Canadian-ized," and Dave's still as if he just arrived. "Robert, my old chap," he'd say, always a beaming toothy grin, and a near guffaw-type laugh as the stories began to roll. Whether he was talking about the local Legion's standout memorial cairn project for Canadian DFC veterans whose names grace area lakes, hosting the "Welsh Brigade" of the British Territorial Army during the 1998 Lac La Biche Bicentennial Celebrations, toasting the participants at an after-Remembrance Day luncheon, or trying to make light of some of the procedures or his recuperation walking trips around the local grocery store, Dave's warmth and honest conversation attracted smiles. He drew people to him. His stories of his childhood in England during the war, his own military career and his family's emigration to Canada were always filled with heart-felt references. It was fun to watch his eyes during brief pauses, as he remembered moments that would then light his face as he retold them.
It was after several sit-downs with Dave that we came up with a plan to capture more stories from veterans in the region. Video interviews with surviving World War II vets would be a great addition to the history-filled shelves of the local Royal Canadian Legion. Back when we were discussing it, trying to arrange for funding, thinking of ways to store the footage, it was in the late 1990s — there were still quite a few veterans around. Jack Powder, Ernie Shanks, Roy Whitford, just to name a few. I'd already interviewed some of them for the paper's Remembrance Day articles, but video would be a great addition to the local history shelves.
Dave and I talked and talked about it. But like the seconds in the last month that have clicked by without pause, time got past us. The idea didn't come to reality and that has been one of the regrets of my career. It wasn't Dave's fault. Back then, he had a full-time job with the government and was a busy family man and avid volunteer. I was 20-something — and even though I'd groan at how busy my job kept me, as I look back on it now, with kids of my own, bills to pay and other commitments ... there was little stopping me from that video project.
That's one of the main reasons for this little article. It's not written as a tribute to a very nice man who raised a family, loved his community and served his country. People like Dave are their own tribute. They create their own legacy. No — this little write up, which should have been written days, not weeks after his wife and family, friends, community, province and countries lost a wonderful man, is to remind us how quickly time is passing. It's so important to live those seconds. If you think time is passing slowly, then use some of those seconds to cherish the time of others. Now more than ever, with social distancing and isolation, it's a great time to reach out for a conversation. Call or get digital, drive by someone's house and wave to them in the window. Take the time. Make the time. Don't let it simply pass by. Do it while we can. Some of the best of us might be Highlanders — but none of us are immortal.
