It sure has been a long time since I wrote anything in this diary. Well, I had a great summer. We went to Paris, Piza, Sardinia, Franco Champs, all of Norway, Copenhagen (where we met the Moffits before they left for Canada), and all of Sweden, too.
My father's position as military attache for the embassies in Stockholm and Helsinki afforded me and my sister a great opportunity to travel throughout Europe. I still have many delightful and particularly vivid memories of our summer trips. Only once can I remember going on a trip alone with my father; and, considering the type of trip it was, I am not surprised that we did it only once. Dad seems to have cultivated over the years an undying affection for travelling and sleeping in an automobile. At the time of our first (and last) trip together in 1964 to the Arctic Circle in Sweden and Norway, I had not yet learned about this affection. Our trip started somewhere north of Stockholm (we had been visiting some Swedish military gentleman at his home). We headed straight north to the Arctic Circle. As the day progressed, and the afternoon turned into evening, I began to have thoughts about getting a hotel for the night. Dad said we would get one when the sun went down. Well, in the northern climes in the middle of summer, the sun doesn't go down! It just dips! So, by eleven o'clock at night, when the doors of every possible hotel, hostel and B&B were bolted and locked up tight, we were facing nothing less than the local fiord for a bed. As it turned out, Dad had cleverly remembered to pack an air mattress (just the thing to bring along!). He took that, and slept in the field. I got the back seat of the car. It was a dreadful night. The next day it poured rain all day, to such an extent that the windshield wipers stopped working. I devised a scheme for keeping them in motion by attaching a piece of fishing line to each side of one of the wipers, then pulling the lines through the two front side windows, with me operating the lines by pulling in unison from left to right. It was in this undignified state that we finally entered Oslo in our large black American car (complete with flag on the front right quarter panel), where I ensured that we booked a room in one of the better hotels, equipped with a telephone in the bathroom, from which I called Mother to inform her about the disasters of the trip. She did not seem surprised, and to this day I have never questioned why they do not travel more together.
My father's connections also contributed to my experiences. On January 10, 1965, I visited with Dave Garratt's family and Mr. "Buck" Buchanan of DeHavilland in Toronto. We took up a piston Beaver for a flight over the school. I recall upon my return to the Great Hall for dinner that night that a number of boys, recounting the events of the afternoon during my absence, indicated that “some asshole” had been flying his damn plane over the school all afternoon.
My second year at St. Andrew's clearly centred around studies. Even when my father "popped in" for a visit (December 7, 1964) from Stockholm and "...offered to take me out to lunch...I knew I should have been studying for history". To this day, I constantly amaze myself how narrow my vision can be, once I am preoccupied with an established course. When I have set a plan, very little can upset my destiny. Followingmyfather's visit,"...I got up at2:40to study history and I got very
little sleep last night - I kept dreaming about having to get up - what a nightmare, no kidding".
On March 12, 1965, "I had a little serious talk with Dave Wilson this evening. He doesn't believe in over-working. And a good thing too. He says, and believes definitely, that there is a lot more to school than just marks. I could tell Dave Daniels was mad again at me this evening. I never went to the movie, and he knows that I was in my room studying. Tomorrow I'll start being a little less a slave to my work. However, the trouble is that I have to study for exams. What do I do? I guess I'll just have to try and keep everything in proportion. I am actually am slave to my work. I hate it like that. I am becoming like Mark Stelfax - an outcast. Heaven, help me!"
The devotion to the development of public speaking took place in a variety of ways. There were plays (largely for the benefit of visiting parents and friends), reading of lessons in Chapel (where one had to face a sea of faces - 350 approximately), and of course debating (mostly in the traditional Parliamentary style). Our debating circuit took us to other schools, one of which was Trinity College School (TCS) at Port Hope, where one of our judges was Dalton Camp. Mr. Camp's son (David, I believe) was a student at TCS at the time. The debate was held in the old Chapel of the School, which had been converted to a dining room. In a misguided effort to lend an "adult" air to our discourse, we (the St. Andrew's team) lapsed into the vernacular from time to time (using such invective as "Hell!"). This did not sit well with Mr. Camp, who reminded us of the history of the room in which we had uttered such philippics. We lost the debate, and I have never forgiven Mr. Camp for that.
The love story of 1965 arose over my Christmas vacation:
Here I am back at school and I can't stop thinking about Debbie. My dreams finally came true. We're in love. She's crazy about me and I'm crazy about her. I don't think I have ever met anyone so near perfect as Debbie is. January 6, 1965.
I'm just crazy about Debbie - I think she is fabulous and I can't stop thinking about her. January 7, 1965.
As usual, I can't stop thinking about Debbie - I guess she makes me forget all my problems. I love her. January 8, 1965.
I keep thinking about Debbie. January 9, 1965.
I am getting a little depressed because I have not heard from Debbie yet. January 11, 1965.
Today was fine. Still no letter from Debbie. Gee, I sure do wish that she would hurry up with it. Well, I still love Debbie...and I sure do miss her. January 12, 1965.
I am starting to get a little pissed off at that Debbie. There was still no letter from her today - sometimes I wonder if she even received it. January 13, 1965.
On March 12, 1965, "I had a little serious talk with Dave Wilson this evening. He doesn't believe in over-working. And a good thing too. He says, and believes definitely, that there is a lot more to school than just marks. I could tell Dave Daniels was mad again at me this evening. I never went to the movie, and he knows that I was in my room studying. Tomorrow I'll start being a little less a slave to my work. However, the trouble is that I have to study for exams. What do I do? I guess I'll just have to try and keep everything in proportion. I am actually am slave to my work. I hate it like that. I am becoming like Mark Stelfax - an outcast. Heaven, help me!"
The devotion to the development of public speaking took place in a variety of ways. There were plays (largely for the benefit of visiting parents and friends), reading of lessons in Chapel (where one had to face a sea of faces - 350 approximately), and of course debating (mostly in the traditional Parliamentary style). Our debating circuit took us to other schools, one of which was Trinity College School (TCS) at Port Hope, where one of our judges was Dalton Camp. Mr. Camp's son (David, I believe) was a student at TCS at the time. The debate was held in the old Chapel of the School, which had been converted to a dining room. In a misguided effort to lend an "adult" air to our discourse, we (the St. Andrew's team) lapsed into the vernacular from time to time (using such invective as "Hell!"). This did not sit well with Mr. Camp, who reminded us of the history of the room in which we had uttered such philippics. We lost the debate, and I have never forgiven Mr. Camp for that.
The love story of 1965 arose over my Christmas vacation:
Here I am back at school and I can't stop thinking about Debbie. My dreams finally came true. We're in love. She's crazy about me and I'm crazy about her. I don't think I have ever met anyone so near perfect as Debbie is. January 6, 1965.
I'm just crazy about Debbie - I think she is fabulous and I can't stop thinking about her. January 7, 1965.
As usual, I can't stop thinking about Debbie - I guess she makes me forget all my problems. I love her. January 8, 1965.
I keep thinking about Debbie. January 9, 1965.
I am getting a little depressed because I have not heard from Debbie yet. January 11, 1965.
Today was fine. Still no letter from Debbie. Gee, I sure do wish that she would hurry up with it. Well, I still love Debbie...and I sure do miss her. January 12, 1965.
I am starting to get a little pissed off at that Debbie. There was still no letter from her today - sometimes I wonder if she even received it. January 13, 1965.
I haven't written my diary for about five days because I was so depressed about not having heard from Debbie for so long. She finally wrote today and was I ever glad to hear from her. She really apologized a lot. I love her. January 18, 1965.
The affair was short-lived, however. I immediately began making plans for a skating party, and through a friend, Bonnie Parrott, I was lined up with a blind date with one Gail Kennedy:
Well, love everyone. Especially Gail Kennedy & Debbie. Fact is, I've never even met Gail Kennedy! January 28, 1964.
Our romantic inclinations were diverted by other events:
Anotherfabulousday. TodaywasSundayandIwentskiingatHorseShoeValley. You cannot imagine what a beautiful day it was - perfect! The sky was deep blue, the sun was bright, the air was crisp, there was a new layer of powder snow, and the skis felt like wings. January 31, 1965.
During the past few days, several interesting things have happened. The Crest Hour Company came to St. Andrew's and they made some very good performances. That evening I went to Toronto to see a French play entitled "L'Amour Medecin". It was just terrific. John Cossar and I were so enticed by the French that we spoke it on the bus all the way home! February 5, 1965.
On February 12, we got leave for our half-term weekend and I was invited to spend it with the Parrott's. Boy, did I ever have a ball! On Friday evening, we went to a Valentine's dance at Bonnie's school. Fun! Bonnie and I really mastered the 'ole waltz and we were modestly complimented several times. Gail Kennedy was there and I also put in a dance with her - she is going around with a guy named Rod. After the dance, we went to Ginny's house for pizza and punch. We had a great time. On Saturday evening, Bonnie had a party at her house. We played pool, showed the guests the tricks that the Woods taught us, and danced. On Sunday, Bonnie and I saw "Goldfinger" - fabulous.
I have finally been able to get a few spare moments to myself to write this blinking diary. I have one thing in particular I do not want to forget. A week ago today (Sunday) I was studying alone in my room. Bob and Dave and Pete had gone to the film society. Anyway, around eight o'clock I hear a knock on the door and nobody comes in. Therefore it must be somebody strange I thought) because people would just barge right it. I yelled "Come in" and this guy sticks his head in the door. He was somebody I had never seen before. Within a few minutes, I found that he was a university boy, named Brian Malcolm, who used to dorm in this room (#112). He signed his name on our bulletin board and then he flopped out on Bob's bed. After a while, we got to talking. What a neat guy. He showed me this plan that he and a couple of other guys make to get access to one of Jamie Mainprize's history exams. Ever neat. I have the plan in a little container along with the butts of his three cigarettes. I waxed up the container. February 28, 1965.
We had a number of students who were only at St. Andrew's for short periods. It was a positive advantage to be in the school for more than a couple of years. While we were never really told the reason behind a particular student's brief attendance at the school, it was somehow understood that, in some cases, they were there just for the last couple of years for the recognition. In other cases, the reason was different:
This evening, I found out that Dave is not coming back to SAC next year. As far as I can make out, his parents are worried about the financial strains. I am going to miss him. April 13, 1965.
This evening, Bob, Pete and I had a surprise party for Dave because he is going away this year. We started planning for the party one night when I had a brain storm during study. Dave and Pete were then on bitter terms, but Pete was more than willing to have the party. We got the cake ordered ($3.65), the pop, the ice, the sheet, the candy, and the container. After Dave had gone to the movie, the other guys came over to the room; we all hid under the beds and in cupboards. Dave was really surprised when he came in. We then gave him the drumsticks, the poem, and ate the cake and other stuff. It was great! June 7, 1965.
This evening, I found out that Dave is not coming back to SAC next year. As far as I can make out, his parents are worried about the financial strains. I am going to miss him. April 13, 1965.
This evening, Bob, Pete and I had a surprise party for Dave because he is going away this year. We started planning for the party one night when I had a brain storm during study. Dave and Pete were then on bitter terms, but Pete was more than willing to have the party. We got the cake ordered ($3.65), the pop, the ice, the sheet, the candy, and the container. After Dave had gone to the movie, the other guys came over to the room; we all hid under the beds and in cupboards. Dave was really surprised when he came in. We then gave him the drumsticks, the poem, and ate the cake and other stuff. It was great! June 7, 1965.
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