Category Archives: rambling

Athens and Its Environs

Our 1997 tour of glorious Greece began on a sunny October day with a splendid walkabout taking us through city streets to the heights of its three most prominent hills.

At the outset, we came upon a quaintly costumed changing of the guard ritual outside the Greek parliament buildings, and a nearby protest demonstration. It was just like home! The protestors were unionists staging what purported to be a one-day general strike. Police outnumbered protestors and, judging by the steady surge of Athenian traffic, not too many residents took much notice.
A finely crafted statue stood at the edge of a commercial area, but without an identifying inscription.

Athens, like many great cities, is dominated by its hills. The Acropolis, of course, crowned by the ruins of the majestic Parthenon, is most central and awe-inspiring either up close or from afar. Lycabettus Hill, a narrow pinnacle of rock, reached on its steepest slope by a funicular, offers a panoramic view of the capital.

Another, known as the Hill of the Muses, offers a closer view of the Parthenon which, after surviving more than two millennia, was partially destroyed by Venetian cannons firing from that vantage point. The Parthenon, otherwise known as the ancient Temple of Athena Parthenos, was then being used by occupying Turkish forces as an armoury.

A unique feature of the Athenian urban landscape is the almost total absence of skyscrapers. Guides told us they are banned to preserve the dominance of the ancient ruins. A handful of high rises did break through during lapses in bureaucratic vigilance due, one suspects, to the cunning artifices of some wily public affairs lobbyist.

While in Athens, we took advantage of two extra excursions laid on by our Trafalgar Tours hosts. The first was a bus tour which began badly with a horrendous rainstorm that continued until reaching our destination. Happily, as we reached Cape Sunion, storm clouds moved swiftly away to allow brilliant sunshine to show off the glorious Temple of Poseidon, one of the best preserved ancient ruins in all of Greece.
Dramatically situated on the coastal cliffs overlooking the Aegean Sea, the Temple dates back to 444 BC. Today, all that remains is a series of gleaming white marble columns, standing proudly atop the cape. Only 16 of the original 34 Doric columns remain, one of which is famously inscribed with the name Lord Byron.
Colourful indoors entertainment greeted us in a delightful Greek folk music cabaret on the shores of Athens’ port city of Piraeus.

Festivities began with a serving of liquid refreshments, inevitably including a taste of ouzo – some of it furtively shared with a garden plant.




Costumed waiters tended our tables while entertainers performed colourful Greek folk dances.

A beaming bouzouki player was for us the star musical attraction.

Winning The Big One

What a great feeling that was! Capturing the grand prize – a Trip for Two to Europe – was a dream come true back in the winter of 1997. It was the National Press Club’s European Union Night, an annual social highlight for me and my wife Madeline. In more than 30 years as a Press Club member, a big win like this had never before come along.

The prize: two Business Class tickets on KLM Royal Dutch Airlines to Amsterdam and any Common market country and return. Just one catch: travel would be according to the availability of space at the time of booking, and limited to low season periods – in April/97, between Oct. 15 and Dec. 15/97, or between Jan. 15 and March 15/98.

Official occasion for this prize draw was to celebrate the 40th anniversary of the signing of the Treaty of Rome which created what used to be called the Common Market, now known as the European Union. By 1997, this multi-cultural, multi-national economic entity comprised just 15 member countries: Austria, Belgium, Britain, Denmark, Finland, France, Germany, Greece, Ireland, Italy, Luxembourg, Netherlands, Portugal, Spain and Sweden. Its membership rose in later years to 28 until Britain’s “Brexit” decision this year to drop out.

Flight tickets only being covered for our trip, the choice of destination was easy. What EC country was farthest away from Canada? Greece. We’d been to half a dozen European countries before then, but had never gone that far. A little checking confirmed that a stopover in Amsterdam would be quite OK. So that’s what we did – 16 days in Greece plus one week in the Netherlands and Belgium. As for timing, mid-October to mid-November was the best we could get. Given helpful advice by CAA travel consultant Cheri Rice, we opted for two British-based Trafalagar Tours Best of Greece features, a one-week bus tour plus a one-week Aegean cruise. Costs were not exorbitant, and proved to be good value indeed.

Travelling in effect as standby passengers, we couldn’t get flight confirmation until a few days before departure, so we booked into Athens two days before our scheduled bus tour. This worked out fine, giving us time on our own to stroll about the busy streets and absorb the sometimes smoggy atmosphere of the ancient Greek capital. A taximan unexpectedly greeted us at the airport and drove us free of charge to our hotel. There, our tour coordinator, London-born Samantha, told us about walking routes that kept us busy for the few days we had in the city.

Within sight of our hotel were not only the magnificent Acropolis crowned by the famed Parthenon but also some Roman temple ruins. We walked everywhere, relishing the opportunity to see an ancient city still thriving with vibrant commercial activity in its Plaka business centre and milling tourists clambering over widespread historic sites.

Colourful Mementoes of Marseilles

Traipsing around such an exotic city as the French Mediterranean port of Marseilles was an exciting prospect when I arrived there for a World Fishing Exhibition in 1975. One of my first impressions, however, was a little consternation on entering the tiny bathroom of my hotel room. In addition to the customary wash basin and toilet there appeared a toilet-like structure which I had never seen before. There was, moreover, a supply of cloth-like paper sheets nearby, with no sign of customary toilet paper. It was my first introduction to a bidet.
My hotel was located far from the port’s waterfront so, when free time opened up for some sight seeing, I set out on a very long walk through the city, marvelling at the bright colours and the sheer variety of dwellings, business houses and factories along the way. Despite a general awareness of Marseilles’ reputation as a sometimes dangerous place, it was a peaceful and trouble free jaunt yielding nothing more bothersome than a part of sore feet.
The old port I finally reached was a delightful spectacle, rich in the pageantry of shipping, bustling trades people, awesomely aromatic cafes and restaurants, and handsome artistic and historical treasures. After touring the waterfront and snapping a few pictures, I treated myself to a sumptuous mid day serving of bouillabaisse, featuring an intriguing array of seafood delicacies. What else could one do at a world fisheries exhibition?

Sandy but mainly rocky beaches beckoned for hundreds of sun worshipping tourists, though few seemed to bother swimming.

Guarding the port is the centuries-old Fort Saint-Jean, which stands at the harbour entrance.

A very un-French sounding Snack Bar was a convenient setting for relaxing exhibition patrons.



Notable works of art discovered in my wanderings included a striking triumphal arch and, on a busy roadway, a glorious replica of Michelangelo’s iconic statue of David.

Books Are For Reading …. NOW

Why do we stack a lot of books at home but never get around to reading them? You maybe don’t do this but some of us do, and I’m one of them. One could say that mystery surrounds this lamentable failing – mysteries, actually – that addiction to successions of finely written tales of murder, intrigue and whodunits by such masters and mistresses of the genre as Robert Goddard, Quintin Jardine, Anne Perry, Ian Rankin, Elizabeth George, Peter Robinson, and the like. Frequenting public libraries bulging with such goodies for the crime-obsessed took over reading hours all too fully, leaving scant opportunity to sample the literary riches here at home. Lately, a touch of reform has finally set in, and I’ve actually pulled a few off the shelf, learning swiftly and not a little shamefully, how very much I’d missed.

Our ill-sorted library goes heavy on Newfoundland books, many read but others long intended but not yet actually explored. Until lately when, spurred by so much reminiscence about the Great War a century ago.

Kevin Major brought home in No Man’s Land the stirring experiences of Newfoundlanders, especially at ill-fated Beaumont Hamel in 1916. A Blue Puttee At War by Sydney Frost is a master work, authentically detailing the wartime exploits of Newfoundland soldiers.

Michael Winter brilliantly reflected on those same experiences in Into the Blizzard: Walking the Fields of the Newfoundland Dead.

A.J. Stacey`s A Soldier’s Story traced one man’s experiences throughout the conflict.

Joan Sullivan’s In the Field tapped into similar themes.


Other Newfoundland-based reading highlights have ranged from Alan Doyle’s entertaining recollections from his musical career, Where I Belong and A Newfoundlander in Canada toMichael Crummeys’stirring novel Sweetland about one man’s struggle against resettlement of remote outports.

But I have yet to get into his imaginative and much praised family saga Galore.


One book I very much wanted to read, and finally did, was Grace Sparkes: Blazing a Trail to Independence by Mary Beth-Wright. While I greatly enjoyed stories of this Newfoundland icon’s exploits in journalism, politics and education, I lamented its occasional editorial lapses.


Of all the Newfoundlandia, I was most impressed and highly gratified by the superlative account by Greg Malone in Don’t Tell the Newfoundlanders of the conspiratorial British and Canadian machinations behind Newfoundland’s entry into Confederation. Thoroughly documented at last was the shocking storyline that everyone who lived through that era firmly believed to be the case but could never find proper evidence.

My journalistic friend Bren Walsh tried his best to unravel the true story in his 1985 book More Than A Poor Majority but access to adequate records was denied him.

A lot more invaluable reading riches remain on my still too overloaded To Do List!

World Fishing Exhibition in Marseilles

Of all the places I might ever have expected to see when I was a mid-level communications guy in Ottawa, the rough and ready Mediterranean port of Marseilles, France, was never likely to be it. Thus it was with utter astonishment and no little excitement that I found myself flying out there with a few other Canadian fisheries folks to attend a World Fishing Exhibition in May 1975. I had mostly to thank for this rare opportunity my new boss, Ken Lucas, Senior Assistant Deputy Minister, Fisheries and Marine Service, Environment Canada. I had started work as his Chief of Information Services in January, after completing a six month French training course, and managing participation in fisheries exhibits was part of my job.
Getting involved in international fisheries exhibitions was an important way of promoting measures Canada was taking to prepare for the extension of territorial limits over fishing activities on the continental shelf. Law of the Sea deliberations would usher in this new era of fisheries management with the establishment of a 200 mile limit in the following year. Fisheries and Marine undertook, in cooperation with the province of Nova Scotia, to host a World Fishing Exhibition in 1977 in Halifax, and needed to see how it was organized at the 1975 Exhibition taking place in Marseilles.
Ray Mills from the Nova Scotia government, Frank King from Federal Fisheries in Halifax and I joined forces to outline plans and answer questions about the 1977 event. Nova Scotia’s Minister of Fisheries and the Mayors of Halifax and Dartmouth also attended. Canada’s exhibit included three dimensional representations of the ocean floors around our coasts, illustrating the extent of our continental shelf.
One of the feature presentations at the exhibition was a selection of films on fisheries subjects, and I was pleasantly surprised to find that one of them was a film I had been closely involved with during its production. When I mentioned this, I was asked to speak about it and, with great trepidation, found myself doing so in French. While I had emerged from training at the top level in December, it was a nerve-wracking experience but I somehow managed to get through it without too much anguish. Perhaps it helped that I was still sporting a thick black beard which I had cultivated during the French course.
During the exhibition, I spent some enjoyable time with Fishing News International magazine editor Peter Hjul and his colleagues, a most interesting group. Peter had provided his readers with extensive coverage of the 1973 FAO Conference on Fishery Management and Development in Vancouver. He was accompanied in Marseilles by staff members who reported on fisheries activities at various world centres. One of them was impressively multi-lingual but spoke English in the unmistakable dialect of a London cockney. Another told me he was soon leaving to take on a new job doing fisheries training in the Seychelles, and he sent me a postcard from there later.

Whaling and Wandering in London

The Thames of London, even though it’s a whole lot cleaner than it used to be, is hardly a habitat for great whales, yet there is a lot of talk about them when nations around the world send delegates to meetings of the International Whaling Commission (IWC). Formed in 1946 to provide for the conservation and management of whale stocks, the commission has its headquarters in Impington, a village near Cambridge in England. Canada is one of some 88 member countries. Only a few countries engage in whaling today but it remains a highly emotional subject.
A Canadian delegation took an active part in IWC deliberations in London in June 1935, and I attended, mainly to gauge the nature and extent of controversy then surrounding this issue. Delegate discussions dealt largely with scientific studies of whale populations and the impact of whaling operations in that period.

Federal fisheries policies at the time focused on conservation concerns, seeking to ensure the protection of whale stocks, but with growing awareness of campaigns by anti-whaling interests.

Several outspoken opponents of whaling attended the meeting and used every opportunity to present their views. One notable individual was a New Zealand scientist, Dr. Paul Spong, who began whale research at the Vancouver Aquarium, primarily focused on a killer whale named Skana, and became a leading Greenpeace activist. What I did not expect was hearing the highly biased views of some American government officials whose anti-whaling sentiments proved even more extreme than those of protest groups.

Lancaster House interior

Lancaster House interior

Officials at Canada House on Trafalgar Square, particularly Press Officer Don Peacock, provided helpful support to me and other Fisheries staff attending the IWC meeting. Canadian High Commissioner Barry Mawhinney led a group of us at a stately reception held at Lancaster House in St. James Park, tendered by the British Minister of State for Agriculture, Fisheries and Food.

For the IWC meeting, I stayed within walking distance at St. Ermin’s Hotel on Caxton Street, a most impressive building. Almost across the street I discovered another imposing structure, bearing identification as New Scotland Yard. After the meeting, I had to settle for less grandiose accommodations at the Athenaeum Hotel.

Sight seeing in London, meanwhile, was an entirely enjoyable experience, partly accompanied by Fishing News International editor Peter Hjul whom I had met two years previously at an international fisheries conference in Vancouver. One locale he made sure to show me was London’s famous Billingsgate Fish Market. He also welcomed me to his office and on a tour of Fleet Street, then still a thriving journalistic centre.

I also had the pleasure of spending time with my good friend Cy Fox who was then on the staff of Reuters News agency on Fleet Street, and sporting a G.K. Chesterton moustache.

Places of interest I visited during my stay included Westminster Abbey, St. Paul’s Cathedral, the Tate Gallery, The Tower of London, and many more.

Remembering ICNAF at Edinburgh

One of the most satisfying experiences of my career in federal government communications was also one of the rarest: doing media relations at an overseas international conference. The event was the annual meeting of the International Commission for Northwest Atlantic Fisheries (ICNAF), taking place in Scotland’s capital city, Edinburgh in June 1975.

Deliberations focused on the impact of Law of the Sea negotiations which resulted a year or so later in establishment of the 200 mile limit of national jurisdiction over fisheries and marine resources. I was there to handle communications for Environment Canada’s Fisheries and Marine Service, predecessor of today’s Fisheries and Oceans Department. Some 18 countries having some involvement in the then thriving fisheries of the Northwest Atlantic were members of ICNAF.
Federal fisheries representatives – Dr. Art May, Dr. Mike Sheppard, Bob Applebaum are some whom I remember – took a leading role in the discussions. Promoting Canada’s interests in international fisheries had been a dominant theme of government policy since Law of the Sea deliberations began in the early 1970s. Fisheries Minister Jack Davis had hosted in Vancouver in 1973 a 10-day FAO Technical Conference on Fishery Management and Development, and I was there as a Press Officer.

Our Canadian group stayed at Edinburgh’s hospitable George Hotel where we found a most enjoyable custom of allowing guests to take their refreshments after hours in the open lounge. Socializing so comfortably after long days of serious negotiating was an unexpected boon. The rafters rang often with song, much stimulated by the spirited talents of Art May and his songstress wife Sonya.

My first impression of Edinburgh came aboard a bus taking us from Prestwick Airport into the city when watching two little girls talking to their obviously Pakistani parents in the thickest Scottish accents one could imagine. A plethora of Scottish speech and no small quantities of Scotch liquor served to lighten the task of supporting media coverage of an important international event. In between business meetings, delegates were treated to several receptions, one of which was hosted at Edinburgh city chambers by the Lord Provost and members of the Edinburgh district council. A particularly enjoyable reception came from a Scotch whisky organization, serving top rated malt whisky in stylish wine glasses – with neither ice nor soda to mar the taste. Never much of a Scotch fan (leaning usually toward rye in those days), I was amazed how smooth and flavorful all of them were.

Leading Canadian reporters attending the conference were Tom Earle, CBC; John Hay, Canadian Press; Peter Calamai, Southam Press; and David MacDonald, FP Publications. Others included Pat Massey, Reuters; Peter Hjul, Fishing News International; and Spike Noel, World Fishing Magazine.
A cherished memento of that experience was this letter dated June 24, 1975, addressed to Hon. Romeo LeBlanc, Minister of State for Fisheries, from Tom Earle, London Correspondent for CBC Radio News:
“On behalf of John Hay of Canadian Press London Bureau and myself, I want to say how much we appreciated the help given to us at the ICNAF Conference by Nix Wadden, your Chief of Information Branch. His professional assistance, rendered at all times, helped us a great deal.”

Women’s Soccer Team Launched in 1984

Soccer became a dominant theme in our house in the mid 1980s when Dianne wanted to play soccer and persuaded Ron to start and coach a women’s team for her to play on. And that’s how I got the job of women’s team manager.

South Ottawa Rovers 1984

South Ottawa Rovers 1`984

Set up as the South Ottawa Rovers by the South Ottawa Soccer Association, the team had a good first year in 1984, ending the season in second place in a five-team league competition. Rovers tallied 19 points behind Nepean Furies with 25 but ahead of South Ottawa Internationals and Glens Falcons, each with 16 and Aylmer with 12. Jackie Burbridge was captain. Sparked by fleet-footed Debbie Kerwin, who scored 15 goals in league games and six in others, the team’s 17 players had their special merits toasted in the manager’s irreverent end-of-the-season tribute:

Award and Honours that we wish we could present:-
1) Andrea Sinclair, the Mudpuppy Award for all that rolling in the mud and other tribulations of a soccer goalie;
2) Nancy McCall, the Rainbow Trophy for the most colourful bruises sustained in the line of full back duty, and a special Sportswomanship Award for playing Backup Goalie (with one shutout) and for putting up with Pat Carruthers’ jokes;
3) Jill Umbach, the Unintentional Backup Goalie Award, with a gift certificate for purchase of a pair of velchro goalie mitts for ball handling in the goal area;
4) Loretta Desoudry, the Prettiest Headband Prize, plus a Soccer Field Pathfinders Map of the National Capital Region;
5) Pat Hunt, the Windmill, Grunt and Bellow Award for excellence in scaring the wits out of opponents by unorthodox kicking, running and blocking the ball with the belly;
6) Lily Fayad, the Flying Foot Award for intercepting the ball in mid-air and directing it, usually, in the opponent’s direction;
7) Catherine Rancey, the Pushy-Pushy Enthusiasm Award, for the most aggressive defensive play when the referee is looking;
8) Sharri Walsh, the Muhammed Ali Challenge Cup, for the most aggressive forward, when the referee is not looking;
9) Joey Thayer, the Most Surprised Goal Scorer Award, plus a seasonal dispensation from attending classes on Soccer Nights;
10) Robin Kealey, the Most Honest Ball Handler Award, and recognition as the unchallenged champion in toe curling;
11) Dianne Wadden, the Corner Kick Triathlon Award, with the hoped that it won’t always be necessary to do all that swimming, cycling and running 15 kilometres before kicking the ball;
12) Brenda Agard, the Late Bloomers Scoring Trophy, for making her first in the team’s last game for the season, with a forecast of lots more in ’85.
13) Jackie Burbridge, the Golden Mouthpiece Award for Sportswomanship and for showing team mates how, in every way, to use their heads;
14) Cindy Mills, the Generosity Award for giving the ball to others to score, and the Runner-Up Award in the Late Bloomers Scoring Race – two in the final two games;
15) Alana McNamara, the Leaping Librarian Award for dexterity in bypassing opposing backs;
16) Debbie Kirwan, the Mercury Medal for the fastest feet on the football field, and the “You’ve Got Time” Award for leadership in Team Spirit both on and off the field;
17) Wendy Knight, the Whizzing Winger Award, for keeping up, almost, with Debbie, plus a gift certificate for a stainless steel ankle support complete with spurs to fend off attackers’ cleats;
In addition, a few other Awards are appropriate:
18) Toni Fitzpatrick, the Toni Award for First Aid to Ankle Sprainers, and a special Sportswomanship citation for playing in exhibition and tournament games when the team was shorthanded;
19) Pat Carruthers, the Linesman of the Year Award as the best (and only) team linesman;
20) Gwen (surname not remembered), the Welcome Aboard Award as the newest recruit to the S.O Rovers in its tournament at Williamstown.

That Memorable Drive in ’75

Incredible as it may seem today, I once drove a car in London, England, blithely undaunted by busy traffic and the challenge of working my way into the very heart of the city. I was alone and braving my first experience driving on the left side of the road. But that was in 1975, over 40 years ago, so maybe it wasn’t such a big deal, though it felt like it at the time. I did breathe a big sigh of relief when I pulled into the car rental parking lot to hand over the keys. It had been an eventful journey.
My journey had begun in Edinburgh, pausing at first for a brief look around Gretna Green, that romantic haven above the Scottish border where lovers thronged to be wed when forbidden to do so by English law.

The village blacksmith was its most  respected craftsman so the Blacksmith’s Forge became a favourite place for weddings. The tradition of the blacksmith sealing the marriage by striking his anvil led to the blacksmith and his anvil becoming symbols of Gretna Green weddings. The Old Smithy where lovers have come to marry since 1754, is still in the village and still a wedding venue.

I told in a recent blog about my overnight stop at the fascinating Bleaze Hall bed and breakfast in Old Hutton near Kendall. I have learned since that this more than four centuries old heritage dwelling still stands today, thanks to substantial upkeep by its private owners.

The property was advertized for sale in recent years for 570,000 pounds after it had been extensively renovated and modernized by a couple who had occupied it since the early 1980s. Its many features detailed on the sales notice included “the magnificent plasterwork ceiling and frieze in the drawing room, substantial fireplaces, oak staircase, floors, doors, beams and oak uprights, stone mullion windows (some of which had been walled up in 1692 to avoid window tax) and flagged floors. The history has been documented and includes details of previous owners, dates of extensions and the fascinating ‘dobbie’ stone which was brought to the house in 1636 and hangs from the ancient rafters for good luck.”

It was reputed to be haunted by the ghost of a maiden, “old, fleeting shadows”, and a phantom funeral which relates to the maiden who died brokenhearted when her lover failed to return from a Crusade. I’m glad I didn’t know that when I slept there in my canopy bed.


Being close to the fabled Lake District, I took a brief detour into Lake Windermere, a favourite holiday destination reputed to be England’s largest lake. Scores of sail boats, and plenty of sun worshippers, were enjoying the beautiful weather.

My only other stop along that southbound route was at the city of Manchester where I discovered a beautiful sunken garden built probably on a site devastated by wartime bombing. An imposing monument also caught my eye.

While there I witnessed a political gathering in which a Liberal party candidate was campaigning for re-election. Interestingly enough, he was distributing a flier advocating proportional representation, a cause which crops up frequently on both sides of the Atlantic, but usually in vain. Don’t know if he made it but his party came third after Labour, led by Prime Minister Roy Jenkins, went down to defeat at the hands of the Conservatives under William Whitelaw who won a modest majority. Labour had been in power for 16 years.

When nervously wending my way along London streets, I couldn’t help noticing there were still some bombed out buildings, stark reminders of the Second World War which had ended just 30 years before. The task of rebuilding this great city had yet to be completed.


My Bleaze Hall B and B

The first time I visited Britain in June 1975, my most poignant experience was spending a night in one of the most unusual bed and breakfast hostelries I ever encountered. My trip began with a visit to Scotland’s venerable capital, Edinburgh, and was to end in London, so I decided to drive the 400 miles between those cities. Undeterred by the fact that I had never before driven on the left side of the road, I rented a car in Edinburgh, and hoped for the best.
My adventure began rather scarily, as I had to back the car out of the rental lot in a long lane onto a busy roadway, but I managed to do so without mishap. Driving through Scotland proved safe enough and quite enjoyable, stopping briefly out of sheer curiosity to see Gretna Green, the romantic Scottish border village famed as a wedding haven since the late 1700s.

As evening approached, I found my way to a district known as Old Hutton located near the English town of Kendal, the southern gateway to the popular Lake District not far from Lake Windermere.

Watching out for a likely bed and breakfast, I came upon a sign for Bleaze Hall, an imposing stone building set back from the roadway. Politely assured by the hostess, Mrs. L.M. Porter, that it was indeed a bed and breakfast, I agreed to spend the night in what proved to be a most unique setting.

I found that my bed for the night was smartly furnished with a full canopy, giving me the impression that I was really living in style.

Moreover, the ceiling and upper walls were richly decorated with swirling designs reminiscent of Moorish architecture.

I expressed such interest in the Bleaze Hall building that my hostess dug out for me a set of historical notes about its remarkable background. An 1892 document described Bleaze Hall as being used as a farmhouse, but “worthy of note as containing the remains of some originally splendid woodcarving and paneling of this period.” It was built about 1600, probably by Roger Bateman, a cloth maker. A descendant, Henry Bateman, was credited with doing the woodwork, with his initials H.B. and the date 1644 incised in the word.

On the first floor, the main room had remains of an original plaster ceiling of elaborate design; the decoration consisted of large spirals of vine-ornament with smaller spirals in the spandrels; on the north wall was a plaster frieze of similar ornament with human heads or busts at intervals. The bedroom I occupied had to have been that same room, complete with its uniquely designed plaster ceiling.

Reclining that night in my cozy, comfortable centuries-old bed, I couldn’t help recalling an expression my Dad used to quote, mostly to get a rise out of my very properly raised mother, that the ultimate in home comfort in olden days was to have “canopy over the bed and a canopy under the bed,” (except that the second one was not spelt the same way!)