Author Archives: L. G. William Chapman, B.A., LL.B.

About L. G. William Chapman, B.A., LL.B.

Past President, Mississippi Masonic Hall Inc.; Past Master (by demit) of Mississippi Lodge No. 147, A.F. and A.M., G.R.C. (in Ontario) Chartered by the Grand Lodge of Canada July 20, 1861; Don, Devonshire House, University of Toronto, Toronto, Ontario; Juris Doctor, Dalhousie Law School, Halifax, Nova Scotia; Bachelor of Arts (Philosophy), Glendon Hall, York University, Toronto, Ontario; Old Boy (House Captain, Regimental Sgt. Major, Prefect and Head Boy), St. Andrew's College, Aurora, Ontario.

Sunday Drive 2014/12/8

In 1973 after graduating from Dalhousie law school (and before commencing Articles in September with Messrs. Macdonald, Affleck Barrs. &c), I had a summer job with the Judge Advocate General (Brigadier-General James M. Simpson, CD QC) who was an acquaintance of my father (Group Captain C. G. William Chapman DSO). I mention the paternal connection because it was transparent that of the five summer students in the office each of us was related to or acquainted with someone there. It was, now that I reflect upon it, the same manner of nepotism by which I secured Articles. On that occasion it was my mother who knew someone (a lady friend of one of the firm’s lawyers). Contacts, as offensive as they may at times appear, are except in rare instances the manner in which a great number of jobs are secured.  It was also the manner in which I ended practicing law in Almonte (through Senator George J. McIlraith PC QC who, in addition to having been Counsel to Messrs, Macdonald, Affleck Barrs. &c was father-in-law of Michael J. Galligan QC of Messrs. Galligan & Sheffield, Barrs. &c by whom I was first employed). That latter introduction not unnaturally led to my acquaintance with Raymond A. Jamieson QC whose office I ultimately replaced with my own.

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In our backyard…

The world abroad has the aspect of abandonment, hibernation and dormancy.  Whatever once lived there has either left or lies asleep in an alternate state beneath the ground. All but clumps of earth and spiky vegetation have been muffled by snow. The deciduous trees are denuded and rise from their roots like mournful patterned fans. Flakes of snow continually and gently flutter from the grey frosted sky to the smooth white earth. The cultivated fields illustrate an incomparably precise line of narrows in the ground, wending up and down to the distant horizon. Above is a dome of placid uniformity with only the muted glare of the sun occasionally perceived.

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Getting ready for the snowstorm

The next three days are forecast to be snowy. To dub the winter weather a storm is overzealous; but because this is a weekend preceding Christmas it is reasonably predicted there will be uncommon activity stirring about the community. It is too to be expected that tempers will rise, people will be in a rush, the aisles of the grocery stores and the fuel stations will be pressing. The weather (even if hospitable) will involve winter grime underfoot; and, it will be all one can do to escape the kerfuffle and to get back home and sit by the fire.

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Snowbound

It’s early December and a snowfall has begun. Our tiny world of privacy, like a crow’s nest atop a masthead, affords us a welcome overview of the now neglected and whitened fields spreading to the horizon and the grey-blue ruffled water of the Mississippi River seen blurred by the snow through the spiny branches of shoreline trees. Intermingled among these tranquil vista are wavering throngs of pointed shrubs and an open-sided relic shed sinking into the ground overtaken by the encroaching cattails.

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A wintry day

Sometimes it is best to sit inside and watch the changing images outside. A wintry day is such an occasion. I must however intercept that logic by reporting that early this morning  – because of a scheduled drive – we confronted the challenge of a heavy snowfall by traveling to Smiths Falls to deliver a curious gift to friends. The drive was passable but not without its treachery. One small car made the mistake of accelerating too quickly upon snow and ended swerving back and forth before regaining a correct frontal alignment.  Fortunately at the time there were no other cars within immediate vicinity but a number soon approached and it was apparent that everyone was on alert.

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Putting on your socks

There is nothing wrong with a bland day. In fact I rather enjoy a bland day because it memorializes everything else, from putting on one’s socks to relishing the soft hues and the spiky trees of the distant minor vale by the river. What, I ask, can be more fulfilling than rejoicing in the pleasure of seeing and doing what is at hand! It is a relief from urgency and projection plus of course the adjoining lack of compulsive necessity. It is the gratification of one’s pertinency.

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Now, where was I?

Today was a cool day in early December. Grey sunlight blurted from a murky orb low in the sky hidden in a wintry fog. By late afternoon the breath of indoor heat was welcome. I passed a woman in the lobby carrying a bag from which protruded a silvery bough heralding Christmas decoration. A delicate almost imperceptible snow had fallen and for the moment remains undisturbed, the first of the Artist’s gentle applications of which no doubt more shall follow. Recovering roost at my desk while overlooking a now mystified white field and frowzy grey river, accompanied by a bowl of sliced green apple to the left and a tiny mug of chilled espresso to the right, I was fitted to address that inexorable question, “Now, where was I?”

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A stone’s throw

Recently over luncheon and casual conversation at table our co-host curiously began a discussion of the etymology of measurement. He started for example with reference to a stone’s throw which of course is an obvious allusion to the estimate of that standard of achievement. After mentioning as well other prescriptions such as a stone of weight and a foot or a league, his iteration adopted a more scientific approach to measuring by noting that a second of time is a reflection of the duration which a particle of light travels by some unfathomable calculation.

(The) second, fundamental unit of time, now defined in terms of the radiation frequency at which atoms of the element cesium change from one state to another. The second was formerly defined as 1/86,400 of the mean solar day—i.e., the average period of rotation of the Earth on its axis relative to the Sun.

By strange consequence this peculiar rumination provoked me to recall an equally singular law school study of comparative law from which I had drawn the conclusion that all laws of whatever geographic jurisdiction or cultural evolution are essentially the same. This seemingly odd transition from a chat about measurement to one of law reminded me of a greater synthesis; namely, we’re all looking at the same thing however differently it is characterized or identified or measured. The importance is that it is not identity or calculation which predicts the nature of things.  Measurement of any description – whether fundamental or scientific – is nothing more dignified than human attribution howsoever plain or grand it may be.  And while one’s weight or height are tolerably variable, it is a reminder too that the more esoteric constructs of religion and law are equally subject to different descriptions of the same thing (notwithstanding how independently we may choose to manifest them). Furthermore there is nothing inherently significant in the terms or manner in which we choose to dignify those calculations of measurement or limitation of conduct. They are all products and estimates of our own human invention and calculation (and dare I say prejudice), not some mystical revelation or magical scientific discovery.

The common cubit was the length of the forearm from the elbow to the tip of the middle finger. It was divided into the span of the hand or the length between the tip of little finger to the tip of the thumb (one-half cubit), the palm or width of the hand (one sixth), and the digit or width of the middle finger (one twenty-fourth). The Royal Cubit, which was a standard cubit enhanced by an extra palm—thus 7 palms or 28 digits long—was used in constructing buildings and monuments and in surveying in ancient Egypt. The inch, foot, and yard evolved from these units through a complicated transformation not yet fully understood. Some believe they evolved from cubic measures; others believe they were simple proportions or multiples of the cubit. In whichever case, the Greeks and Romans inherited the foot from the Egyptians. The Roman foot (~296 mm) was divided into both 12 unciae (inches) (~24.7 mm) and 16 digits (~18.5 mm). The Romans also introduced the mille passus (1000 paces) or double steps, the pace being equal to five Roman feet (~1480 mm). The Roman mile of 5000 feet (1480 m) was introduced into England during the occupation. Queen Elizabeth I (reigned from 1558 to 1603) changed, by statute, the mile to 5280 feet (~1609 m) or 8 furlongs, a furlong being 40 rod (unit)s (~201 m) of 5.5 yards (~5.03 m) each.

The result is therefore moderately disturbing. The insinuation naturally is that apart from what we attribute to anything, it has no critical meaning. Given the right intelligence and perspicacity one may dilate anything into anything. That, I might add parenthetically, is the psychology behind what little culinary talent I have; viz., I never measure when cooking.

First snowfall

Today is December 1st. It marks the first snowfall of the season. We had just returned home from Dim Sum at Sea King Shark Fin Seafood Restaurant on Merivale Road in the city when the ghostly flakes began to materialize in the misty grey atmosphere. Of a sudden we turned the hibernal corner! Equally precipitous was the thought of glossy green holly bush leaves with their spikes and brownish stems supporting a cluster of red berries. It is for me the picture of Christmas. The memory hearkens back to my earliest childhood at Sunday school when I heard for a first time the lyrics of The Holly and the Ivy the traditionally British folk Christmas carol.

Christians have identified a wealth of symbolism in its form. The sharpness of the leaves help to recall the crown of thorns worn by Jesus; the red berries serve as a reminder of the drops of blood that were shed for salvation; and the shape of the leaves, which resemble flames, can serve to reveal God’s burning love for His people. Combined with the fact that holly maintains its bright colors during the Christmas season, it naturally came to be associated with the Christian holiday.

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