TImepieces have always attracted me whether wrist watches, pocket watches, mantle clocks, carriage clocks, grandfather clocks or Ship’s Bells. This morning, as is my habit, I inspected my collection of wrist watches secreted in my bedroom dresser drawer. Inadvertently I discovered that the Bulova pocket watch (quartz movement) had stopped. The battery needed to be replaced. If memory serves, I bought that watch on-line in 2018 when wintering on Daytona Beach Shores. It was at the time an unusual purchase because since my retirement from the practice of law in 2014 I hadn’t worn a waistcoat; which is to say, I no longer dressed for the office.  By then my current apparel was, as it is now, distinctly casual and decidedly estranged from what was once of ardent sartorial appeal.  Nonetheless the allure of the pocket watch hadn’t fully escaped me.  Many years previously I had inherited two pocket watches from my paternal grandfather.  One, a gold Pochelon et frères with 9K gold watch chain and (formerly) Masonic fob and (latterly) a swivel bloodstone fob with circular gold wreath (which I gave to my goddaughter); the other, a massive sterling silver piece with key for winding (which I sold to “Baker Bob” who operated his business immediately adjoining my own on the town square in Almonte at Little Bridge Street). The singular feature of the Bulova pocket watch was that the attached chain had at its open end a springloaded clip rather than the usual bar (which would have been inserted into and hidden behind a waistcoat button hole).  The clip was clearly an accommodation of casual attire, enabling one to attach the chain to the waistline of one’s pants, with the watch descending into the pant pocket or hung into the small watch pocket instead of the waistcoat welt pocket. As a result my focus changed from appearance to performance. I suspect this upstart usage preceded my acquisition of an Apple Watch which since I have routinely used when bicycling (and which therefore trumps the enjoyment of other watches of any character). I will however report that the Apple Watch speaks to me primarily with a purely functional resonance from which I am inevitably redrawn to the historic chronographs.

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A mariner’s cap also called a skipper’s cap, sailor’s cap or fiddler’s cap, is a peaked cap, usually made from black or navy blue wool felt, but also from corduroy or blue denim. Originally popular with seafarers, it is often associated with sailing and maritime settings, especially fishing, yachting and recreational sailing. It has sometimes become a fashion item in the West, for example being worn by John Lennon in the mid-1960s.

Other principal components are the crown, band, and insignia, typically a cap badge and embroidery in proportion to rank. Piping is also often found, typically in contrast to the crown colour, which is usually white for navy, blue for air force, and green for army. The band is typically a dark, contrasting colour, often black, but may be patterned or striped.

In the Canadian Forces, the peaked cap (French: casquette de service) is the primary headgear for men’s Royal Canadian Navy service dress. Royal Navy Officers were first issued peaked caps in 1825 as a less formal alternative to the bicorne hat.

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Mr. Mark Hedges
Editor-in-Chief
Country Life
London, England

Dear Sir:

Forgive me for seeming pedantic but I understand there is conflicting etymology and usage of the term “chip off the old block” and “chip of the block”. The former captures what this old fogey considers purely the popular vernacular (and I say this with an undisguised element of asperity) while the latter connotes a more literary bent without the excuse of device.

I think it is important for us ancients to address these trifling issues or otherwise young people might deliberately be left to fall – such as when mistakenly referring to a restauranteur rather than restaurateur (an inaccuracy which makes me wince). Once again a simple matter of etymology.  I feel there must be limits beyond usage and popularity to sustain accuracy. That in my experience is much more better!

Bill (Chapman)

PS Love the magazine. Keep up the good work. I marvel at your creativity and industry.

It was first used in 1621 in Robert Sanderson’s Sermons, where it says, “Am not I a child of the same Adam … a chip of the same block, with him?” At this time, the phrase referred to two people from the same familial line.

Circumscribed and stimulated as I am today by the least fanciful resources – nothing more enchanting than a lonely morning tricycle ride about the neighbourhood buffeted by a fresh northerly wind clapping upon the face of the river, or a prosaic drive along a dry country road beneath a chalky bluish sky, or dreamily listening to the soothing sounds of Artie Shaw, Water Music Suite Alla Hornpipe and Henry Purcell, or the unvaried delectation of a crisp green apple and a sharp cheddar cheese – the imaginative expedients and vitality are nonetheless remarkable!

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Materialism is a subject inciting variable opinions all of which naturally begin with the salient ingredient of stuff.  Yet as tangible as those accoutrements, kit, tackle or apparatus may be, they very often signify a far greater meaning.  Materialism is after all a subject ripe with legendary persuasions stemming from the pyramids of the Egyptian pharaohs through the Bourbon dynasty of Louis XIV at Versailles past the stately country houses of England to the splendidour of wealth by the Americans in Newport, Rhode Island and Palm Beach, Florida.  Materialism suggests both a vulgar and an enviable attribution, immoderation and exhibition, statement and status, candidness and bluntness, shallowness and success. The variety of interpretation embraces even the more inscrutable definitions of art and rudimentary analytical theory.

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This time of year – the infamous Ides of March – predict what are invariably bungling interventions upon the projected springtime and summer seasons.

The Ides of March is the day on the Roman calendar marked as the Idus, roughly the midpoint of a month, of Martius, corresponding to 15 March on the Gregorian calendar. It was marked by several major religious observances. In 44 BC, it became notorious as the date of the assassination of Julius Caesar, which made the Ides of March a turning point in Roman history.

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So often the introductory assertion, “Don’t get me wrong…” in fact predicts just the opposite intention, “You’re damn right I think so!” Seemingly we’re provoked initially to shield or outright hide our predominant disposition by characterizing it as some less direct offensive. At a minimum the initial statement, “Don’t get me wrong!” Is a caution to what follows, a hint at qualification. The last thing it is however is mistaken. In that sense at least the statement is undisguised.

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As I write this autobiographic account I am 75 years old and complacently seated at my desk overlooking farm lands and the Mississippi River as it flows smoothly down from the Village of Appleton on the southeast side of Almonte to the Village of Blakeney on the northwest side of town amidst names such as Galbraith, Corkery, Union Hall, Rosetta, Clayton, Bennie’s Corners and the Mill of Kintail. I’ve had some time to gather my thoughts about what it is that distinguishes Lanark County. It was almost half a century ago in June of 1976 at 27 years of age, alone and with my Yellow Labrador puppy Lanny (whose purebred name was Lanark Drummond Beckwith of Rosedale) that, to the astonishment of some of my family, erstwhile friends and acquaintances in the city, I moved to Almonte from Ottawa where in 1973 – 1974 I had completed my Articles with Messrs. Macdonald, Affleck, Barrs., &c., 100 Sparks Street upon graduating from Dalhousie law school in Halifax, NS.  I was called to the Bar at Osgoode Hall, Toronto in March of 1975; and then subsequently practiced law briefly with Macdonald, Affleck, including not insignificantly appearances (or what now might rightfully be called my “15 minutes of fame” when I actually stood and addressed the bench) in the Federal Court of Canada (Appeal Division) and the Supreme Court of Canada on behalf of West Coast Transmission Co. Ltd. in its inventive challenge of Marshall Crowe as Chairman of the National Energy Board relating to possible bias in matters surrounding the McKenzie Valley Pipeline Hearings. It was a distinction never to be repeated on my part.  I believe of the 50 lawyers in the court room at the time I was the only one with a stuff gown; the rest had all taken silk. To my credit, however, of those Queen’s Counsellors I was only one lawyer among perhaps eight others who said more than, “My Lords, I respectfully agree with my learned friend Mr. Soloway”.  In accomplishing even that abbreviated commendation, the rustle of their silk gowns as they stood obsequiously from their black leathered wooden chairs was mystical.

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It was almost a year ago – June 3rd, 2023 – that Johnnie departed forever. I learned of his failing health and pneumonic death from his longtime friend and childhood schoolmate Lynn. Since then I have had the opportunity to converse via email with Lynn on several occasions as she resolvedly prepares to fulfill Johnnie’s last wish foregathering; and, during the same period my partner and I have reflected upon the times we and Johnnie spent together.  Today I was again prompted to think upon the past by the unusual circumstance of seeing a new model vehicle at my car dealership.  I was there to have routine maintenance done on my vehicle; and, while sitting in the showroom fiddling on my iPhone I was obliged to confront what had the appearance of a remake of the erstwhile Hummer.

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Some time ago, I can’t remember quite when exactly, my erstwhile physician asked if we might collect him at the airport upon his return to Canada. He had been away for a very extensive period of time, first crossing over South America and Tierra del Fuego all the way down to Antarctica. Then he returned through South America en route to Australia where he lingered for some time with his daughter, her husband and two grandchildren. Thereafter it was a skip over the South Pacific to Cape Town, South Africa. And it is most recently from that exotic venue that he has arrived back on terra firma in Canada through Newark, United States of America.

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