It forever astonishes and delights me that truly meaningful human relationships  – notwithstanding how ancient or how infrequently reinvigorated – appear to survive. When there is added to that distinction the further quality of having been invited into the home of the correspondent, the lingering alliance is all the more fruitful and cohesive.

Many years ago – immediately following my graduation from prep school and admission to undergraduate university – a number of us Canadians were privileged to be invited over the ensuing Christmas holiday to stay with different boarding school friends whose families lived in Kingston, Jamaica. It was an ideal winter vacation in the Caribbean.

I have never forgotten the generosity of my colleague Alexander Dougall and his mother, Mrs. Doreen Dougall. I also favourably recall Mr. Len (the steward) and Miss Anne (another household assistant). Nor have I forgotten their magnificent soft voices which so inexpressibly captured the poetic lilt of the polished Jamaican vernacular.

Recently a number of my former classmates congregated in Toronto.  I have never attended one of these similar congregations.  It surprises me that I have resisted the temptation over the years. The modest inconvenience of having to travel to Toronto, stay overnight, etc. always succeeded to defeat the enterprise. Notwithstanding this notable limitation, my heartfelt friendships survive.

Pointedly I have visited with the families of all my closest friends. The familial knot – apart from augmenting the overall relationship – permanently sustains the connection and conversation. Long ago I recall having somewhere read that the ultimate measure of camaraderie – the nec plus ultra – is an invitation into the home of another.

It must be conceded that the unique exposure and familiarity of one’s otherwise private and concealed domestic circumstances is a vital ingredient in the evolution of true companionship. It speaks to heritage and prospective in one mouthful. The familial bond instantly tethers the communication and renders it unmistakably authentic and personal. It  is an immersive undertaking which of odd necessity invites depth and understanding – as well as that most important element – accommodation. The spread beckons involvement of characteristic strength on all sides thus inadvertently widening the scope of the relationships and shared social ventures.

Below is a copy of the succinct message (which inspired this particular narrative) I received yesterday from Alexander Dougall while we lunched at the Ivy Lea Club on the St. Lawrence River. We were unable to take the call. Its punctiliousness and brevity reflects the thriving brotherhood while touching upon the equally inevitable and trophic good humour:

Chapman, I was with Colin Durie this afternoon at Ardenne Road. We tried calling you. I hope you have a good alibi.

Best,
Alex