I sent this to my Canadian family today.........

The Perfect Day, A Boy Aged 11

It's a beautiful Summers evening on Manitoulin Island, the Stars have spent the daylight hours buffing themselves up and preening, as they are determined to put on a show, and on this night they excelled themselves, the glorious Constellations engage in a battle of supremacy in the milky black sky, a battle that's been fought night in and night out for millions of years, and a battle in which there can be only one winner.

We members of the human race are sitting out on the porch staring in wonderment at the gift that God gave us, while watching man made creations such as satellites run past at high speed, carrying the constant chitter chatter of "urgent" communications, words that feel so important to us at the time, but set against this gorgeous backdrop, they are only whispers in Infinity.

Uncle Bill has seen it all before, but he loves the sight as much as the first time he saw it. He casts his eyes down and sees a little 11 year old boy, who's convinced he's died and went to Heaven and utters the words.

"Arran, how would you like to get up early in the morning with me, and we'll go play a round of golf?". Young Arrans' big blue eyes sparkled at the thought of even more quality time and immediately accepted this gracious offer.

You see, to come from the streets of Wishaw and find yourself on Manitoulin Island, it really is a big deal! Canada is only a word, then after a bit of investigation you find that there's a lot more to it, nature, wildlife, big cities, mountains, snakes! Indians!! Mounties!!! Wow, Arran couldn't wait to get to Cananda and see all of these sights but there was something else he forgot about....

Now he was remembering, in fact, maybe only now he was learning? He's only 11 you see, it's hard to know everything at that age, ( he's not a teenager yet, we all know that teenagers know everything eh? ). In this magical country he had met magical old friends, ( James, his old pal from Germany, now living a delightful life in Toronto, and his lovely new wife, Marjorie ), and even better, cousins galore!! there's nothing better when your young than discovering new family members, the bond of family and friendship is instant and stronger than any you can imagine, but this isn't a story about cousins, it's a story about being 11, and being below the roof of Uncle Bill and Aunt Lil.

The door rattled in the morning, and a sleepy headed wee boy rolled out of bed and into Uncle Bills car, it's just gone 6.00am, what an ungodly hour when your a boy, aged 11, but when your rolling through the country lanes keeping your eye out for any stray deer, it's worth it. It's a beautiful morning, the evening dew is still heavy on the ground, and the sun is just limbering up for another glorious day when the protagonists unload themselves from the car at that citadel of gentlemanly torture....the golf course. Why anyone would want to start their day snarling and kicking at bushes because their ball has gone missing, shanked in to the pond for the 60th time is beyond me, but not for Uncle Bill.

All those years rolling up and down the tracks of the Canadian rail system had been fascinating, every day was a joy or a challenge, and every minute enjoyable, but it was always going to be a means to an end, a way to bring up his outstanding family, and one day, to give Bill the freedom that he always wanted, and the pleasure of spending the rest of his days with his darling Lil.

The course looked beautiful and shimmering as the morning mist lifted, while the dew fought hard to be left alone for just a few more minutes. It was a futile battle. The clubs were lifted from the boot of the car, the early morning pleasantries exchanged with the other golfing fanatics, and the golf buggy sparked into life.

Uncle Bill stood back at the first tee and viewed the vista, hmm, what kind of day would it be today? Where will this first drive go? Hopefully on the fairway, that would be a good start. How about Arran? Well, he's just met some more new friends, and with him being Scottish he must be an expert of golf right? Nope, Arran is a wildlife buff you know, there's hardly a bird in the sky that Arran can't identify, and here's his chance to see some of Canada's finest.

So in a way Uncle Bill and young Arran are both on the course for the same reason, they're both looking for Birdies, just different types.

That Big Bertha came raining down on the innocent little Slazenger ball, you know if you thought about it, golf is a bit of a violent game, grown men hacking around with iron bars in pursuit of tiny little spheres, grass being shredded, turf being violated, all in pursuit of that moment of happiness, when the ball just rolls with a satisfying pop into a tiny little hole hundreds of yards away. It could only have been a Scotsman that thought of this peculiar form of torture, that's why we ensure there's always a 19th Hole to drown or sorrows or sometimes, celebrate our fleeting victories.

Impressed that Uncle Bill managed to keep that little white sphere roughly within bounds, Arran made his way to the buggy. " here you go son, you drive " said Uncle Bill. Well is that not music to the ears of an 11 year old boy, his very own supercharged golf buggy, and this massive race ( golf ), no race, ( it's a golf course! ) RACE course in front of him. It's great to have an imagination you see. So now Arran Senna speeds off at 9mph trying to emulate the driving champions of years gone past.

What a beautiful day, the dew is still straining to hang on when Uncle Bill hits one of those shots that make you want to NEVER COME BACK!!! Everything happens for a reason you know, and during the search for that wee ball another wee sphere pops up....."Arran, look at this, you know the old story about does a bear s**t in the woods? It can't be true, we now know that bears s**t on golf courses".

Arran has never looked at a s**t with such wonderment, you don't see many bears strolling the streets of Wishaw, well not unless they are fans of Glasgow Rangers, and the vast majority of them are well toilet trained..... what a place this is. The Holes roll past, the victories slow tally up, the defeats, well let's just say that the defeats were on good form this day, but it doesn't matter, there's always tomorrow.

Time to park up the buggy, wipe off the clubs, and make your way home with stories about rally driving and close encounters with Big Brown Bears, oh, and time for a bit of breakfast too.

It was a delighted little boy that ran into the cabin that day, Aunt Lil was a wee bit taken aback at the enthusiasm of the stories, but she knows how excitable children can be, so many excited kids have spent many a long summer on Manitoulin Island, a stunning place which is a world away from the family home in Craignuek.

Breakfast consumed, stories told and we're off, Uncle Bill announces that we're going fishing, and right on cue up pops a canoe, fishing rods, and an 11 year old boy who was raring to go. This is when things start to take a downward turn for Arran, you see, his wee sister Keilidh has been carefully drawing and colouring while Arran has been holding court, but the idea of "Going Fishing" appeals to her.

So now we have it, Uncle Bill in command, moi, Keilidh and a moderately downcast Arran take off through the beautiful smooth waters looking for the fish. Uncle Bill had told us that there had been a raid on the loch by deviant sea dwelling birds, they had come inland and taken advantage of the easy pickings, they probably couldn't believe how beautiful this lake was, and how easy it was to spot their prey. The gorgeous lake, once teeming with fish, was now a pale shadow of itself, but in the shadows, some hardy refugees from the previous massacre had survived.

The lines were cast into the water and that most essential skill of the fisherman was deployed, patience. Well, to be fair it was deployed for about three minutes until a couple of young Scottish voices started to demur as to the potential enjoyability of the trip. Uncle Bill stepped in with some sage advice and peace was restored. Being a bit of an outdoors man as he was, Uncle Bill knew that sometimes you had to make your own luck, so he would fire up the little outboard engine and go in search for the reclusive fish.

Cast, wait, try again, cast, wait, try again. It was getting to the point that the bait was crying out for the end, better to be whipped into the next world by a darting silver assassin than to be constantly removed, re-grouted, and drenched once more in the clear waters of this lake. Moi? I wasn't bothered, there's many a day I've been many a place, and this day was one of the best of my life, never mind Arran. I was with MY Uncle Bill, and the stories and entertainment flowed all day. The smooth waters were a joy, to see the rapt concentration on my children's face even more so.....and everywhere I looked I could say Canada at it's pristine best. What a place.

Patience was starting to wear thin, the kids started to wonder if there were any fish in this lake at all, and were growing louder in their frustrations, when tug!! A little child of Neptune decided to save our day and graciously committed suicide on.....wait for it....Keilidh's rod. Uncle Bill was delighted, he was vindicated, he knew that his skill and patience would save the day, I was already in heaven so this was only a little bit better, but the look on Arran's face, a sullen wee defeat from his annoying little sister, well, that could be hard to take.

What happened next was fabulous though, Keilidh wrestled manfully ( girliefully? ) against this 2 ounce behemoth, and eventually managed to drag her prize into the boat. Then she realized she didn't like live fish bouncing around in her vicinity, and this prompted a girlie fit which threatened the stability of the boat. From defeat, Arran gained his victory, he wrestled with this monster from the deep and claimed the moral high ground by exclaiming his dismay at this outburst of excessive girlie-ness.

Time to make our way back with our haul, if haul is the right word for a three inch long fish. Uncle Bill wisely took the decision that any larger member of the species could result in a girlie breakdown and / or the rest of us visiting the calm waters fully clothed, so off to the shore we did go.

Time to get the swimsuits on, and spend the day bobbing around in this beautiful lake, the cabin the background, the tree lined banks in the foreground, and the stillness and calm of this wonderful island. Kids and water go together, hours upon hours rolled past as the early morning mist had given way to a Saltire blue sky, amazing, just amazing.

Hours spent swimming, relaxing, often chatting with Aunt Lil and Uncle Bill, and more often just soaking up the atmosphere of a glorious family day. Some of you may remember when Steve Irwin came to the fore with his exception snake wrangling abilities, a call goes up from the grass, Arran's Mum has seen a snake, Arran Senna Irwin rushes to the scene, racing driver in the morning, Snake Wrangler in the afternoon, nothing fazes this boy, there's another one!! up goes the cry, and quickly identified by our very own Irwin acolyte as being non poisonous grass snakes, that little boy from Wishaw snatches both of them up.

I must note at this point at the first call of the word snake there was a little puff of dust where my Aunt Lil used to be, a Craignuek lass herself, there's ne'er a man she feared, and many a grizzly bear would fear to tackle her, but everyone has their Achilles Heel, and these wee serpents represented that deep fear that many share. I had a notion that I would see my Aunt Lil scarper up on to the cabin roof, but it turns out that safety behind the storm door was enough.

Arran Senna Irwin was now discussing the merits of life with his new wriggly friends with his best faux Australian accent. I don't quite know what he said but it caused mutual offence and both snakes in unison struck a blow with their pathetically small fangs into his hands. Me? I would have thrown my Aunt Lil off the roof at this point if I had to, but I had to feign indifference to this twin pronged ( literally twin pronged ) assault against my only male child. Arran Senna Irwin Mahatma Ghandi realized that the snakes were only being true to their nature, and in the true spirit of Ghandi, he decided to release them unharmed back into nature.

They say your not a horseman until you have fallen off, so I suppose you can't call yourself a Snake Wrangler until you've been bitten, so this was another victory in a glorious day for Arran. Uncle Bill looked on approvingly, there's many a beast or fish seen the end of days at his hands, but none without reason. He wasn't a man for taking from the field what he didn't intend to eat, whether that be Brown Bear for the sausage man, moose, or copious amounts of pickerel from the deep, anything taken from the Lords Plate was to sustain his family, and recognize the balance of nature. That's the kind of man we're dealing with here, a man who worked hard on his family farm in Carluke as long as he could, before he had to make his way in the world, and in his case, travel across the Ocean to create a new life.

Dinner is served, Aunt Lil has recovered from the drama, Keilidh is still contemplating counselling for the rude assault from the deep, and arrn is proudly surveying his perfectly asymmetrical puncture marks. What a story this will be back at Wishaw Academy Primary school. Dinner is complete, and the day is not over, it's time to go see the deer gather themselves up before the fall of darkness. The Sun gives a yawn and starts to head towards the horizon, as Arran heads into the car with Uncle Bill et al to go deer spotting, last night it was 43, how many would it be tonight? Maybe a new record.

There's something beautiful about sitting in silence at dusk in Canada, this country has so many times of day, and man is a minor interference to nature, both live easily side by side. The deer duly showed up for the evening roll call, and as the Sun finally gave up for the day, a car load of happy inhabitants made their way back to the beautiful cabin on the edge of the lake.

I remember sitting on a couch, chatting with my Uncle Bill, and I hadn't noticed Arran for a while. It could only have been 6.30pm so I would have expected him to be on his Nintendo or something similar. I looked up after a while and a rosy cheeked, and I mean rosy cheeked, little snake bitten Scottish boy did that heavy footed "Walk of the Tired Child", he wordlessly wandered up the stairs to his room, never to be seen again this day.

Arran Senna Irwin Ghandi, a boy aged 11, had just had the best day of his life, and this day was a gift from his Aunt Lil, and Uncle Bill.

A gift that will stay in the memory forever.

........................................................

Uncle Bill died yesterday, his latter years being afflicted with the complications of diabetes and the onset of dementia. He had to give up playing golf a few years ago and had to sell the cabin by the lake as the maintenance was beyond him. Both of these things broke his heart, there are many things that we can endure in life but for us all there is something that just takes away the joy.

The joy till the end of his days though came from my Aunt Lil, and her outstanding family. I'm unable to attend to the funeral service however I have sent this note to my Canadian family, I've posted this in Bedlam as a tribute to the man that he was, but maybe also a reminder that what we do lives in the memory of others forever.

RIP Uncle Bill.

Another one bites the dust, and another one down and another one down, another one bites the dust.

So true Sir, but I won't mind biting the dust at 83 after a life as varied as Bill

A lot of people that disappear out of the UK and go live overseas, especially in retirement, share the same spirit and joy of life, for all the snarking that goes on in the General Forum, at least there are plenty of people who show that one essential element in life......having the bottle to have a go.