Reflections during a time of Covid-19

This past winter Hatley resident Terry Borsman decided to give short story writing a try. Drawing from his youth growing up in Victoria, BC in the 1940s-50s and later Montreal, Borsman’s story is an example of how some locals used their time in confinement to get creative and try something new. It worked in his favour. Borsman won the writing contest! Over the next few weeks, The Record will publish Borsman’s winning story, Reflections during a time of COVID-19, divided into segments.

My plan was to be born in 1943, in Ottawa, into a loving family with a younger brother and sister, to marry a beautiful princess and be blessed with the coming of a boy king whom we would name Samuel, and he would marry a beautiful Japanese princess, who in turn would give birth to a new Japanese-canadian heir. We would travel the world and be fortunate beyond all our expectations and live happily ever after.

Except for “happily ever after,” everything went according to plan, but as they say, on all our lives a little rain must fall, and as a downpour fell on all our lives’ parades, my story deals in part with the reality of the world’s tempest, with cruelty, poverty, inequality, and illness during Covid-19.

1: Rum and Butter

The harder I tried to pull it out of my nose, the further in it went. In bed, while I kicked and screamed, my mother did her best to hold me down while she put the tweezers up my nose—once again—and this time, successfully pulled out the rum and butter Lifesaver. I was six years old in 1949, living in wartime housing on Bloomfield Street in Montreal.

I had been given a silver book of twelve assorted Lifesavers by Mr. Aronson, who had a drug store on Sainte Catherine Street where I transferred buses on my way home from school. Rum and butter was my favourite flavour, and after my kiss goodnight I had put one in my mouth and then put it up my nose where I could smell it better.

Smell has always been important to me. As a former native of British Columbia, I sometimes wonder with tongue firmly in cheek: Who wouldn’t find pleasure in hugging a Douglas Fir tree, smelling its fresh herbal scent and bathing in its purity and natural wonder? Is a viable alternative really hugging human beings that might smell of sweat, urine, bad breath, and foul gas? And then, of course, there’s the messy kissing to endure, and to add insult to injury, not just on one cheek but two! Wow…how things have changed with Covid-19. Surely any one of us would give away everything for a single last embrace, for the touch, kiss—and yes, smell—of someone we know and love.

My journeys of remembrance, such as my trip back to a childhood home in Montreal, are more frequent now and these flights of fancy replace those on real airplanes. Dreams and memories replace the realities of aging, illness, loneliness, and Covid-19 during these frightening times.

2: The Chippy and the Wanderers

And so it is once again from the here-and-now that I find myself at another childhood home in Bolton, England, in the fall of 1951. It is overcast and cold, in an invisible northern drizzle where my friend Keith and I wait outside a pub that smells of cigarette smoke, pee, and stale beer. After a very long wait,

Keith’s father—in a very good mood now—has said that he will take us to lunch. A short walk later, we’re inside a very strange restaurant sharing lunch from a bundle of newspaper, wet with vinegar and salt. The most delicious food I’ve ever tasted is followed by a hot mug of OXO. This was the first of my many visits to a fish and chip shop, or “the chippy.”

Leaving the chippy, we’re walking quickly, carried along by a huge crowd until, just ahead, I can make out a sign that says “Bolton Wanderers Football Club.” From inside, we can hear “Bolton for the cup! We’re going to Wembley!” By kickoff, in a steady rain, we’re standing on a terrace, packed together like sardines. Claustrophobic and unable to see above or through the wet, heavy raincoats that surround us, Keith and I can hear cheering, boos, “Chest it down, Stan,” and “On your wing, man!” They said the BBC cameras were there. It was one of the best days of my young life.