IN MEMORIA 2015/05/05.
1944-05-05 on this date, 71 years ago, my Father, Corporal David B Campbell, 7885941, 48th Royal Tank Regiment, Royal Armoured Corps, died in a Hospital in the city of Algiers. Algeria, and was buried in The Commonwealth Cemetery at Deli Ibrahim, he was 29 years old. David was born in Dundee Scotland on 17 August 1914, the youngest male of six children (3 boys, 3 girls) of David and Isabella Campbell.
In December of 1931 David’s Mother, my Grandmother, died at the age of 41. The story I heard but cannot confirm is that shortly after her death David had a serious falling out with his Father and he left to join the British Army. There is also confusion as to which regiment he joined as some say he joined the Black Watch others say the Cameron Highlanders, and yet other believed he joined the Royal Armoured Corps. I do have a copy of an official British Army document showing that he was with the 9th Light Tank Company in India in 1936 and entitled to wear the India Service Medal with clasp. Later while still in India he was Mentioned in Despatches but I don’t know what for. Usually one was Mentioned in Despatches for either a gallant or meritorious action in the face of the enemy.
David was in India when WWII started and his regiment was called back to Britain. The route home took his unit through the Suez Canal into the Mediterranean and their orders were to land in southern France, for what reason I don’t know. I do know that shortly after they landed the unit was re-embarked and sailed for England. In May of 1940 the so called Phony War ended with the German invasion of France, Belgium, and the Netherlands this culminated in the Evacuation of the B.E.F. (British Expeditionary Force) from Dunkirk from 27 May-4 June 1940 followed by the surrender of France on 22 June 1940. That same month, June 1940, saw the founding of the Commandos as a raiding force to attack Germany Forces in occupied France and northern Europe. The 4th Commando was formed in June 1940 and eventually made its’ headquarters in Troon a small coastal town on the Firth of Clyde in southwest Scotland. David would be posted with the 4th in Troon and during this time he would meet and marry my Mother. Commandos were not billeted like regular troops in barracks they were given a living allowance to pay for lodgings and food David would end up billeted in my Grandmothers’ house and he would meet and fall in love with my mother Teresa the only one of the five Lee girls living at home the others either in the service or working in England in war production factories. My mother would marry David in November of 1941 she was 18 and David was 9 years her senior at 27. Thirty months later she would be a widow less than a month before her 21st birthday I was 20 months old.

Now the story takes a strange twist and in order to portray it properly I have to Leave Scotland and travel roughly 4000 miles west and back in time to 1920. David’s birthday was 17 August 1914 six years and one day later 18 August 1920, a son would be born in Campbellford Ontario, Canada, to Hector and Grace McArthur. He would be named Albert Raymond and his fate was woven into that of Davis and Teresa. Raymond’s parents would move to Hannah, Alberta, where he would be brought up until the age of 11. His mother’s parents lived in Chelmsford, Essex, England and shortly after he turned 11 he was sent to live with them. Raymond would grow into his teens in England and at 18 he would join the Essex Rifles A British Army Territorial unit (Militia) and when war broke out in September 1939 his unit was called to active duty and sent to France, positioned up close to the Belgium border. The Essex Rifles would not be evacuated from Dunkirk but later at Boulogne further west along the English Channel from Dunkirk. I must state here that my knowledge of the Essex Rifles and it’s movements at this period of the war is somewhat sketchy as the man who would become my step-father rarely talked about the war. After his return From France Raymond would volunteer for the Commandos as David did and both would end up in the same 4th Commando Battalion. Neither David nor Raymond were friends but they knew each other to say hello whenever they met or passed. Another strange twist is that Raymond met my mother before David did. So here we have two men from very different backgrounds one would sire me and the other would raise me.

In March 1941 David would participate in the Lofoten Island Raid with the 4th Commando. Sometime before Raymond would ship out for North Africa and he will be out of the picture for awhile. After Lofoten my knowledge becomes really sketchy. He married my Mother in November of 1941 and I believe shortly after Returned to Unit (RTU). A volunteer in the Commandos remained on the roster of the Regiment he left to join so when a Commando RTU he went back to his Regiment. The next I know about David is that he is a corporal in the 48th Royal Tank Regiment, a hostilities only London Regiment. He was still in the U.K when I was born and I believe he saw me only once when my Mother took me to Hayes Middlesex northeast of London where he was stationed. How long he was in Hayes I don’t know as the next I hear of him he is in North Africa with the 8th Army fighting the German Africa Korp commanded by Rommel. What battles he participated in I don’t know but sometime after the Invasion of Sicily in 1943. Sometime between then and 5 May 1944 he is hospitalized in Algiers for an injured knee. He would be discharged from the hospital and report to his new unit he had volunteered for. I don’t know what the unit’s designation was only that it was a DUKW unit and on the day he reported for duty he collapsed and later died from blood poisoning in the hospital on 5 May 1944 age 29, 104 days before his 30th birthday. I was 20 months old. David is listed on the City of Dundee, Scotland, Honour Roll.
Now on this 5th of May 2015, 71 years later I pause, for a moment to remember this Scottish Soldier, of Clan Campbell and wonder what my life would have been like had he survived to return to his young bride and son? Raymond would return from the war and come to Troon looking for my Mom and marry her. In 1947 he would return to Canada bringing us to a new life. Here I would grow up not knowing that Raymond was not my real father until I was 8 years old. For years I would ask my Mother about David and right up to the day she died she never once answered any of my questions. I learned what I do know about David from one of my Mom’s older sisters. It wasn’t until 2007 at the age of 65 I went back to Dundee and found his family, my family.

Family, History


Warmemorial 3


With Remembrance Day just around the corner I am writing about the members both male and female of my family who served in World War II and all but one surviving to come home.
Mary Josephine Lee; B. 13 September 1920, – D. 26 March 2008.
Mary (Oldest Lee Girl) Joined the ATS (Auxiliary Territorial Service) in 1941 and was stationed near Bristol, England. She worked as a server in the Mess hall on an R.A.F. Base. I do not know when she was discharged but it was prior to 1945.
Kathleen Winifred Lee; B. 21 January 1922.-
Kathleen Winifred lee, (2nd Oldest Lee girl) who some say was the head of the Lee girl mob as she seemed to be the adventurous one was born in Troon in January 1922. When the war started Kathy joined the WRNS ({WRENS} Women’s Royal Naval Service) at 18 and was stationed at Campbelltown on the Mull of Kintyre, Scotland assigned to the Cypher Unit. After the war she would marry Nick and have 3 daughters.
David Burnett Campbell; B. 17 Aug. 1914 – D. 5 May 1944. Age: 29
David B. Campbell #7885941, 48th Royal Tank Regiment, Royal Armoured Corps was my Father and a professional soldier having joined the Royal Armoured Corps in 1931. The next I know of him he is serving in Indian on the Northwest Frontier in 1937 assigned to a Light Tank Unit. When WW II started David’s unit was recalled from India and made a landing at Marseille, southern France only to re-embark a short time later and sail for England. Sometime in late 1940 or early 1941 David volunteered to join the Commandos and was posted to the 4th Commando headquartered in Troon Scotland. It was here that he met and married my Mother. He participated in the raid on the Lofoten Island in Norway in March 1941. At some point after the Lofoten Raid he R.T.U. returned to unit in his case the Royal Armoured Corps. The next I know about him he is with the 48th Royal Tank Regiment equipped with Churchill Tanks and training near Hayes-Middlesex in England prior to embarking for North Africa. In Africa his regiment became part of the 8th Army where it fought from Egypt to Tunisia. Somewhere along the line David injured his knee and just before he went into hospital in Algiers he transferred to a DUKW, amphibious truck unit. After surgery on his knee he reported for duty only to collapse on the first day and was rushed back to hospital where he died on 5 May 1944 from blood poisoning. He is buried in a Commonwealth Cemetery just outside Algiers, Algeria. I never knew him as I was but 19 months old when he died.

Albert Raymond (Ray) McArthur. Pte. Essex Rifles. (4th Commando) B.18 August 1920. – D. 3 March 1995.
Ray was my step-father. He was born in Campbellford, Ontario and raised until age 11 in Hannah Alberta. At that age he was sent to live with his maternal grandparents in Chelmsford, England. In January 1939, age 18 he joined the Essex Rifles, a Territorial Unit (Militia). When war broke out in September of 39 his unit was mobilized and sent to France up near the Belgium border. When the Phony War ended in May of 1940 with the German invasion of France, Belgium, and the Netherlands the British were caught unprepared for the new form of warfare, Blitz Krieg (Lightening War) and were pushed back towards the English Channel. Most British and French troops were evacuated from Dunkirk. Rays’ unit came out at Boulogne north of Dunkirk. Arriving back in England Ray volunteered for the Commandos and was assigned to the 4th (both he and my Father were in the same unit) Headquartered in Troon. Ray knew my Mother slightly and became somewhat smitten with her but that is another story. The 4th was transferred to Egypt and saw action in Greece when Germany invaded. Evacuating Greece the 4th returned to Alexandria where they became part of Lay Force for the evacuation of Crete. The 4th was fighting rearguard in an olive grove just outside Sphakia when he was wounded and taken prisoner. This was in June 1941 and he remained a P.O.W. for almost 4 years.

Nicholas Powell Gibbons. R.N. B.31 December 1917-D.12 September 1991.
Nick joined the Royal Navy in either 1934 or 35 at the age of 18 and he was posted to H.M.S. Bedouin a Tribal Class Destroyer in 1937. The Bedouin took part in the 2nd Battle of Narvik, and the Lofoten Raid. In 1942 the Bedouin was transferred to the Mediterranean Fleet on escort duty. While part of Operation Harpoon the Bedouin was confronted by the Italian Navy in the form of 2 Cruisers and some destroyers. Coming to Action Stations the Bedouin charged the Italians causing them to turn away but not before inflicting serious damage to the Bedouin by knocking out her engines. The Bedouin was taken under tow by the destroyer HMS Partridge but had to be released when an Italian Torpedo Bomber showed up. Bedouin was struck by a torpedo and sank on 15 June 1942 with the loss of 28 lives. Nick and the rest of the ships company would be picked up by the Italians and spend just under 3 years as P.O.W.s in both Italy and Germany. He would spend 13 years in the Royal Navy leaving after the war..

Harry Holt. Pte. North Shore Regiment, Canadian Army,
At the time of writing I know very little about Harry only that he was in the Normandy Campaign where he was seriously wounded when a landmine shattered his left knee. His leg was saved by the doctors but he would have trouble with it for the rest of his life. Harry died in a Veterans home in Victoria B.C.
These men and women I have written about were our Fathers, Mothers, Aunts, Uncles, and Grand Parents. They were heroes just like the millions of men and women who served in the Commonwealth Armed Forces. They are all gone now but one, Kathleen, 92 years young, who lives with her youngest daughter in Milton Ontario. What my generation and all those to come owes these people who stood in Harms’ Way can never be repaid. All we can do is thank them and remember them for they were and are the “GREATEST GENERATION”





I am now the oldest living male descendent of the four Lee Girls from Troon. The oldest female descendent is but 3 years younger than me. Alas only one of the four Lee girls is still amongst us and I believe she is 92. This is “K” the middle of the five and my last Aunt. The story of these five ordinary but remarkable women would fill volumes. Born just before the depression but growing up during it. They also lived through World War II with “K” serving as a WREN in the Royal Navy. “M” the second oldest was in the ATS stationed on a RAF Bomber base in Scotland. “V” the youngest worked in a munitions plant in England. “E” the oldest worked for Fairey Aviation building aircraft for the RAF. “E” wasn’t a Lee girl she was a Scott a step-sister to the four Lee girls. Same mother different father. “T” my Mom stayed home and took care of the house. When the Commandos were formed the Headquarters for the 4th was in Troon and my Father was billeted in my Grandmothers’ house. It was here that he met my Mom and married her in late 1941, she was just 18. At 19 my mom gave birth to me and less than one month before her 21st birthday she was a war widow. Her experience wasn’t that uncommon back then as it happened to hundreds if not thousands of young women.
After the war my Mom got remarried to a Canadian chap who had been living in England before the war. He brought us to Canada in 1947. The next to come was “M” and her daughter “P”. “M” would marry a Canadian man with a young daughter and together they would have 3 more daughters. “K” and her husband and 2 daughters were the next to come along with my grandmother. The last to come here were “V” and “E”. “V” also would marry a Canadian and have 2 sons and a daughter. “E” never married. So by the very early 50s’ the Lee girls were in Canada raising their families and becoming part of Canadian society. Of all the children of these women 4 of us were born in Scotland.
These four Lee women, Irish on their fathers’ side and English on their Mothers. Their Father was born in Galway and their Mother, (my Nanny) was born in London, a Cockney. My Mom married a professional solider from Dundee so I am ¼ Irish, ¼ English, and ½ Scots by blood but in every other respect Canadian. To tell the stories of these four Lee women and their step-sister would as I said take volumes. Their lives and loves, joys and sorrows perhaps not much different than others of their generation but then again no two life stories are the same. Now four of the five are gone and only “K” is still with us. How she fares I know not as there seems to be a breakdown in the relationship I have with that part of the family. So here I sit one day into the beginning of my 73rd year thinking of my Mother and how much I wish she were still here. Alas that cannot be but the memory of her and her sisters these Daughters of Alba, these women we loved, still burns bright with those of us who are left to carry on.





This here be Sam. As you can see he is a Tabby Cat but don’t tell him that. You see Sam thinks he’s a Lion, you know Simba, King of the Serengeti. Something else you should know about Sam, he is a character and I think a little whacko but I Love him.


I am writing about Sam because my oldest Daughter just lost her cat Muffins that she had for 10 years. She got muffin from the Humane Society when it was about 11 years old and she loved and cared for her for all that time. Muffins was 21 years old when she left. I had a cat that I named Meat Head and he was with me 17 years and I loved that old bugger a lot and on the day he died I cried like a baby because I had lost my best buddy. That was about 7 years ago and I swore I would never have another pet and guess what, 3 months ago I got Sam. Sam was one of my youngest daughters’ cats but when she moved she could only have one at her new place so I took Sam. It was either that or life in the animal big house (Humane Society). So now I am custodian of a 12 pound 10 year old fur ball who thinks he owns me and the apartment. 


Let me tell you now about some of Sam’s’ quirks. Sam doesn’t meow he barks like a Cheetah, he purrs like a chain saw and snores like a Harley on idle and he will sit and give what for about some perceived slight or wrong doing on my part. Usually it is when I return from going out. When I open the door there he is sitting and ackacking as if to say where the hell have you been? How dare you go out and not take me? He likes going for walks in the hallway and if we go to the far north end of the building he flops on the carpet and I have to carry him home. Poor bugger thinks he’s exhausted. Not really he just bloody lazy and can’t be bothered walking back. I can’t go into the washroom and close the door or he sits and raises holy hell until the door is opened. Every morning I put down fresh food and water for him and does he drink the water in the, he has to drink out of his private reservoir, the toilet bowl. The Gods help me if it isn’t clean as I hear about it. I keep threatening to put him in the oven and roast him up for supper and one of these days so help me———–.



If you follow my son-in-laws’ blog you will see that he wrote 2 very good stories about Muffins and I am not in any way trying to compete with him. Never in a hundred years could I be as good as he is. I’m just writing this to let people that we are a cat loving Family. Don’t get me wrong I love dogs just as much but when one becomes an apartment dweller it is unfair to have a dog confined so. Forty years ago when we lived in Orangeville I had my collie Rob and my wife had, at one time 5 cats. Both my girls have always had pets around them from birth. Yep we are a cat loving bunch alright. Which reminds me I have seem his Nibs around so I had better go find out what mischief he is up too. Last time I couldn’t find him he had somehow managed to get in the closet and without realizing it I closed the door on hi. No problem when I finally found him he was curled up on my boots at the back of the closet.  I got a live one with him.





This is about a man I never knew, my Father. He was Corporal David Campbell of the 48th Royal Tank Regiment, born 17 August 1914 died 5 May 1944, age 29.

David was born in Dundee, Scotland the youngest boy of the six children (3 girls, 3 boys) of David and Isabella Campbell (nee Moir). He was the third David after his Father and Grandfather and I am the 4th. David was a professional soldier having joined the British Army Boy Service (Royal Armoured Corps) at 17 just shortly after his Mothers’ death in 1931. Neither I nor the other family members in Scotland know much about his life even my Mother never talked about him and what little I know of him I learned from my Mothers’ older sister and what I could glean from small bits and pieces from a book and from the internet.

I know that in 1937 David was serving on the Northwest Frontier in India and did something out of the ordinary as he was Mentioned in Dispatches which in those days was a big thing in the British Army. When World War Two started his Regiment was recalled to England and on the way home diverted to Southern France as the Germans had invaded Northern France through Belgium. Nothing came of this and his regiment was re-embarked and continued on to England. The next I heard about him was he had joined the Army 4th Commandos and was stationed in Troon Scotland where he was billeted in my Grandmothers’ house. This is where and when he met my Mother. As an aside, my step-father was also in the 4th and also dated my Mother and he was to return after the war and marry her as she was a widow by then. David participated on the Lofoten Island (Norway) raid in March of 1941 and the only other thing I know from that time is he married my Mom in November of that year and returned to the Royal Armour Corp where he was assigned to the 48th Royal Tank Regiment. This was a London Regiment called up for Hostilities only and equipped with Churchill Tanks.  The last thing I know about him was that somehow he had injured his knee also he had transferred from the 48th to a DUWK unit and before reporting had surgery on his knee. The day he did report for duty he collapsed and died of Blood Poisoning on the 5th of May 1944 (age 29) and is buried in a Commonwealth Cemetery just outside Algiers, Algeria. Not much to know about ones’ Father is it? A brief fragmented story of the man who sired me and I would never know. I do not even look like him from the one picture I have and as I stated before for some unknown reason my Mother would never talk about him but according to her older sister he was a good man and a consummate professional soldier.

Most of my life I never really thought about him, that is until I turned 60 and an almost obsession developed to find out about him and his family in Scotland. This I did in 2007 just before my 65th birthday and I returned to Scotland and went to Dundee to meet them all. All his siblings had passed away long ago and their children, my cousins knew even less about him than I did. It was though a great experience to meet his family and visit where he grew up and also the grave of his parents my grandparents whom I also never knew. 

This story is not unique as there were and are thousands alive to-day who could tell the same tale. So many young men, Fathers, and Husbands died during those terrible 6 years from 1939 through 1945. Still I wonder what kind of man he was and if he had lived what my life would have been like. Certainly different as my Mother remarried to a Canadian and he brought us home in 1947. It was my step-father who fashioned my life and he also was a good man but definitely moulded in a different cast.

                                         HIGHLAND MAN


                                        A man once lived

                                        And strode this Earth

                                        An Alban man

                                        Of common birth.

                                        A Highland Man

                                        Of Campbell Clan.

                                        Dundee his Home

                                        From which he roamed

                                        To serve his Country

                                        And his King.

                                        A Corporal rank

                                        He proudly wore

                                        An Iron Tank

                                        The steed he rode.

                                        From India to

                                        To Sahara sands

                                        He served the Crown

                                        Through many lands.

                                        On Battlefields

                                        The Enemy meet

                                        And fight with skill

                                        Til their defeat.

                                        For five long bitter

                                        Years he fought

                                        Until that spring

                                        On Europes Boot

                                        His steed did stop

                                        Its body shook

                                        As darkness came

                                        To his Blue eyes

                                        For Death did claim

                                        Another Prize.

                                        Would that Fate

                                        Had been more kind

                                        And taken not

                                        This Highland Man

                                        And left to me

                                        This Father He

                                        To Love and know

                                        Perhaps to be.












To-morrow, Sunday 16 June is Fathers’ Day. The concept of having a day to honour Fathers is basically a great idea but then like most great ideas it gets corrupted by the corporate world. For weeks leading up to the day one is bombarded by commercials of gifts that seemingly every Father wants or should have.  Well I would love very much that if to-morrow my daughters presented me with a “Can-Am Spyder” motorcycle. My chances of getting it are about the same as being whisked off to another Planet before I finish writing this. I’m getting something better, being taken out for a Fathers’ Day Breakfast. . Why is it better? Well I get to spend time with my girls, my son-in-law, and my Grandson and that beats any material gift they or anyone else could think of.

Holidays such as Fathers’ Day, Mothers’ Day, Birthdays, Anniversaries, or Xmas, should not be about what presents are given or received. They are, and should be about “Family”. That is the most important thing, for without it we are nothing. My heritage is Scottish and like all Celts I am very family oriented, or as some say “Clannish”. So be it. My Family and its’ History are very important to me and believe me when I say on my paternal side it goes back a long way. My step-fathers family goes back even further and in fact my biological family is an offshoot of my adopted family. That family claim descent from a very famous, although, some say mythical King. That doesn’t matter. What does matter, is at some point in the mist of time there was a first one and the line continued from there and like a vine sending out shoots to form other branches. It is being able to say that I come from a long line of great people, or on the other hand saying some of my ancestors were right bloody minded bastards. The thing is it is all Family. It is Continuity. 

This is my 43rd Fathers’ Day and every one of them has been great. My oldest was 9 months old on the first one but unfortunately we were separated on the second one as I was in Germany. Since then we have never missed one. Pretty damn good record. When my youngest came along it made Fathers’ Day even better, as I said it is all about Family.  So to-morrow my family will come and pick me up and take me to a restaurant in Burlington for breakfast and I will have my usual on these occasions, Ham & Eggs, Home Fries, Toast, and Coffee, which I love. Normally I don’t eat breakfast at all, just have my one cup of coffee for the day. Use to be coffee and cigarettes but not anymore as I quit smoking after 56 years.

The next Family celebration will be in September as both my oldest daughters’ and my birthday are within 6 days of each other. That one is my treat and a great excuse to be to-gether with all of them. Family always Family as it should be.




Last evening I returned from my three day trip to Brockville, a type of trip one does not enjoy making. I had four first cousins there now I have but three. I shall not use their names just their initial. P. is the oldest, then came R., then M.L., and finally M. It was to attend the funeral of R. that I made the sad trip. As sad as this trip was it was also enlightening in that I witnessed something that I had read and heard about but never experienced at least not to the extent that occurred.

On the Wednesday I arrived there was two,  two hours periods that people could come and pay their respects one in the afternoon and one in the evening. I attended the evening one and at the end found out that in that total of four hours over six hundred and twenty five people, not counting those who had not signed the Book of Condolences,  had found it in their hearts to pay their respects. Now R. wasn’t a famous person, not wealthy or powerful just a Wife, Mother, Grandma, Aunt, cousin, and friend, but she was a much loved member of her small community which has a population of around five hundred. R. was a practicing Catholic and sang in her Church Choir and she was very involved with the local kids hockey team and from what I could gather her whole community. The Funeral Mass was held at St. Theresas`Church in N. Augusta which has a capacity of one hundred and fifty,  it was packed with people standing across the back leaving just enough room for the doors to open. After the Mass everyone went to the Community hall for lunch and believe me when I say there was enough food, all of which was prepared by the ladies in the town and donated, to feed a battalion. This is the experience I mentioned in my opening. I had heard and read about such things happening but to me it was a bit of a culture shock. I am not use to displays like this. In truth I tend to panic if there are more than ten or twenty people around me. It is not that I am a loner it is just that I am always uncomfortable around people I don`t know. Actually I guess you could say I live in a type of shell as I am very choosy about who I let into my life. My girls tell me it is a type of protective screen I wear. I like people but do not  get to close to them. It was amazing to see how many people knew and loved R. and something I won’t forget.

Much to my regret I didn’t know R. as well as I should have as her and her sisters are referred to as the “Country Cousins (CC)” as compared to us “City Cousins”. You know what, I think I would much rather have been a “Country Cousin” It is amazing the difference that  two hundred and forty miles can make. The CC live in the St. Lawrence River area where as, this City type lives at the opposite end of Lake Ontario in site of Toronto. Suffice it to say, methinks I would prefer living in a nice quiet, peaceful Rural setting. Then, most City types dream of that and few, very few, make the transition. I have thought of it a few times since retiring, but then I would have to give up being close to my Daughters and I don’t think I could really do that. That doesn’t mean I can’t dream of it and be just a little envious of my “Country Cousins”.




My present son-in-law is really a great guy not in the least like the first one my oldest married whom I didn’t like at all. When my daughter first introduced me to him I asked her “how come you didn’t meet him first”?  I didn’t like my first son-in-law because I suspected he couldn’t keep it in his pants and it turned out he couldn’t. I will tolerate a lot of weaknesses in people except Adultery. This I think comes from having a step-father who ran around on my Mother for years. She knew about it but she had come to some sort of agreement with him. I saw, though, how it hurt her and I swore that I would never do that to my wife if and when I married. My marriage broke up after 13 years but not because I ever played around. I didn’t.

As I started off saying my son-in law is really a great guy and he makes my oldest happy which is all that counts. The only fault I can find in him is he is too damn tall and I get a crick in my neck having to look up all the time. Hell I’m only 5’6 or7″ and he is about 6′ or more. I sort of shrunk a bit as I got older as  according to the Army I was 5’8″. Any way “G” (which I shall refer to him as) is  pretty intelligent more so than me when it comes to certain areas. Perhaps the only place I have it on him is History. He is an excellent writer with a mastery of the English Language that I once had but lost due to non-use. He is an aspiring author having written but not published a book, loves politics, and has a Blog. He does have one small annoying habit in his writing. He has a tendency to spell the American way which really bugs the you know what out of me. He keeps forgetting to use the double vowel “O U” in certain words. Sometimes I swear he does it just to annoy me as he knows I read his Blog all the time. Aside from that I really can’t find fault. Anyway I’d better not as my oldest would more than likely disown me. I can see the love between them and I must admit at times I’m envious. Reminds me so much of how I once felt about my ex.

Before I forget another thing G has going for him is he is of Scots descent and being a Scot myself (born there) on a scale of one to ten that gives him 90.  My oldest first husband was of English (Sassenach) descent. We Scots stick to-gether. “ALBA GU BRATH”. Enough of the Scottish boasting. Whether G was Scots, English or whatever he is a good man and for that I can only praise him. I’m proud to call him son-in-law (Son). Another great thing is that both of them are adopting a young Lad, 12 years old and I know that they will both make great parents. I have to admire them both as that is a big change in their lives and they are giving this youngster something he has desperately longed for a Family. I honestly must admit that I don’t know if I could do that but he is going to be my grandson and I will love himand make a “Guid Scot o’ him”. Kind of makes me choke up a bit with the Love and Pride I have for them.