“The world is full of magic things, patiently waiting for our senses to grow sharper.”
― Y. B. Yeats
“Those who don’t believe in magic will never find it.”
― Roald Dahl
It may be that we were predisposed to see magic when we visited Fergus again this month. Maybe, if we weren’t so predisposed, we wouldn’t have seen it. I have already written about “The Magic of Fergus”. In that story, I indicated that my memories of Fergus are rooted in my experiences as a 10 year boy visiting my grandparents. I believed in magic then, and I saw it in the place with each visit. Perhaps, as an adult, I wanted to see it again. Maybe that is what happened. You tell me.
My brother Mark, may or may not be a creditable witness. After all, he is related to me. He too, used to visit Fergus as a child. He may have been just as predisposed as I was. He has recently posted a story called “Another Magical Weekend”. In it, he tells a story about an incredible coincidence that happened in Fergus and hints that two other coincidences happened the same day. That could just be a clever writer’s trick to make a single coincidence appear as part of a bigger pattern by suggesting, without describing them, two other coincidences. Well, I am here to say, my brother is not that clever!
I will continue the story he started.
On Saturday, November 10th 2012, after a second successful event to launch our Grandpa’s book “The Precious Seed” we were shaking hands and connecting with the people who were kind enough to the attend the reading at the Fergus Branch of the Wellington County Museum. There were friends and family from Kitchener, Toronto and New Market. There were also many residents of Fergus we had never met before. It had been a great celebration made possible by our hosts at the library, the performance of the Older Voices team of Al Koop and Gary Bryant and our wonderfully attentive audience. Both Mark and I thoroughly enjoyed the event and we wanted continue the celebratory spirit.
So, Mark and I, Al and Gary and my brother Paul from Newmarket decided to take the short walk down St. Andrew Street to O’Brien’s pub. The choice of the place was not by chance. We had been there before, it is a very friendly place. It also happens to be in the same building my Grandpa had once owned and from which he operated the Fergus News Record weekly newspaper.
We sat down in a booth, in the same room my Grandfather wrote so many of his editorials and stories. Many of the stories in the “Precious Seed” were first written down just feet from where we sat. The stories describe events that took place just outside the doors on St Andrew Street. Indeed, the location may have made us all that much more predisposed.
Paul and Gary started talking. They realized they had some connections. For years Paul was in charge of Hart House theater in Toronto. Gary has been involved in various theatre groups for years in and around Southern Ontario. The fact they knew some of the same people, was not a coincidence. I only mention this as evidence that we were enjoying each other’s company, and connections between people are a common thing to talk about.
Then Al asked us “What part of Ottawa are you from?”, a leading question that clearly suggested there was a hidden reason for the inquiry.
“The Alta Vista area” I said. When someone asks “What part of Ottawa I am from?”, I usually say the “Alta Vista area” because it is big enough that people that have visited Ottawa may have heard of it. After all, Aster Street, the street where we grew up, only has 5 houses on it, so it would be silly to answer “Aster Street” when someone asks “What part of Ottawa are you from?” wouldn’t it?
“Do you remember a small Mennonite Church on Kilborn?” Al asked.
For the second time that day, I felt the hair on the back of my neck standing up.
“Yes, its still there. Its a block away from Aster Street where we grew up. “ I said. For the sake of this blog entry and for the sake of accuracy, I looked it up on Google Maps. The distance from my parents house to the Mennonite church is 400 meters, or a 4 minute walk.
“I used to run a coffee house there in 1970” Al said.
“I was 15, in 1970.” my brother Paul said quite excitedly. “I went to that coffee house when I was 15 even though you were supposed to be 16 to get in.”
Paul was amazed! Maybe even shocked. Here, in Fergus, 457 kilometers from where we grew up (or a 93 hour walk according to Google Maps) he had met someone he had probably met once before about 42 years before.
We started talking about our shared experiences of that time and place. One vivid memory we all shared from 1970 was the October Crisis, when unrest in the province of Quebec had prompted the Government of Canada to declare the war measures act. A Federal Cabinet minister lived in a house half way between my parents place and the coffee house (about 200 meters or a 2 minute walk). We all remembered the armed soldiers in full combat gear guarding the minister’s house.
I am going to interject again at this point. It wasn’t until later that day, my brother Mark reminded me that our Grandfather, Hugh Templin, the man who wrote the book that had brought us all together, died in October 1970.
The coincidences didn’t stop at this point. Al went up to the bar to pay for his drink. Honestly, we had intended to pay for it ourselves, but Al beat us to it. We saw Al at the bar and I heard the word “Kilborn”. The man Al had been talking to, turned and walked towards our booth. He was wearing an Ottawa Senators jersey and a big smile.
He said “I hear you are from Ottawa!” he said. He introduced himself as Tony Calcutt. To make sure we knew he was authentically from Ottawa he added “My father was Ernie Calcutt.”
“Of course we know Ernie Calcutt, he was the voice of the Ottawa Rough Riders on CFRA!” Mark exclaimed.
No longer surprised at what was happening, I asked Tony, “Did you work at the Ottawa Exhibition one summer?”
Tony looked at me a little surprised, “Yes, …” He didn’t recognize me. It had been a long time ago, 1976 I think, not 1970, that would have been just too much.
“We were on the same work crew.” I said.
My brothers just looked at me.
I was no longer surprised. As far as I was concerned, this was Fergus. I was sitting in the same building where my grandfather Hugh Templin wrote his stories. That morning I had met Elizabeth Black from Regina, on the same day I was to do a reading about another Elizabeth Black who had gotten lost just outside Fergus about 175 years ago. I had just found out that one of the performers who had graciously participated in our reading, had an interesting and memorable connection to our family where I grew up. Of course I had met Tony before. It just made sense.
I leave it up to you whether it was predisposed sharpened senses or magic that I experienced in Fergus on November 10th. I know what I think.
I want to thank all the people we met and talked to in Fergus on that day for keeping the magic alive. Until we meet again….
David Templin
The Precious Seed 