History lesson found in home office

Article content

You can tell a lot about a man (in my case) by his desk.

We apologize, but this video has failed to load.

Try refreshing your browser, or
tap here to see other videos from our team.

History lesson found in home office Back to video

My office is small so every nook and cranny contains something of utmost significance, at least to me.

Beginning a clockwise tour of my 1920s library desk, retrieved from my great-grandparents’ home, we have my ancient printer topped by a brown Second World War beret bearing my father’s artillery cap badge.

Inside is an American Jeep cap made famous by Radar O’Reilly in MASH. My father wears it in most of the photographs I have of him overseas. It was given to him by an American paratrooper after some gunners rescued him from a beating by English troops.

Under the window is a framed watercolour of Canada House, the most famous landmark on Juno beach. Under it is clear cigar tube filled with sand from the landing ground.

Next there are some stones taken from the Esplanade in front of what used to be Dieppe’s casino where close to a thousand Canadians died before noon. With them is a small cameo of a young, French lass. I liberated the cameo from a wall in my lodgings above a bar.

One of my favourite trinkets is a replica of the famous ‘Cricket’, a clicker used by the 10st AB Division as a recognition signal in the early morning hours of D-Day. One snap to be answered by two clicks or you were dead.

A Toby mug bust of Field Marshal Bernard Law Montgomery holds pen and pencils while he glares down on a beautiful small brass box adorned by a recumbent British lion that glares down on a Wehrmacht tunic button.  Together they make for an interesting tableau. A pair of field glasses rounds out the display.

Atop these is Hemingway’s dictum on writing utilizing a 30.06 training round as a bookmark along with a miniature matador and a cocktail swizzle stick from the Royal York.

Below Papa there is an American mess tin dated 1918 that holds my fountain pen collection.

Along one wall is an assortment of cadet memorabilia garnered over 30 years of service with Simcoe’s 2856 RCACC.

A shelf under this holds a typewriter with Spanish keys, bartered from a Mexican border guard in exchange for a portable record player. I often wonder what his watch commander thought when he saw him playing Mariachi music instead of filing paperwork.

Most of the rest is, of course, books including my near-complete collection of, you guessed it, Hemingway.

The office is in even more disarray than normal as I shift between those I want to keep and those I must, most reluctantly, part with. The bulk of my lifetime’s assemblage resides in storage as I wade through the process. 

Then there are trinkets, of course. Oh yes we have our trinkets. A likeness of General Brock points his finger and says he wants you. A cup from Simcoe’s 69 Battery says Gunners Add Class to what would otherwise be a vulgar brawl.

My grandfather’s pearl handled jackknife sits in a brass ashtray that I’ve been told he swiped from Queen Mary’s bedroom in Buckingham Palace. The ashtray also holds two pieces of steel they took out of his left lung.

I come from a long line of packrats and that has shaped my nature.

Peggy says my first thought must be around here someplace.

gordchristmas@outlook.com.