Friday, October 30, 2020

Deacon on Remembrance Day

 

Remembrance Day has rolled around once again and, as I have done in previous years, I’m posting my Battle of Britain story. However, this time Deacon has a new image since he is the lead in an anthology I published this year (Kindle only). I’m also including one of the rhymes that appears in the anthology, “Native Sons in WWI” which was prompted by a story Francis Beaton Jr. told of his experience.

Enjoy.

 


 

Deacon

Copyright © 2019 David M. McGowan

All rights reserved.

 

No part of this story may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage retrieval system, without the permission, in writing, of the author.

 

The following story is a work of fiction. Any similarity between this storiy and any historical recording of events is accidental and highly unlikely. Any similarity between the characters depicted and any actual people, either living or dead, is accidental, highly unlikely and very flattering.

 

1940

             About half of this story is as it was related to me by the main character. On several occasions he gave me permission to use the story but I still changed his name. The nickname, ‘Deacon’ I retained for obvious reasons.

He passed on several years ago but ‘Deac’ was a very good friend with whom I loaded and unloaded many cartridges of a variety of calibers. I also had the pleasure of hearing his guitar behind my vocals on several occasions and playing both bass and rhythm guitar behind his excellent vocals.

            I’ve changed a few things but those who knew him will recognize the story and the man it portrays.

            The Battle of Britain having been decided in October, 1940 ‘Deac’ returned to Canada in ’42 and taught fighter pilots for the last few years of WWII. Following the war he did not stay in the air and came to regret it. In the early seventies he saw an article about the “Great Lakes” biplane being re-licensed and made available to the public once again. He managed to qualify for a private pilot’s license and to solo in a “Great Lakes” before his death.

            The fighter aircraft from Britain were most often the Hawker Hurricane and the Supermarine Spitfire. The adversary they most often encountered was the Messerschmitt Bf 109 usually referred to by Allied pilots as an Me 109.

 

 

Deacon

By D.M. McGowan

 

 

Before men started shooting at him with 7.92 mm bullets from their Bf 109s Harry Burnside had been a singer. He stood in front of fifteen, twenty and sometimes thirty-man orchestras and sang the Dorsey, Kenton, or Ellington songs or whatever else the crowd in front and the band behind wanted to hear. He had worked his magic in Detroit, Chicago, Pittsburgh, Cincinnati and his home town, Windsor, Ontario. Harry thought it was only right to use his natural talent, his voice, to make at least part of his living. It had also been a great way to start a young life and learn the music and entertainment business from professionals. It was only incidental that it was the perfect place for a teenager to learn from the masters how to party.

Sometimes horrendous events are necessary to save a young man from himself. In Harry’s case it was the war in Europe that brought a young man’s party life to a close, at least temporarily. Of course it also accelerated the danger in that life.

Not that Harry rushed to a recruiting station in the autumn of 1939. Some of his young friends and even the older men he worked with certainly did. It was one of the older musicians who convinced him signing up for service was the thing to do.

“Folks ‘r sayin’ this here war is gonna be over in no time,” Marvin, a trumpet player said. “They is sorely mistaken. I bin readin’ up on these here Germans an’ they got ‘em an army. British ain’t got nothin’ an’ they’s gonna get whacked.”

“Are you suggesting we Canadian boys should go over there and get whacked, as you say, right along with them?” Harry asked.

“First off, I ain’t a Canuk, I’m a southern boy,” Marvin said. “Second, when things get tough they’ll be comin’ for us anyway. Might as well sign up for somethin’ you want t’ do instead o’ somethin’ the government thinks you’d be good at.”

“You’re country isn’t in it,” Harry pointed out.

“Not yet,” Marvin responded. “Now, you’ve been workin’ here an’ there along with singin’. I don’t got no income but my trumpet. A man signs up he’ll get three squares a day an’ a cot.”

Harry took a drink of his whiskey and water and cast his gaze around the musicians gathered in the late night or, to those who were not musicians, early morning booze hall.

“You know, Marv, I’ve always wanted to learn to fly a plane,” Harry said.

Marvin clapped him on the shoulder. “Now you’re talkin’, boy. Royal Canadian Air Force. What say we go sign up first thing in the mornin’?”

Harry looked at his watch. “Might I suggest early this afternoon? I might be awake by then.”

 

Somewhere between Windsor, Ontario and Ashford, Kent, Harry lost touch with Marvin, but not with other men from the southern United States. Almost half the men stationed on the airfield were Americans who had traveled north to Canada and signed on with the RCAF.

Though they wore Canadian uniforms and insignia they were technically in Royal Air Force squadrons. The squadron commander was a British major, and Harry’s wing commander a Canadian Lieutenant or “Leftenant” as the British officers insisted. The other two Canadian pilots presently assigned to their understaffed wing were actually from Arkansas. In the two man barracks enjoyed by RAF pilots one of those southerners, Otis Tyler was Harry’s bunk mate.

“Ah hear we all getting’ new radios next month,” Otis said as the two pilots walked down the hall one early morning in late August.

Harry shrugged with one shoulder as he held the door open with the other hand and let Otis out into the humid dawn. “Be fine if they’re better than the T9. But if they aren’t, well, I’m starting to get used to being up there all by myself.”

“Mighty handy fur tellin’ somebody where you’s ‘bout t’ crash,” Otis noted.

“As long as they work and you’re no more than a mile away” Harry countered. “The T9 is good for about that far. You’re probably better off depending on a farmer seeing you go down.”

Otis chuckled.

As they approached the mess hall their wing leader, Lieutenant Mapes reached the door and opened it for them.

“Good news chaps,” the officer said as the two non-coms passed through the door he held open for them. “Just spoke with the CO. We stand down today.”

“Excellent!” Harry said. “Now I can have some real breakfast and more than one cup of coffee.”

“Yuh all worry too much ‘bout that coffee thing,” Otis said.

“Quite good policy,” the Lieutenant said.

“Nothin’ to it,” Otis responded. “Yuh all just take an empty cola bottle up with yuh.”

“I say, old boy, a bit hard to pee in a bottle when one is trying to avoid the 109 that is glued to your tail. Not to mention that bottle flying around loose in the cockpit.”

“Yuh all make sure yuh strap it in so it don’ fly ‘round,” Otis said. “As fur takin’ a leak when Gerry’s on muh tail an fillin’ my magic carpet full o’ holes, why ‘bout then I don’ have no trouble passin’ water.”

Lieutenant Mapes laughed. Harry grinned and shook his head in resignation.

“Since we aren’t going up to be shot at, perhaps we could talk about something else?” Harry suggested.

“Our Calm Colonial boy is right once again,” Mapes said. “We have a day to repair gear.”

“And talk about new radios,” Harry suggested.

“There isn’t anything to talk about,” Mapes said. “I’ve heard the same rumors as you men. However, I haven’t heard anything from the Old Man and I haven’t seen any radios. Other than the 9 in my Spit that quit working entirely the last time I was up.”

 

Later that day, Otis asked Harry to join him and some other airmen to study and review the local ladies and pubs. However, Harry had grown out of the need to wake up with a pounding hangover. He had already had years of partying. Besides, bringing in bullet scarred Spitfires had made the drinking bouts seem very unimportant. His mates, often a year younger or more, still asked him even though he seldom went with them.

An hour after the other pilots had gone into town Harry walked off the base and caught a ride into Ashford. He walked the streets for awhile admiring the buildings and the history.

Occasionally a Junkers 88 would fly across the English Channel very close to the water, start a steep climb to miss the Cliffs of Dover and release a bomb mounted to its belly at the end of that climb. The speed of the bomber combined with the force of the climb would cast that bomb for a very long way and it would land wherever the laws of physics, geology, and aerodynamics might decide and no man could say. On that beautiful day in late August, 1940 a building Harry had admired moments before and at that moment was no more than a block and a half away, disappeared in a cloud of dust, smoke and noise.

Harry Burnside had been flying over Britain for three months. He had been as far as France on a half dozen occasions. He had no idea how many dog fights he had been in but had shot down three Me 109s and crash landed twice. He had landed successfully in Spitfires that probably should have quit flying several minutes before. He had been scared out of his mind on those occasions but had worked his way through it.

That day, on the streets of Ashford, after the completely random bombing of a very historic building, Harry Burnside could not control the choking fear.

Looking around he saw the sign for a pub, the Anvil and Hammer. He stepped through the door and saw ale glasses stacked on the bar. He turned the pint glass over and said to the barman, “Whiskey.”

The barman could see by the look on Harry’s face that discussion might be dangerous. He poured a shot into the ale glass.

“Fill it,” Harry ordered.

The inn keeper complied.

Harry downed the whiskey and noticed only in passing that it was smooth, a single malt.

            He put the glass back down on the bar and said, “Again.”

            Once it was full, he downed the second glass.

            He remembered opening the door to his barrack, but very little after that.

            Much later Otis Tyler returned to find his bunk mate, the man who usually refused to go drinking with his mates, passed out on the floor.

            “Burnside,” he said, as he picked Harry up and placed him on the bunk, “yuh all just like them travelin’ preachers back t’ home; preachin’ hell fire an’ brimstone then next thing yuh got some farmer’s daughter out behind the tent.”

            And that is how Sergeant Pilot Harold Burnside became known as “Deacon.”

 

 

Native Sons in World War One

By D.M. McGowan and K.L. McGowan

© 2019

 

Seventeen native boys left the Upper Peace

The only land they’d known, all in their teens.

They’d all grown up wild out among the trees.

Knew where to find pelts, beaver ponds or streams.

They hunted for their supper, trap or single shot

And only their mothers gave safety a fleeting thought

 

After two hundred years of Scott and Fleur de Lis

They knew some other talk, sometimes two or three,

English, French and German were spoken in the land,

And whatever tongue was spoken by their particular band

Some of them could read and write more than just their name

But the army didn’t care, green privates all the same

 

An amazing great adventure for young trapper men

From freedom of the wild to a Canadian Army pen

Across the land in trains, something never seen.

Mistreated by a Sergeant, but still bright and keen.

Dropped off in camps and marched around a square

“Dig some dirt from here and put it over there.”

 

On the trains again east to Canada’s Maritimes

March down to the docks in perfect double lines

Then up a gangplank to a big steel canoe

Then told to put their kit where you couldn’t fit a shoe

A dozen ships in convoy from the Bedford shore

But count on German U boats sinking two or more.

 

More camp time in England, weeks without the sun

Then finally sent to France to show them how it’s done

Trenches that collapse from rains that never end

Bodies on the wire or sprawled out in no man’s land.

All caked in mud, “Are they ours? Are they theirs?”

Days and weeks of boredom, then terror and despair.

 

Vimy Ridge, the Somme or maybe Regina Trench

Maybe English on the left other times the French

High Wood or Kitchener’s, Avion as well

With the Aussies at Gallipoli, some lived to tell

Passchendaele, Arras, knowing each the end

If not for the war, surely for the men

 

Métis, Cree and Dane a total of Seventeen

On a great adventure, young, naive and keen

But the Great War wasn’t a great place to learn

For seventeen go but only two returned.

 

For more short stories and novels visit

https://www.amazon.com/D.-M.-McGowan/e/B004V9WZVI

From that site you can enter any delivery address (including email for digital version) and any deliver date you desire (such as December 23rd)

 

 

 

Friday, October 9, 2020

The settlement of Tomslake

 

Some of what follows is explained at the end of my short fiction, “Into the Mountains”. However, this might also be helpful and the picture should supply some idea of the scope of the area.

The settlement and development of all regions of North America has created some interesting stories. Each area and each story is different and creates interest for different reasons in different people. The settling and opening of the Tomslake area, south-east of Dawson Creek, BC, at least as we understand it today took place in the late 1930s and into the ‘40s. However, I know, from having spoken with a few early trappers and prospectors that there was some development as early as the late 1890s, small though it might have been

The “historic” settlement (recorded) is explained somewhat at the end of “Into the Mountains”. Those who were expelled from the Sudeten Land after the Munich Agreement of 1938, many of whom were afraid for their lives when the Nazis moved into their country, had to find a new home.  Many of those who came to Canada became homesteaders in the Tomslake / Swan Lake area of British Columbia’s Peace River Country.

When they alighted from the trains (tracks arrived in Dawson Creek in 1932) they were shown the quarter sections (160 acres) that would now be their home. In some cases this was a great surprise since they had been retailers or tradesmen in their former home and knew little (in some cases nothing) about the business of farming. For those who knew agriculture (in Europe of the day on much less than 160 acres) the land they were now looking at was covered with aspen, pine, spruce and willow.

Above is a pic (taken September 21, 2020) of how the country looks today. It was taken on a high point (200 ft.??) looking North East. On the left is a field (narrow yellow strip) with a row of trees along the north and east sides approximately 2 miles from the camera. Behind that row of trees sit the Tomslake store and school. In the distance, slightly right of center is a ridge which is about 15 km (9 miles?) east and well into Alberta.


Saturday, July 11, 2020

The Re-Release of Into the Mountans


It has been available before, but now a few things have been added. Such as a new cover.


Into the Mountains Background

        In 1885 after years of unfulfilled promises from Canada’s Federal Government the Métis of the North Battleford and Frog Lake areas of the North West Territories (in today’s province of Saskatchewan) rebelled over their treatment. It was known as the Northwest Rebellion or the Second Riel Rebellion since it was led by Louis Riel who had led a rebellion in 1870 in the Fort Gary/Red River area (today’s Winnipeg).
       Riel was indeed the leader but the military leader or Métis General was Gabriel Dumont and he was joined by some Assiniboine and Cree people. Despite being ill equipped in relation to the Canadian Militia and North West Mounted Police and vastly outnumbered, the rebellion lasted for several months and resulted in the deaths of 91 people. Had Dumont been allowed to operate without political interference it probably would have lasted much longer resulting in more death.
A portrait of Gabriel Dumont
      When it was all over several of the leaders escaped (Dumont into the US) and some, including Riel were tried, convicted and executed. At least one and perhaps more of those where not involved in the rebellion and tried to keep their people (Cree and Assiniboine) out of the fracas and either died in Stoney Mountain Penitentiary or shortly after release.
(There is a “Heritage Minute” for Louis Riel at https://www.youtube.com/watch?time_continue=61&v=FVVFjfyvgMg )

The militia commandeered livestock (mounts and food) through-out the west to conduct the campaign which did not endear them to the general populace. They also demonstrated remarkable ineptitude in both planning and military tactics. They then called in re-enforcements from the North West Mounted Police, who didn’t have men to spare nor where they allowed time to fully understand their situation and lack of support. In the end the NWMP, farmers, ranches, Métis, Cree and Blackfoot were mistrustful of the Federal Government and their militia.
A .45 caliber Gatling Gun. They were also manufactured in .50 cal.

An interesting side-note is the US Army assistance. Two Gatling guns a Lieutenant and a few troopers (three perhaps) where sent to assist the Canadian militia. Not so much because anyone in Washington cared about Canada’s troubles but because they wanted to see how some new ordinance introduced at the end of the US Civil War would work under combat conditions. As was usually the case with early use of the Gatling they jammed. If the operator cranked too fast the loading mechanism would pile up and require clearing.
As with many wars, no one won.
Louis Riel's children. Jean-Louis and Angelique


        True, the Métis where forced into a corner by the government and the treatment by those surrounding their communities but their actions where definitely rebellious and therefor constituted treason. On the other side the Métis had tried several peaceful methods to elicit attention and change but had been ignored. Therefor the government was guilty of incompetence and negligence but, as is and always has been the case, no one was charged publically for that ineptitude. The leaders of the losing side became public figures due to imprisonment and execution while the leaders of the winning side (who caused it all in the first place) where shuffled off to some innocuous position where their names would quietly disappear from history.
      The population of Métis suddenly decrease dramatically. They suddenly “disappeared.” Admittedly, some like Dumont went south of the 49th parallel into the US. What happened to the rest?
     Almost a century later Métis suddenly appeared as individuals and communities throughout the West. Perhaps “Into the Mountains”, fiction though it is, supplies some explanation.
      You can find out more by clicking on the cover to the right or go to

Monday, June 15, 2020

I used to be a normal person


"Obviously you weren't at the meeting this morning."


I didn’t write this, but it expresses the confusion I now experience due to the misinformation being loudly distributed across the world and accepted by many without the benefit of any proof.

This pretty well covers the gamut of changes that have taken place in the last decade. Political correctness out of control and is what the socialist has done to our world and it is pushed by the left wing news media which has this very agenda.

 I Used To Be a Normal Person

As a man, I used to think I was pretty much just a regular person, but I was born white, into a two-parent household which now, whether I like it or not, makes me "Privileged", a racist & responsible for slavery.

I am a fiscal & moral conservative, which by today's standards, makes me a fascist because I plan, budget & support myself.

I went to High School, paid my way thru college, earned a degree, & have always held a job. But I now find out that I am not here because I earned it, but because I was "advantaged”.

I am heterosexual, which according to "gay" folks, now makes me a homophobe.

I am not a Muslim, which now labels me as an infidel.

I am older than 60, making me a useless person who doesn't understand Facebook, Instagram or Twitter.

I think & I reason, and I doubt much of what the "main stream" media tells me, which makes me a "Right-wing conspiracy nut”.

I am proud of my heritage & our inclusive Canadian culture, making me a xenophobe.

I believe in hard work, fair play, & fair compensation according to each individual's merits, which today makes me an anti-socialist.

I believe our system guarantees freedom of effort - not freedom of outcome or subsidies which must make me a borderline sociopath.

I believe in the defense & protection of Canada for & by all citizens, now making me a militant.

I am proud of our flag, what it stands for and the many who died to let it fly, so I stand & salute during our National Anthem - so I must be a racist.

Please help me come to terms with the new me because I'm just not sure who I am anymore!

If all this nonsense wasn't enough to deal with, now I don't even know which restroom to use… and I gotta go more FREQUENTLY!

Author Unknown
  


Wednesday, June 3, 2020

A Real Man and Knowing What Matters





A Real Man
By D.M. McGowan
2018

He’s a man tells the truth unless it hurts a friend
And at those times he might give it a little bend
But if it hurts only him he’ll say just what he saw
No matter what the outcome or how the chips might fall

He supports moral action and treating others fair
If someone really needs it he’ll be the one to share
But if they only complain, always wanting more
You may find he didn’t hear it and walked out the door.

He knows there are those around don’t understand his code
They seem to think they’re owed all the things they stole
If he suspects eyes are watching he’ll nod and walk away
But lonely road or dark of night, someday someone will pay.

When he’s helping others he’d rather no one know
The help he gives his fellow man isn’t done for show
If everyone works together and the highs help the lows
Then each and every one of us will prosper and grow.


Knowing What Matters

© D.M. McGowan  2018

He rode an old McClellan that had seen better days
But he sat up there like a king who controlled all he surveyed
His mount a buckskin mare as pretty as you’ve seen
With legs meant for working and eyes bright and clean
Behind him trailed a mule, a fine example of the breed
A pack piled high with goods but no halter or a lead

I asked him where he’s headed and where he might have been
The reason for his travel and what he might have seen
“I’ve seen the greatest country that God ever made
Sometimes mountain vistas, sometimes a grassy plain.
I’ve seen family members who make me feel ashamed
And many fellow workers who lie their way to fame

I’ve seen herds of caribou clicking cross the plain
Massive Mountain Grizzlies, great horses wild and tame.
I’ve seen massive progress ended by greedy fools
Or by those who need control and impose silly rules
And others stopping growth by thinking with their heart
When simple logic tells ‘em the horse is behind the cart.

We all get our little chance but others need a turn
The younger need some room to grow to build to learn
When I’ve done my time, my life here is thru
I don’t want my final vision to be only gloom and fools.
I’ll be free of all that as will the mule and mare
We’ve trod the greatest land, together scenery shared

It all makes my former life shallow and pale
And now where I travel nothing is ever stale
I’ve had my days of wealth measured in dollars and cents
With days, weeks and years surrounded by wall and fence
But now I have much more, a far greater treasure
Surrounded by natures wonders, beauty that can’t be measured


Any measure of success may not be right for all
The test that has some rise up will make others fall
I hope the path I travel and the message that I preach
Will be heard and understood by people that I meet
No one has the right to say that my view is wrong
Nor do I have the right to condemn another’s song

But enjoy the journey and help your fellow man
Have a laugh and learn, and make a proper stand
For something you believe, give it a proper fight
And if you should lose and you know you might
Within your heart you’ll know you did your very best
And did what you thought right when put to the test.





Saturday, May 16, 2020

Assault Weapons? No they are not!

What is already illegal / legal in Canada

This is a "C7" manufactured to specifications from
the Canadian Armed Forces. It can be called an "Assault Rifle"
but is illegal for private ownership
This is an AR-15 with a laser site. With the caliber offered (.223)
it is a good "varmint" rifle (that is prairie dogs, coyote, etc.)
However, this particular rifle was manufactured for US sales.
The clip or magazine is too large for Canadian sale.
Only five rounds are permitted in Canada.

This needs to be seen across Canada ... my homeland that's being destroyed by a crew and their figurehead who are not running/managing it but quietly destroying it.
This is from someone with far more experience than I.

AR - 15 stands for Armalite Rifle Model 15 (NOT Assault RIfle)
Sharing from someone else so more people are informed....please people, you need to fight this!!! Feel free to copy and paste this on your wall like I did.
Let me lay this out for you and anyone else who also likely isn’t as informed as they would like to be.
Firstly, let me say this. I’ve been a firearms instructor for 14 years, a police officer and supervisor for 8. A correctional officer for 6 and an RCMP firearms verification expert since 2012. Part of being a firearms verification expert means it’s my job to be able to testify to court what classification different firearms are, and their points of origin and import.
With that being said I will start with this. Nothing on that list, or in a Canada is an “assault weapon” or a “military grade firearm”. All military firearms have been outright banned in Canada since 1979. Automatic firearms are prohibited in Canada. The rifles on that list are hunting and sporting rifles.
Trudeau is blatantly lying and misleading Canadians by using their lack of knowledge on the subject. Firstly, he bypassed our democratic process with is outrageous and every Canadian should be appalled. Secondly he is dancing on the graves of all those victims in NS. The shooter used a rifle obtained in the US and a pistol stolen from a Cnst. killed in cold blood. The victims and their families deserve better. Nothing he did was legal, he wasn’t even a firearms license holder and had previously been banned from owning firearms after a common assault (disclaimer - those conditions had expired).
Canadians are ridiculously strict with gun laws. Nothing in this act will help public safety in the slightest. All centre fire rifles in Canada are limited to 5 rounds. They cannot be converted to be automatic.
This will cost Canadians a half billion dollars and have zero effect on public safety. It will hurt public safety as it distracts money and attention from real issues.
The borders are weak as hell. I would say I handled more American firearms then Canadian ones. Personally I have seized more firearms then most people have ever seen in real life. The border is the biggest problem.
Secondly, the liberals banned carding and severely limited police powers to be proactive against gangs. The result was a 48% increase in shootings and a 98% increase in the number of people shot in the GTA.
Thirdly, the liberal government passed bill C75 which lowered sentences on violent crime and terrorism. It reduced bail considerations. Increased bail and promoted early release of offenders.
The liberals have hurt community safety far worse then we can likely repair.
Chris Lewis OPP commissioner (Ret) does not support this.
The association of chiefs of police do not support this.
Every police officer is screaming at this waste of money that will not help anything.
My AR 15 holds 5 .223 rounds. My deer rifle holds 5 30-06 rounds. It’s the most commonly used deer rifle in North America. Use common sense and tell me what’s more dangerous.
I think it’s also important that people understand how licensing works.
When you first decide you want your Possession and acquisition license (PAL) you find a licensed firearm instructor and tester. You will learn about different types of firearms, ammunition, safe handling, storage and transportation. The hunter safety course required for hunting is another course and exam on top of this. For the firearms portion only you will spend about $400 and two 8 hr training days. Followed by a lengthy exam requiring a 80% pass mark.
You then submit your application with proof of your testing. A picture, and roughly the same information you submit on your passport. Two guarantors etc. But, if you have a former spouse or partner...hope you’re in good standing. You will need their consent and the Chief Firearms Office (CFO) will contact them. You will wait about 6-12 months while they do background checks and local police records checks as well as calling the two character references you provided.
Then eventually your card will come in the mail at a cost of $80. Now, you legally can purchase ammunition and a firearm. But, only Non-Restricted firearms such as shotguns and hunting rifles. They must be stored separate from ammunition, out of site and locked. Either with a disabling lock, or in a locked container that is hard to break into. They can only be loaded in a place where they can be legally discharged. Ie the woods far away from people and houses.
Now, if you want a pistol or sporting rifle you need a restricted possession and acquisition license (RPAL). Back to the classroom, another 8hrs and $400. Another exam another $80 and an application the same as the first. You will wait 6-12 months again. Now, you have your license? Great! You can’t purchase a restricted firearms yet though.
Before you can do that you’ll need to be a member of a licensed range. Licensed ranges are over seen by the CFO to make sure they meet very stringent safety measures. So here in kingston we have one club, with a 2-3 year waiting list. So you apply and wait. Eventually luckily you get a spot. You pay your $300 annual fee, but you’re not shooting yet. First, another 8 hour safety course and then 4 probationary visits with a range officer.
Finally, you’re a member. Now you can purchase a pistol or sporting rifle. So you go to the store and chose one. You pay, now you wait. If you’re lucky 2-3 weeks maybe, sometimes 6-10 while the CFO approves it.
Oh, did I mention all firearms owners are checked on The Canadian Police Information Centre (CPIC) daily?.
So finally the day comes. You pick up your pistol or rifle. You’re ready to go! Nope, sorry. You’ll need two locks. A disabling lock and a hard container that locks. Restricted firearms are always locked twice. So we’re on our way right? No, not yet. Now you will need to contact the CFO wait on hold for 35-45 mins and request an Authorization to Transport (ATT). This is a piece of paper they will email you with your current address and your home address permitting you to transport your new firearm. You’re not allowed to stray. That would result in a ten year sentence and lifetime ban.
Once your home your pistol or rifle is stored separate from ammo and locked twice. It may only be transported to and from your licensed range with your ATT. It may only be discharged at your range.
At anytime the police on behalf of CFO or CFO may conduct a warrantless search of your home if there is a concern for safety or to verify proper compliance if you’re a collector.
At any time any person can phone the CFO or local police with a safety concern about you and you will lose your firearms. It is now up to you, to pay to defend yourself.
That is the gist of the firearms licensing requirements in Canada.

Believe me, gun owners are afraid of sneezing as we can lose them so easily after going through so many hurdles to have them.

Friday, April 24, 2020

An Obituary

An Obituary printed in the London Times.......Brilliant!!


Today we mourn the passing of a beloved old friend, Common Sense, who has been with us for many years.
No one knows for sure how old he was, since his birth records were long ago lost in bureaucratic red tape. He will be remembered as having cultivated such valuable lessons as:

- Knowing when to come in out of the rain;
- Why the early bird gets the worm;
- Life isn't always fair;
- And maybe it was my fault.

Common Sense lived by simple, sound financial policies (don't spend more than you can earn) and reliable strategies (adults, not children, are in charge).

His health began to deteriorate rapidly when well-intentioned but overbearing regulations were set in place. Reports of a 6-year-old boy charged with sexual harassment for kissing a classmate; teens suspended from school for using mouthwash after lunch; and a teacher fired for reprimanding an unruly student, only worsened his condition.

Common Sense lost ground when parents attacked teachers for doing the job that they themselves had failed to do in disciplining their unruly children.

It declined even further when schools were required to get parental consent to administer sun lotion or an aspirin to a student; but could not inform parents when a student became pregnant and wanted to have an abortion.

Common Sense lost the will to live as the churches became businesses; and criminals received better treatment than their victims.

Common Sense took a beating when you couldn't defend yourself from a burglar in your own home and the burglar could sue you for assault.

Common Sense finally gave up the will to live, after a woman failed to realize that a steaming cup of coffee was hot . She spilled a little in her lap, and was promptly awarded a huge settlement.

Common Sense was preceded in death,
-by his parents, Truth and Trust,
-by his wife, Discretion,
-by his daughter, Responsibility,
-and by his son, Reason.

He is survived by his 5 stepchildren;
- I Know My Rights
- I Want It Now
- Someone Else Is To Blame
- I'm A Victim
- Pay me for Doing Nothing

Not many attended his funeral because so few realized he was gone. If you still remember him, pass this on. If not, join the majority and do nothing.

And an absence of common sense in some of the actions taken by individuals during our present world-wide pandemic.
Stay safe everyone. Stay home and read some of my books ... available by clicking on one of the book covers to the right or by visiting my Amazon Author page at 
Half way down the page there are also some "author updates" which include a few videos if you click on the arrow and scroll right.