The Glorious Royal Canadian Legion (a spoof)

It is surely time we veterans gave the embattled legion a break and let them do the job they are so diligently attempting to do. It was must be extremely difficult to concentrate on the important issues while receiving an never ending parade of us whining complaining veterans at their doors. It is amazing how they have coped thus far, clearly these are heroic and dedicated associate members. We veterans must appreciate how these committed members turn out for ceremonies and parades. I might add in all weathers! They March smartly across the parking lots resplendant in their pressed pants, neat legion blazers,military trimmed hair and berets just at the right angle?
Their proud chests sport a collection of glittering and hard earned legion medals. They look every bit the unsung hero’s of the legion. People clap and cheer, they wave flags and proudly wear poppies. These dedicated individuals work tirelessly advancing the legions goals. Have any one of us ungrateful veterans ever considered the amount of work they do. Do we realize the great effort put into raising money to keep the legion alive. Has anyone of us bought one of the many beautiful and attractive Poppy embossed gifts? The lovely bird feeder designed on the sacred poppy or the many other Poppy embossed lovely gifts all available at such reasonable prices. Have we taken the time to taste the delicious legion lager. What about the Canada 150 legion medal, anyone can buy and wear this impressive item for a mere $25. The list is almost endless, and all we veterans can do is moan and complain.  —————. ———————————————————————————————————————
However, if you believe what I just wrote you must indeed be one of the above mentioned associate members! To be fair I apologize to the few associates that are members for the right reasons,difficult not to lump you all into the same pot!. If I have come across disrespectfully, good it was my intention to do so. What is good for the goose etc.the legion shows me no respect God Bless and keep reading

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Contradiction in terms!!

Not sure how to begin this blog, I have just received the most of obnoxious and rude phone call from the PEI  Provincial Command (Meaghan RocKman) representative regarding support for my situation. Actually I should be saying absolutely not supporting . This was a real eye opener of the legion in action caring for veterans . I’m very ill and half way through her phone call I had to hang up. I could not get a word in ,she was insistent she was right and I wasn’t listening. I recently received approx $10.000 from the Royal Navy Benevolent Trust and the Royal British Legion in the UK.  Ms Rockman claimed I only received this because of her? Silly me ,There I was thinking it might have had something to do with the fact I served eleven years in the RN Submarine Service. The actual phone call was about as nasty, rude and loud as I have ever experienced. After I hung up she rang again and my wife answered. Unfortunately she had no better luck than me the shouting continued and her insistence Linda be quiet and let her talk went on. In the end Linda too gave up and hung up. So to sum up! Before the award came from the UK, Dominion Command and Provincial Command stated they would both add $1000 ea. After the award arrived they said they wouldn’t be financially supporting me after all. My daughters had begun a gofindme campaign and apparently a legion member in NFLD got hold of a copy of the funding page and sent it to Dominion, hence the reason they will not support me. I have no idea why someone would just out of the blue decide to inform Dominion of the gofundme. They really must think I’m out to defraud their Poppy Fund. The fact is no one at the Legion have any real info on my situation, no one has visited, no one has call, not even a get well card from the local branch. Guess I never realized I had made myself so unpopular with my objections to how Legion business is conducted. I should have sat back said nothing and just been a good little legion boy. However, I have been very ill for the last fourteen months with a serious life threatening disease, I have needed numerous medications, insulin injections five times daily. I have travelled over 5000kms attending hospital,doctors,scans ,tests etc. The chemo treatment was denied by PEI Health and the cost is approx $15000 to 17000. On top of this I have purchased a wheel chair, chair lift for the stairs. Special shower seat and safety rails plus other needed modifications in the house. I do not know what the future holds there are no guarantees . If the chemo works it will put the disease into remission,if it doesnt work? I have no idea what I might require in the future and I’m quite sure PEI Provincial Command have no idea either??. Should I continue to need a wheel chair I will need a wheel chair ramp and perhaps other additions. Nevertheless, whatever the outcome I will not be going to the Royal Canadian Legion with my cap in my hand. I’m thoroughly disgusted with them, they should hang their heads in shame. The Legion Helping Disabled Veterans, indeed a contradiction in terms. My own history as follows , I served eleven years RN and twelve years CF Reserve. Approx 30 years as a legion member, have held several exec positions including Poppy chair. I suffered injury to both hand and my spine in 1964 while serving aboard HM/SM Alcide. and receive a small disability pension from the UK. If I wear a Poppy this Remembrance Day it will be one from the UK.     God Bless and keep reading

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Not much in to Blogging these days!

I’m afraid my head is mostly into my health and my treatments, start my next chemo session this Tuesday 20th February. I certainly do not want to bore my faithful readers with my situation, we all have our own issues to contend with, so sorry but going to use another blog rerun?


A Submariner’s Story (Sinking to Crush depth)
By Frederick Rodgers CD

It was a 0400 hrs on a Thursday morning in early April 1964. The day arrived just like a hundred other mornings aboard a British submarine at sea. Roughly roused from the tranquility of sleep it was my turn to go on watch. My name is Fred Rodgers, but aboard Alcide I go by the nickname Ben. Just about everyone in the navy has a nickname. For example, with the surname Reynolds you’d be known as Debbie. Please don’t ask, I have no idea how I came by the name Ben. I’m a Leading Seaman having served for a little over five years in the Submarine Service. I was born in Belfast, Northern Ireland and joined the Royal Navy in 1955.
Reluctantly climbing out of my warm bunk I slowly lower my feet on to the deck. At sea we never change clothes or undress so I’m ready to go on watch. Before heading for the control room I pay a visit to the head. The boat is running normal and quiet as I take up my duty in the control room. The watch change continues with bleary-eyed submariners dragging themselves to their various duties.
The Royal Navy “A” class submarine was cruising at four knots one hundred feet below the surface of the North Atlantic. Our job was to patrol in a designated zone listening for intruders, the polite name for Russian’s. The cold war was in full swing. I was sitting at the fore plane’s control dreading the four long hours ahead. The stale damp air in the boat was a familiar mixture of body odor and diesel fumes. The harsh white overhead lights hurt my still sleepy eyes.
At approximately 0430hrs the morning kye (hot chocolate) arrived. The officer of the watch gave permission for one all round. One all round was the signal to light up; smoking out of necessity was a restricted privilege aboard a submarine. The watch was relaxed with the boat in the hands of George the autopilot. George was designed to control course, speed and depth. Nevertheless, we were vigilant as George could be notoriously unreliable at times.

While keeping a keen eye on the depth I helped solve the world’s major problems with my fellow watch-keepers. After much debate we selected the best car of the year. We touched on the problems of religion, politics and anything else that came to mind. Around 0730hrs a wonderful aroma of bacon frying in the galley invaded my nostrils. I was hungry and anxious to see my relief. At a few minutes after 0800hrs I headed aft to collect my breakfast. The tiny galley on an “A” class boat is located in the after part of the control room beside the engine room door. Weary from four hours on watch I leaned against the bulkhead watching eggs sizzle on the grill. As the chef piled two eggs and several rashers of bacon on my plate I sensed the deck angle change downward. I smiled as I listened to the officer of the watch berating the plainsman who had just relieved me. “Come on lad wake up and watch your depth”. I knew he couldn’t blame George. It had been shut down at the watch change.

Suddenly it was clear the downward angle was not the fault of the planesman – we appeared to be in a steep dive!
In a matter of seconds we were at 200 feet. The 1st Lieutenant rushed into the control room, immediately taking charge of what was rapidly becoming a serious situation. The order to shut off for going deep sounded throughout the submarine. The captain’s cabin is located above the control room outside the main pressure hull. Our skipper was asleep in the cabin. Going deep meant the lower conning tower hatch along with every other hatch inside the boat was quickly shut. This effectively left the captain isolated and alone outside the main pressure hull. I assisted in shutting the engine room door and all valves passing through the bulkhead. I returned to the control room to report that part of ship sealed.

Events now seemed to evolve in slow motion as the crew went about their duties sealing the boat for the deep dive. Every eye in the control room focused on the rapidly descending depth gauge readings. Passing 400 feet the 1st Lieutenant ordered the one thing we were waiting for, “blow main ballast”. This would surely correct the uncontrolled descent and allow us to regain buoyancy. The sound of air screeching into the ballast tanks was reassuring as we waited for the boat to level off and start rising. I stood breathless and motionless unable to take my eyes off the depth gauge.
I wasn’t alone. It seemed every man in the control room was frozen in time eyes firmly fixed on the same gauge. When the blow was completed an eerie and utter silence returned to the boat.
We were still sinking. Blowing the tanks had not even slowed us down. The sea bottom perhaps two miles below we would never reach in one piece. As we passed through 600 feet the 1st lieutenant threw his shirt over the depth gauge. It effectively broke our trance like concentration.

Now in the silence, we heard the first groans and creaks as the hull compressed under the enormous sea pressure. The feeling of being trapped in a steel tube as it plunges toward its crush depth is terrifying. Powerless to do anything, I stood fearfully awaiting the end. I wondered would people know what happened to us or if we would be thought of as dying bravely. I thought of never seeing a blue sky or green grass again and other strange thoughts. I ask myself the silly question of why I’d volunteered for the submarine service. I remembered the lessons we were taught during training. An “A” boat has a maximum depth of 500 feet. The hull was designed and thought to withstand sea pressure to 1000 feet. That theory wasn’t very reassuring at that moment, and the builders weren’t here to actually attest to its accuracy. Besides which, Alcide was more than twenty years old, the pressure hull would have certainly deteriorated during that time.

I was gripped by a fear never before experienced, while outwardly I tried to maintain an appearance of calm. As we continued our descent a strange feeling of calm did indeed over take me. I relaxed realizing I was no longer in control of events unfolding around me. Through the fog of these thoughts and theories, I became aware my right hand was hurting. I had a death grip on a stanchion but couldn’t let go thinking I might be adding strength to the hull.
Suddenly a voice pierced my silent reverie. “Bubble rising sir” I wasn’t at first sure I’d heard correctly. Maybe I was dreaming and this was naturally what I’d want to hear. However, shifting my weight to allow for a sudden upward sweep of the deck, I knew we were rising! The boat was now racing toward the surface at about the same speed we had dived moments before. Clearly no one wanted to slow our ascent even though sonar could not safely report surface contacts at this speed.

When we broke surface a relieved skipper was the first man on the bridge. Trapped alone in his tiny cabin not knowing what was happening must have been a frightening ordeal. The entire experience had only taken minutes. Yet for those of us in the control room minutes had seemed like hours. The first question everyone asked. “What happened?” “What caused the sudden dive?” I wasn’t so concerned with the cause, just happy to be alive and back on the surface. Still hungry, my thoughts quickly returned to my breakfast.

On reaching the seaman’s mess I found it alive with chatter about the recent event. I think it was mostly bravado hiding fear. Shipmates eagerly related tales of worse experiences (supposedly) on other boats. “On such and such we hit the sea bed at 800 feet!” “Oh yeah! On my last boat we sank stern first and were stuck on the sea bed for hours!” And so the stories went on. Personally it was the most terrifying experience of my life. I truly believe I’d walked through the valley of the shadow of death that morning and only by the grace of God had survived.

But what really happened? What caused the steep dive? How deep did we actually go? These are questions I can’t answer with any certainty. The best theory offered and perhaps the actual cause was an iceberg. Icebergs are generally made up of fresh water and as they move into the Gulf Stream they melt.
That morning it is possible the submarine entered at the top of a huge pocket of fresh water, the remains of an iceberg. With the difference in water density between salt and fresh we immediately became very heavy and dropped like a stone. Only when we exited at the bottom of the berg did we regain our buoyancy.
How deep we went that morning is open to speculation. Perhaps somewhere near 800 feet. Had the berg been a few feet deeper maybe I wouldn’t be telling this story – who knows?
The End
I survived my time in submarines and went on to served a total of twelve years in the Royal Navy and twelve more in the Canadian Navy Reserve. I’m now retired and living with my wife Linda on our fifteen acre hobby farm located in Ebenezer, Prince Edward Island, Canada. I enjoy the hobby of restoring and driving antique cars mostly British models and my present car is a 1961 Rover P4-100. In the year 2000 I began my first book, four years later I published a four hundred page memoir titled “Lily & Me” ISBN 1-55430-019-3. In 2009 I published my second book ‘The Royal Navy & Me’ it is a sequel to the first book. ISBN 1-4392-5452-4. Both books are available at

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A Boyhood Memory.

I usual post this story on St Valentines day, sorry a wee bit on the slow side these days.

A First Kiss Lost
By Frederick Rodgers.

It has often been said young love is the purest form of love. In 1951, Sheila and I at the tender age of thirteen would have agreed with those sentiments. We truly believed our love would last forever. We lived on a beautiful island nestled in the blue waters of the Solent. The English Channel lapped at the golden sandy beaches. The Isle of Wight was our home. We lived in the same row of houses facing the rolling Downs. Those green and lush hills were a high point of the island. They swept down almost to our doorsteps in the picturesque village of Brighstone. A tiny village made up of a few thatched cottages a tea garden, general store, church and primary school. Sheila and I had finished primary and now attended a Secondary Modern school in Freshwater.

Often we sat together on the bus taking us to and from school. Sundays we walked together to Sunday school and church. Occasionally on weekends if we had money we’d visit the local cinema in Newport. Many hours were spent walking hand in hand on the hills above the village. Sometimes stopping to shyly embrace and kiss, safe from the prying eyes of adults.

In summer we spent much of our time on the beaches. We cycled the narrow traffic free country lanes exploring hedgerows for bird nests and such. All was right with our world. We were happy, carefree and in love. I never imagined it was about to come to an abrupt and sudden end

The events that brought me to the island and Sheila began with my birth on the 15th January1939. I was born in Belfast, Northern Ireland the sixth and last member of our family. I had two brothers and three sisters. When I was just eleven months old my mother died. The Second World War was just four months old. I was placed in the care of my eldest sister Lily and her husband Ben. He was serving in the Royal Navy. Over the next few years we traveled across England attempting to be near his homeport.

My early childhood was as normal as could be expected living in a world at war. However, with the end of war we continued to move frequently as Ben looked for a work. That was how in 1949 I arrived on the Isle of Wight. I first met Sheila when I started at the local primary school. We became good friends almost at once. When in school or outside playing life was good and I was happy. Unfortunately the same could not be said about my life at home.

Constantly moving and changing schools was having a detrimental effect on my life. I was becoming obsessed with a desire to return home to my family in Ireland.
The situation between Lily and I was not going well. She was losing control as I openly resisted her authority. I was completely unaware of the change about to take place.
To my utter surprise early one Sunday morning in August my father and brother arrived to take me home. It was a flying visit forcing me to make a quick decision. Should I stay or go? With little time to think I was packed and bundled into the back seat of an old Morris. We said brief good byes amidst hugs and tears then I was on my way. Alone in the back seat of the car I slowly collected my thoughts. I felt my heart break as I came to the realization I hadn’t said goodbye to Sheila. Now it was too late and there was nothing I could do. My heart ached as each mile carried me further away. I had lost Sheila forever.

Nine years would pass before I’d see her again. I returned to Brighstone one Saturday afternoon in 1960. At the time I was stationed in Portsmouth on the submarine HMS Amphion. Outside the dockyard gate and adjacent to HMS Victory is an area known as ‘The Hard’. It is where the main London train-line ends and the Isle of Wight ferry begins. Walking through the gate I stood in bright sunshine gazing across the Solent to the island. A compelling urge moved me forward toward the ferry terminal. Outwardly unconscious of why, I found myself buying a ticket and boarding the ferry. Deep within I was harbouring a hope of seeing Sheila again. On the ferry and later riding the bus across the island I lost myself in memories of my school days. When I stepped off the bus in Brighstone a sudden wave of nostalgia swept over me.

I stood motionless for what seemed an eternity uncertain what to do next. I look up and then down the road at familiar sights hoping to spot a friendly face. It was the height of the tourist season yet the village seemed empty. Nothing had changed, I recognized the
places where I’d spent so much of my boyhood. The old church and primary school stood in solemn silence. I was re-visiting my past yet somehow I was a stranger. I had given little thought to why I had come back. Perhaps I expected to see my school chums laughing and waving as they rode their bikes to the beach

Making an effort to shake off a growing depression I turned and began walking toward the Wilberforce Hall. Passing Coopers general store I was stopped dead in my tracks. Sheila was coming out of the store carrying a shopping bag. She had grown into a beautiful young woman who I recognized instantly. For a moment we stood in stunned silence staring at each other. A smile slowly spread across her face as she realized who I was. I wanted to rush up and take her in my arms but hesitated because of the shopping bag.

Wonderful memories flood my mind as I stood smiling in awkward embarrassment. Then in the same instant we both burst forth with a thousand questions.
I stopped and allowed Sheila to go first. “What have you been doing since you left the island? Are you married? When did you join the navy? Where are Lily Ben and Roy? Oh it really is so good to see you again. Are you still living in Ireland? Do you remember Julie? She is engaged and getting married next month. Is Roy still in school? Jean left last year and is working in Newport. I bet you wouldn’t hardly recognize her now she is all grown up”.

Finally Sheila paused to catch her breath while I explained my adventures over the last nine years. Then it was my turn to ask questions.

Sheila had left school a few years ago but couldn’t find a decent job on the island. She decided to go to the mainland and join the WRNS. Whilst she was in the women’s naval service she met a nice boy and they had married three months ago. The possibility she might be married had never entered my head. The news shattered all feelings of elation our brief reunion had earlier kindled.

I immediately felt a depression creeping back into my mood. I was bemused and hurt. I struggled to reconcile my awful disappointment. Was I perhaps in love with Sheila after all? I didn’t know for sure. I had been so very happy to see her again. Now all I was sure of was a terrible empty feeling in the pit of my stomach. Visiting Brighstone had lost its appeal and was replaced with an urgent need to leave. My emotions were running wild, confusion, sadness and a dreadful feeling of loss.

My emotions no longer mattered Sheila was married nothing could change that. Lost in my own misery I almost missed hearing Sheila invite me to stay over. There was a dance that evening at the village hall. Sheila and her husband were going. I could probably go with her younger sister Jean if I wanted to. I declined using the excuse I was on duty the following day. Sheila didn’t press the matter and we walked to the end of the lane making small talk. Stopping at her front gate we stood for a moment in another awkward silence. Finally Sheila said she had to go. I made no attempt to kiss or hug her. With one last wave she disappeared into the house. A surge of pain pierced my heart. I remained standing there unable or unwilling to move. Was I perhaps hoping she would re-appear?
I thought of the many times we’d stood on this exact spot holding hands, smiling, making promises and shyly kissing.

With an enormous effort I turned and began walking back toward the village. With each step carrying me further away came the realization I’d seen Sheila for the last time. I was engulfed in a terrible sadness. There had been a time, now long passed, when she’d been my sweetheart. A sweet and beautiful young girl who I’d loved and shared a first kiss. On that unhappy Saturday afternoon I had attempted to re-live the past and failed. Life was cruel yet nothing could be changed. I had to move on. Waiting at the bus stop I gazed at the thatched cottages, the village church and school. Everything remained unchanged and familiar. Yet nothing looked the same in that moment before the bus arrived. Maybe I was trying to relive my boyhood. Yet it was all just a memory? Children change, grow up, move on and sometimes marry.

Since that day I have often reflected on those wonderful and extraordinary times. In those days we were carefree and happy playing on the beaches or in the schoolyard. We shyly winked and made eyes at girls. The world was a very different place in1951. We were naïve and innocent, there was no magazines, television or cinema to corrupt our minds. In the many years that have passed since then I still retain those wondrous memories.
The day our lips touched in that first warm and wonderful kiss. Always, I return to the question. What if?
The End

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Legion Comparison

I don’t intend this as a complaint, but more moment of disappointment. After the health dept turned down coverage of my chemotherapy I approached the Royal Canadian Legion for help. They immediately facilitated sending my Royal Naval records to England. Within a few days I received the good news . The Royal British Legion and Royal Naval Benevolent Trust had forwarded $10131.00 toward the cost of treatment, this was a large and generous support. In the meantime my two daughters started a gofundme campaign. The Royal CanadianLegion said Dominion Command and Provicial Command would each provide a $1000. However they later withdrew this support citing the fact I had funds coming in from the gofundme campaign. I was rather surprised by this decision, I’m not greedy and just grabbing money that I may not require. What bothers me is the RCL couldnt know how successful the fund raise was. It seemed reasonable to me that a legion representative would first visit me at home to access my needs. I have been seriously ill for 14 months, I have had numerous expenses with Meds tests insulin’s and travel, 5000 Kim’s in last 14 months. I required the purchase of a wheel chair, stair lift, shower seat along with safety handles and other modifications. Depending on my progress I may need a wheel chair ramp and possibly other needs in the future. However, what upsets me is the lack of response from Provincial Command or my local branch. In all the time I have been ill I have not received a phone call, visit or even a get well card. I served some thirty years with RCL serving on many executive positions including Poppy Chairman. I have pounded the pavement promoting the Poppy campaigns. I served 12 years CF reserve and 11.Royal Navy.. I freely admit I have been very critical of Provincial and local branch policies. Nevertheless, I have a right to my views and believe I should have the right to expect some form of legion support. This rather negates the RCL claim of being there for veterans?? God Bless and keep reading

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Count down has begun

I suppose I have been counting down the days for sometime now. However, it seems more real as I close in on treatment day. That is Tuesday 13th February 2018. Just hours away. I was going to say I’m getting excited but that’s probably not the best way to describe my impending feelings. More a sense of anticipation a need to hope this will ease my concerns and suffering. Well in about 36 hours my hope and prayers begin for real. I enter the chemo treatment centre at 8.30 am on Tuesday morning. It’s a approximately seven hour procedure and hopefully with only minor side effects, don’t mind if my hair becomes more curly lol.wish me luck as I go on my way, theme of an old song ringing in my head! In good spirits and ready to face the future. God Bless and keep reading

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Outpouring of Gratitude.

I m suffering from a very rare and nasty disease (primary autoimmune hemolytic anemia) there is no known cure or cause. My Doctor recommended treatments of chemotherapy to hopefully force it into remission. That was when my problems began, the PEI dept of health denied coverage for this expensive treatment. Costs vary from $17000 $20.000 certainly more than I could afford on my pension. I immedialely applied through the Royal Canadian Legion who in turn passed my naval records on to the UK. With in a matter of days the.Royal British Legion and the Royal Naval Benevolent Trust provided approximately $10.000 in aid. I was so pleasantly surprised and even more grateful. My eleven years service had been immediately recognized and responded too. Knowing help was at hand made a huge difference in my life. However to date nothing forthcoming from Royal Canadian Legion.? I have served 12 years RCNR have been a RCL member for some thirty years filling most executive positions including chairman of the branch Poppy fund. However it’s early days so I will wait and see. So far no local member has visited no fruit basket and no get well card nor phone call.???  

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A Little Sunday Humour

The best story of the year doesn’t give the proper praise and credit for this painful but understandable story as told by a loving wife…….

The pastor asked if anyone in the congregation would like to express praise for answered prayers. Suzie Smith stood and walked to the podium. She said, “I have a praise. Two months ago, my husband, Tom, had a terrible bicycle wreck and his scrotum was completely crushed. The pain was excruciating and the doctors didn’t know if they could help him.” You could hear a muffled gasp from the men in the congregation as they imagine the pain that poor Tom must have experienced. “Tom was unable to hold me or the children,” she went on, “and every move caused him terrible pain.” We prayed as the doctors performed a delicate operation, and it turned out they were able to piece together the crushed remnants of Tom’s scrotum, and wrap wire around it to hold it in place.”
Again, the men in the congregation cringed and squirm uncomfortably as they imagined the horrible surgery performed on Tom.
“Now,” she announced in a quivering voice, “thank the Lord, Tom is out of the hospital and the doctors say that with time, his scrotum should recover completely.”
All the men sighed with unified relief. The pastor rose and tentatively asked if anyone else had something to say.
A man stood up and walked slowly to the podium.
He said, “I’m Tom Smith.” The entire congregation held its breath.
“I just want to tell my wife the word is sternum.”

God Bless and keep reading

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Wade the Straight Man!!!!!!

I truly believe Wade MacLauchlan has chosen the wrong career. Instead of politician he should be a standup comedian. I haven’t enjoyed such a good laugh in years. Funny man Wade stated that MLA Bush Dumville was for years struggling with Liberal values of honesty and transparency. Honesty and Transparency! Gee, trying to get myself under control here, can’t help my sudden out bursts of laughter while trying to write this letter. What comes to mind is this old adage (Laugh and the World will laugh
with you). Although in this case it should be the island laughing. Wade you are surely hilariously joking, liberal values, Stop it Wade!!!  I just can’t stop laughing and it’s hurting!!

God Bless and keep reading

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No Legion Co-ordination on Policy between Branches

I thought I’d post this very interesting article on the wearing of Sikh headdress in legions. I too thought this issue had been done and dusty in the 1980’s. However, I saw the video from the event at the Tignish legion branch. I have to say the customers in attendance probably have never heard of legion by-laws, or indeed read the legion hand book. Its a long article and can be accessed at the link below, its a very interesting read.

I thought the Sikh headdress was covered YEARS ago Here is a Sikh Veteran photo with REAL Medals Probably more than the Tignish Fools

Secretary of Defense Jim Mattis meets with Canada’s Defense Minister Harjit Sajjan at the NATO Headquarters in Brussels, Belgium, Nov. 9, 2017. (DoD photo by U.S. Air Force Staff Sgt. Jette Carr)

c. Legion Dress – Headdress. It is not normal practice for headdress to be worn indoors with the exception of the Sergeant-at-Arms, Colour Bearer(s), members of the Ladies Auxiliary, by members whose religious doctrine or customs require that the head be covered and by Officers presiding at official functions, such as Installations and may also include those who are being installed. Some units, Branches, Zones, Districts and Commands have developed a tradition to wear headdress during opening and closing ceremonies. Although unusual, such traditions are not discouraged by the Royal Canadian Legion. Where employed, these practices will be at the call of the Senior Officiating Officer…

God Bless and keep reading

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