On the way

On the way – It was not until the first part of June, 1940, while I was helping to wire houses along the Bay of Fundy, that I received a train ticket to Moncton. I hopped a train and never returned to Saint John again for any economic reason.

On the train from Moncton to Toronto, big Sandy Taylor and I met. He was a Scotsman, a former woods boss in the Gaspe, a former heavyweight boxing champion, and he had spoken French more than he had spoken Scots. When our bunks were being made up on the train, big Sandy pulled a small New Testament from his hip pocket. He looked at me and explained, “I have always carried this at all times, and will carry this always.” At about 0200 hours in the morning, the train was to stop at Campbellton, New Brunswick where Sandy’s fourteen brothers and sisters lived. He said he would wake me up as he wanted me to meet his family. The train stopped and there was an explosion; the Taylor clan had spied Sandy on the train. What a wonderful and exciting group they were. Sandy and I were to become close friends through the next few months and I was to become a very cocky young punk, especially when big Sandy was in the vicinity to back me up. The time came when we both had to shake hands and, without a word, Sandy went to piloting Cansos on coastal patrol off Canada and I went overseas.

Several months after I learned that Sandy, a person who had loved every minute of living, had died from cancer and I thought of Cambellton.