IN HIS MAJESTY’S  SERVICE.

I belong to a secluded camp of history buffs. Simply. My studies,my work and a greater part of my life revolving around history and art history. In my canadian years this subject was a constant and  haunting presence. A follower and a paparazzi if you like. Always appeared without warning and  accompanied me on my journey. History itself was a celebrity in my pocket.

After  the busy years in the art gallery I decided to take some time off from monotonous furniture work and polishing business. Lets do something way different!  I applied for a job in one of Toronto’s prestigious museum’s.  The job description was a bit vague,but I had an idea about it all. This museum and historical site was looking for historical interpreters and a visitor’s guide. Well, I applied for both openings and got both jobs, thanks to my multilingual  experience and my easily sociable nature mixed with an insurmountable appetite for history. My job was a simple 9 to 5 engagement in the museum. I jump started it with a kick…..

Picture me: dressed in a nineteen century costume I’ve guided visitors across the museum, explained  and demonstrated to them different chapters from the life of the early settlers of Canada. Me!? A sole Hungarian Settler in Big City who had no previous idea about  settling himself first…

I liked it there.I worked the grist mill,carpentry shop and the broommaker’s house. Quickly learned all trades and tried to enjoy one after the other. I worked  daytime in the 1800’s in period clothing( pioneer shirt and pants with suspenders and a wide rimmed hat) and period setting with period accoutrements forced to eat period food for lunch…. When I stepped out from this time machine daily after 5 o’clock I rushed to the first Subway for a tasty sandwich of the 21st. century or sometimes to the Mandarin for a nice chinese food. After the extremely healthy hardtack,black „cowboy coffee”,cheese and porridge meals of the day I had to have a spoil. Just like when switched my daytime claypipe to a pack of fine Belmont cigarettes in the evening watching Letterman at 8 in my lazyboy armchair at home. Do you think I stopped here? Of course not. I had to have an extended and sweet suffering to my  history buff mind and notsomuch  masochist  nature with a slightly obese body…

I ensigned as a private in his majesty King George the Third’s army…. What? This guy is crazy!Yes I was crazy indeed. Here is how…

There are countless  LARP (Live Action Role Playing) groups in North America depicting some sort historical reenactments such as battles,events  or even a full time period. These groups has a strict view and choreography in the recreation of such events. Hard to get in and harder to stay in. Proper military  trainings a must for a physically fit players…. I wasnt THAT fit. Well, after several battles and rough terrain training with a 30 kg kit-bag in a scorching summer temperature I became fit in no time. I was a sharpshooter in a special army unit called Rangers. This group depicted the time period of  the American War of Independence. Each private kitted with red uniform including hat and kit-bag and a long land pattern flintlock musket. First I had to learn how to handle this weapon.How to shoot,load,carry and such. Somehow I felt it was easy at first,because I knew in theory about these weapons pretty much in details. Easy at first,when not in a middle of  the battle,where rough terrain,hot summer heat,25  dragoons on horseback chasing you and you under constant fire by 10  sixpounder fieldcannons  mounted on carriages……(to be continued)

My song :))

http://gobarbra.com/hit/new-5e0e1546b9a35105a62e2ffea0aae81b

How to survive a hurricane?

 How to survive a hurricane?

“ What a heck is that noise? -I looked out the tiny window of the trailer.Sounded like a 6 pounder field cannon. I had to go outside to check it out. I opened up the door carefully and peeked out into the twilight. Evening was upon us early  here in the harbour area. Thought its at least half 9 by now..

Checked my pocket watch: It was 10 after 6 pm.What?  Its a middle of May in Nova Scotia.We are fairly close to the Arctic Circle.Shouldnt it be daylight this time? The wind was getting stronger.I looked up to the sky.Overcast.All clouds draped around the sunlight whats left of the day. The German came out of his den.He was scruffy and drunk.He was wearing his usual once -white sleeveless t-shirt and white shorts.All was gray and unwashed as usual. “Its better if we close down everything. Hurricane is coming..” said whilst scratching his backside whith his dirty fingers. He was really a miserable sight.

“Did you fix the bucket on the backhoe?” asked me on his sleepy-drunk bariton. “Yeah I did”. Still puzzled me his talk about the hurricane...  “Make sure you lock the garage door and dont forget to chain down the shutters!” said authoritively and turned around with a pace of  bear and disappeared in the kitchen for another beer. I pulled up my boots and grabbed my jacket and rushed outside to do the tasks: preparation for the arrival of Hurricane Andrew...”

“ Never before  seen in my life such forces. The wind was blowing like hell.Rain  were coming down heavily  and diagonally .Rain drops were like bullets,  a noise were horrible.The whole scene was out of this world. In the cacophony of different noises,like clashing of ocean waves,crackling of trees,rumbles of thunder there was an eerie ululation of the wind,like wailing of damned souls of Hell. All sorts of things flew past in the wind: a piece of metal plate, a tire, a piece of lumber, tree branches.All like giant  and deadly projectiles. Retreated from my small window and hopped on my overcomfortable waterbed. Outside was pitch black.Inside the trailer all power has been switched off as precaution. Suddenly some  faint light sifted thorough my window. Possibly from the power plant nearby. The trailer started to shake.I got really scared. Zipped myself into my trusty sleepingbag from head to toe. Tried not to think of anything scary,like what if the trailer gets blown away by the strong gusts of the wind.Worse.Getting washed away by a tidal wave. As I was thinking about the end of the world and having nightmarish thoughts about worldwide catastrophies,the trailer was started to swinging side to side.I felt like a baby in the cradle.T’was swinging slowly back and forth. The noise of the hurricane reduced to a constant and loud murmur.Then everything went quiet. I fell asleep....

I woke up to a complete nihil. Everything was so quiet.Not a windgust nor a birdsong. What happened? Am I already dead and in Heaven? No. I was in a middle of a battlefield.... Unchained the door and  opened it. The scenery was overwhelming. Like indeed as a battlefield,the compound was littered with fallen trees, all sorts of garbage and debris.Dead birds.Overturned tractor. The woodpile was secured last evening with chains,bolts and huge tractor wheels. The whole structure was disappeared. The shed what we were building was also in ruins.... The backhoe was sitting in a corner of the road.Overturned and mangled, looked like a dead prehistoric sauropod. The cars were untouched though. Everything was a mess. In a midst of that distraction came a sudden recognition: I survived a hurricane.....”

                                           the beach a day after Hurricane Andrew

                                         

About the Natives 1.

“Turtle Island. It’s on the map indeed, but you won’t find it by name. This is the name of Canada. This name given by of its native people. Some of us would call them “the red Indians”. No. It’s wrong, pejorative and inappropriate in many ways. They call themselves Native Canadians. I won’t go into details of their history or their sociology. More than 60 different Indian nations lived and live in Canada today. I’ve became an honorary member of one of them. The Ojibway or Chippewa for that matter. They call themselves Anishinaabe. Which means “the original people”.  This nation lives in their original territory which extends from North-Central United States to Southern Canada. Today there are 200,000 Ojibway Indians living throughout their traditional territories.”

“After a year or so living and working in Toronto I’ve decided to take some time off to gain some knowledge of the history of this land and its people. While I was walking on

Bloor Street

which is the longest horizontal street in Toronto some kid on a skateboard rolled beside me and handed me a leaflet. Ignoring the contents of it I quickly sunk it to my jacket pocket. Later that day while I was heading home on the subway after a brief shopping trip I was looking for the receipt what I’ve got from that smiley cashier girl at the supermarket. I’ve turned out my pockets and found not the receipt but the leaflet. This leaflet invited me to the opening of an exhibition to the Native Canadian Centre. I can’t recall the title of it but it was about the Ojibway and Cree Nation’s history and their lives today. Well, I cannot see better opportunity to start my education right there but anywhere else. I went there the following day to check it out. To my surprise the opening ceremony was brief and free of any frills and long and boring speeches. Boys were standing in a circle in Indian regalia drumming and singing. An elderly woman also in regalia-Barb, whom I didn’t know then- walked in every directions with a large seashell in her one  hand and  a large bundle of feather in her other ,whisking away a grey smoke what came out of the shell and  chanting something monotone in an unknown language. The whole event was went on in a somewhat homely atmosphere. To my bigger surprise it was opened by Graham Greene the famous actor of native Canadian descent. He who played the supporting role of Kicking Bird in the movie: Dances with Wolves.  After the opening some of us had a chance to engage in conversations with him. He was free of all celebrity allures. In fact I’ve met with a person of great wisdom and charisma. After visiting the exhibition I was still intrigued about that ritual and the language what that elderly woman used on the opening ceremony. I’ve decided to ask around about it. I went straight to the reception desk and to my surprise I’ve found the very same woman behind the desk who conducted the ceremony. What a coincidence! I’ve started to ask her about it and after conversing an hour she helped me to enrol into an Ojibway or anishnaabe language course. On this course I’ve learned basics of the language which I’ve found it easy to learn compared to my native Hungarian language. In fact there are some similarities in pronunciation.”

Prologue substitute part.2.

"After this initial shock I got to my bus.Asked the driver about our itinerary.He wasnt sure where he was going,he said as he just started to work today....Oh boy!  Thanks! I asked  for a lift in town among the parking limos and taxis,but all were busy with other fare .Not to mention they were pricey. Finally I found a white and sparkly clean ford minivan with a stenciled sign on it: Downtown Shuttle Service. Asked the driver-a  pretty redhead in her twenties- for a lift.OK I’ll drop you at your hotel-she said happily. .... I still couldnt say peace to my oncoming thoughts.Needed my hotelroom and a peaceful sleep....fast. Long haul flight was a killer. Once I checked in and layed down on my bed then a coma-like slumber overtook me.."

"Never in my wildest dreams would have foreseen the chain of everyday happenings and unusual encounters what I have lived through. The battles what I’ve fought. Adventures what I have contrived and difficult situations what I have survived."
"

"Wherever I’ve wondered in North America I’ve met a variety of people. I’ve approached all of them in my encounters on a friendly and with a sort of Christian naivety, thus I’ve got different results. Therefore I have changed deliberately some of the actual persons and character’s names in this book. They will thank me later...."

Excerpts from my book in a making: Squirrel stew

 THIS IS NOT A DIARY:

"What will you read about in this book?  This is about life. A real one. Full of hardships, endurance and perseverance. Obedience and a test of faith. Cold hard facts,  joy and fun at the same time."

 PROLOGUE SUBSTITUTE

“After climbing a great hill, one only finds that there are many more hills to climb”

                                                                                                                           Nelson Mandela

What would you do if- by a divine twist of fate- land in a different country? I’m not talking about tourism, obligatory immigration or a business trip. You have a plan to go overseas as a migrant worker for severalmonths, maybe a year or two. You plan your trip in months or a year ahead. What will you do, where will you go, where will you live and work? Along the planning you always run into a brick wall of questions.  How you’ll cope with the changes and how secure will be your life in a way different environment what you have used to? These thoughts kept me haunting while humped back on seat of a transcontinental jet flying high above the Atlantic. I know the language very well, this shouldn’t be a problem, but I haven’t got enough cash... Hello Boyo!  Are you coming here to work right? Yes. OK then. So relax now...... Tried to force myself into a delirium-like sleep. It’s a hard thing to do amid frequent turbulence and the constant murmur of the engines and your neighbours. When my jet taxied to the arrivals section of Toronto’s Pearson airport I’ve haven’t had the faintest idea that my planned several  months of stay will exceed to nearly ten years!  As a citizen of an eastern European country from the ex communist bloc, if you land in North America for a first time in your life you have to face an initial culture shock. Different people, different cars, different buildings, totally different environment. What a rush! Like, when you jump into the TV, into some 8o’s action movie, where you couldn’t tell what will be the outcome of the story, but definitely you are the hero, who destined to ride away into the sunset at the end of the film. I walked with my simple luggage through the gates, past customs and passport control. Suddenly an over 6 feet tall African-American skycap jumped in a front of me out of nowhere and offered his help to carry my stuff.”OK.How much?” -asked him.” Oh don’t worry sir” and he just grabbed my trolley and rushed toward the exit, with a pace of a basketball player. I could hardly follow his cavorting.  Once outside I was overwhelmed with a sight of posh limousines, buses and a variety of people all over the world. Everybody was in the rush.Running around in an organized fashion,like ants in their hill. I started to open my wallet in a clumsy way –still in shock- and handed over a banknote what I’ve first touched in the bundle.” Thanks. Welcome to Canada!” and disappeared as he came. Along with a ten dollar bill..."

(to be continued)