I am an old Englishman living in the mountains of British Columbia with my wonderful wife, who has put up with me for 59 years. We were married in 1959 in her Leicestershire village and then were sent to Uganda, where I served three years as a medical officer in lieu of two years in the armed services.
The major problem was how to keep in touch with the Old Country. This was quickly resolved by opening an account with the Manchester Guardian.
In those days the Guardian Weekly arrived in Soroti by plane. Our Mugisu house servant, Wabomba, would iron it nice and flat for us to read. Unfortunately, he could do nothing about the printer’s ink that came off on our hands.
We came to British Columbia in 1966 – economic migrants with three children, and have been grateful to Canadians for their hospitality. I have spent most of my years here working with indigenous people, and have witnessed the improvement in their lives.
The Guardian Weekly still arrives, 58 years after we first engaged with it. I am not always in agreement with its articles, but I am an old man and am not in agreement with most of the things that are going on in the world. My wonderful wife, however, still enjoys it, and we will keep it coming.
