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Electric Scotland News
The Flag in the Wind
Books of John McDougall
Clans and Families
Poetry and Stories
Book of Scottish Story
Biographical Record of the County of Kent, Ontario
Robert Burns Lives!
Oor Mither Tongue
John's Scottish Sing-Along
Songs of Lowland Scotland
"Curdies" a Glasgow Sketch Book
The Life and Public Services of Henry Wilson
Journal of a Lady of Quality (New Book)
Recollections of Marshall Macdonald, Duke of Tarentum (New Book)
Stirling County Rugby Football Club (1904-1980)
Scotland's Status as a Nation
The Old Man
ELECTRIC SCOTLAND NEWS
On the domestic front seeing as my porch is now finished I have
turned my attention to the back porch to give it a fresh coat of
paint and I have decided to turn the rather unattractive back yard
into grass. And so hired the machine to turn over the sod, bought
fertiliser and special grass seed. The grass seed was developed for
the Niagra escarpment where they wanted to grow grass under the
trees. I'm told that this way the grass will come through within 3
weeks and that this is the ideal time to sow it.
Also had to purchase a new lawn mower as my one had given up... they
say this one could last me 20 years so we'll see how that goes :-)
If you check out the Internet Archive you'll find a book "A Minstrel
in France" by Harry Lauder. I am going to put this up on our site as
it's a fantastic read. I got in an email with the book attached as a
pdf file at around 2.15am just as I was finishing for the night. I
opened it up and started reading and finished it at 6.45am. It was
ABOUT THE STORIES
Some of the stories in here are just parts of a larger story so do
check out the site for the full versions. You can always find the
link in our "What's New" section or on our site menu.
THE FLAG IN THE WIND
This weeks issue was compiled by Jamie Hepburn. This week he has
done a large article on Abdelbaset Ali Mohmed Al Megrahi.
Christina McKelvie MSP's Weekly diary is not available although she
seems to be back at work so we'll see if we get in a new diary next
Books of John McDougall
We've now added more chapters to the first book, Forest, Lake and
Bear hunt - Big grizzlies - Surfeit of fat meat.
The first buffalo - Father excited - Mr. Woolsey lost - Strike trail
of big camp - Indians dash at us - Meet Maskepetoon.
Large camp - Meet Mr. Steinhauer - Witness process of making
provisions - Strange life.
Great meetingConjurers and medicine-men look on under protest -
Father prophesies - Peter waxes eloquent as interpreter - I find a
The big hunt - Buffalo by the thousand - I kill my first buffalo -
Another big meeting - Move camp - Sunday service all day.
Great horse-race - "Blackfoot," "Moose Hair," and others - No
gambling - How "Blackfoot" was captured.
Here is how chapter XXVIII starts...
IN accord with the plan mentioned in last chapter, Peter and I
saddled up sooner than the rest, and rode on. I will never forget
that afternoon. I was in perfect health. My diet for the last few
weeks forbade anything like dyspepsiathe horseback travel, the
constant change, the newness of my surroundings, this beautiful and
wonderful country. Oh, how sweet life was to me! Then the day was
superbbright sunshine, fleecy clouds, and intensely exhilarating
atmosphere; everywhere, above and around us, and before and beneath
us, a rich and lovely countryquietly sloping plains, nicely rounded
knolls, big hills on whose terraced heights woodland and prairie
seemed to have scrambled for space, and someone, with wonderful
artistic taste, had decided for them, and placed them as they were;
lakelets at different altitudes glistening with sun rays, and that
quiet afternoon sleeping as they shone; the early autumn tinting the
now full-grown grass and foliage with colors the painter might well
covet. As I rode in silence behind my guide, my eyes feasted on
these panoramic views, and yet I was sharply and keenly looking for
some game that might serve the purpose of our quest.
When suddenly I saw a dark object in the distance, seeming to come
out of a bluff of poplars on to the plain, I checked my horse and
watched intently for a little and saw it move. I whistled to Peter,
and he said, "What is it ?" and I pointed out to him what I saw.
Said he, "It is a buffalo." Ah! how my hunting instincts moved at
those words. A buffalo on his native heath! Even the sight of him
was something to be proud of. The plain this animal was crossing was
on the farther side of a lake, and at the foot of a range of hills,
the highest of which was called "Sickness Hill."
It may have been about four or five miles from us to the spot where
I had seen the dark object moving.
After riding some distance, we came upon a ridge which enabled Peter
to make up his mind that what he now saw was a bear and not a
buffalo. This was to both of us somewhat of a disappointment, as it
was food more than sport we wanted.
Book of Scottish Story
Thanks to John Henderson for sending this book into us.
This week he's sent in a new story "The Grave-Digger's Tale".
Here is how it starts...
It was one cold November morning, on the day of an intended voyage,
when Mrs MCosey, my landlady, tapped at my bed-chamber door,
informing me that it was "braid day light; but on reaching the
caller air I found, by my watch and the light of the moon, that I
had full two hours to spare for such sublunary delights as such a
circumstance might create. A traveller, when he has once taken his
leave, and rung the changes of "farewell, "adieu, "good-bye, and
"God bless you, on the connubial and domestic harmonies of his last
lodgings, will rather hazard his health by an exposure to the
"pelting of the pitiless storm," for a handful of hours, than try an
experiment on his landladys sincerity a second time, within the
short space of the same moon. If casualty should force him to make
an abrupt return, enviable must be his feelings if they withstand
the cold unfriendly welcome of "Yere no awa yet! delivered by some
quivering Abigail, in sylvan equipment, like one of Dians
foresters, as she slowly and uninvitingly opens the creaking doora
commentary on the forbidding salute. He enters, and the strong.
caloric now beginning to thaw his sensibilities, he makes for his
room, which lie forgets is no longer his; when, though he be still
in the dark, he has no need of a candle to enable him to discover
that some kind remembrancer has already been rummaging his corner
cupboard, making lawful seizure and removal ("convey the wise it
call) of the contents of his tea-caddy, butter-kit, sugar-bowl, and
"comforter; to which he had looked forward, on his return, as a
small solace for the disappointment of the morning, affording him
the means of knocking up a comfortable "check, without again
distressing the exchequer.
I had therefore determined not to return to Mrs MCoseys; for
"frailty, thy name is woman; and I felt myself getting into a sad
frame of mind, as I involuntarily strolled a considerable distance
along the high road, pondering on the best means of walking "out of
the air, as Hamlet says, when, as the moon receded behind a black
cloud, my head came full butt against a wall; the concussion making
it ring, till I actually imagined I could distinguish something like
a tune from my brain. Surely, said I, this is no melody of my
making; as I now heard, like two voices trolling a merry stave--
Duncans comin', Donalds comin, &c.
Turning round to the direction from whence the sound seemed to
proceed, I perceived I was in the neighbourhood of the "Auld Kirk
Yard; where, by the light from his lantern, I could discover the
old grave-digger at work--his bald head, with single white and
silvery-crisped forelock, making transits over the dark line of the
grave, like a white-crested dove, or a sea-gull, flaunting over the
One stride, and I had cleared the wall of the Auld Kirk Yard.
Biographical Record of the County of Kent, Ontario
Our thanks to Nola Crewe for sending these into us.
BROUGHTON McDONALD, a retired farmer and prominent resident of
Ridgetown, County of Kent, Ontario, was born in Utica, New York, in
1830, a son of William and Margaret McDonald.
William and Margaret McDonald were natives of Scotland, who, in
1730, emigrated to New York State, where they resided for three
years, the father following his trade of a weaver. The family then
came to the Dominion. Mr. McDonald purchasing 100 acres in Howard
township from the government at $2.50 per acre. this land was
situated in the woods, and these worthy people suffered many
hardships during their pioneer life. As the sons grew to manhood's
estate, the work of clearing the land and cultivating it was turned
over to them, and the father spent his time weaving and spinning
flax for the neighbours who gradually took up land about the
McDonald property. The father lived a useful and happy life, dying
in 1869, on this farm, his wife surviving him until 1878, when she,
too, passed away, in Ridgetown. These two most excellent people
became the parents of eight sons and one daughter: Donald died on
his farm in Howard township; John, born in Scotland, settled in the
County of Kent, where he died, leaving a family; William, born in
Scotland settled in Orford, County Kent, where he died; Isabel, born
in Scotland, is the wife of Alexander McKinney, of Howard, and has a
family; Robert is a farmer in Howard township, and the father of a
son, William; Broughton; James, a farmer of Orford, County Kent, has
a large family; Hugh, born in the Dominion, died in 1896 , in
Ridgetown, where he was engaged as a hardware merchant (he left no
family); and Alexander, born at the homestead in Howard township,
purchased a farm in Orford, where he died in 1896, leaving no
Robert Burns Lives!
By Frank Shaw
Ive introduced Dr. Kenneth Simpson to you on several occasions, but
you probably are not aware that Ken retired a few years back, and
Ill leave it to you to decide if that description fits after
reading more about him. For instance, this fall he becomes the first
BARD Visiting Professor of Burns Studies at the University of
Glasgows Dumfries Campus. He was one of the featured speakers at
the Dumfries Burns Conference in July and will speak at the
approaching Burns series to be held at The Mitchell Library in
Glasgow. Professor Simpson is co-editor of a forthcoming collection,
Robert Burns and Friends, of newly-written essays honoring Dr. G.
Ross Roy of the University of South Carolina. Ken is also
collaborating with Dr. Roy on editing the letters written to Robert
Burns, a long-term project now to be included in the new
Glasgow/Clarendon collected edition of Burns. Articles like this one
are constantly popping up all over the place. Does this sound to you
like a man who is retired? My thanks to Dr. Patrick Scott from the
University of South Carolina for updating me on Dr. Simpsons
Co-author Dr. Lorna Ewan is new to the pages of Robert Burns Lives!
and is currently Head of Interpretation for Historic Scotland. She
runs a team responsible for interpreting 345 Properties in Care
which include prehistoric sites like Skara Brae in Orkney, Edinburgh
Castle and Stirling Castle and the Border Abbeys. She has a
particular interest in Burns which has evolved over the past 25
years as part of her career in the interpretation of sites and
subjects throughout Scotland, the rest of Britain and further afield.
Specific Burns projects have included the scripting and production
of audio visual programs about Burns for the National Museums of
Scotland and the implementation of interpretative displays at Burns
Cottage in Alloway, as well as a range of research projects relating
to the poet and his work. It is an honor to have Dr. Ewan as a
Credit is given to Crown Copyright Historic Scotland (http://www.historicscotlandandimages.gov.uk)
in association with this article written for the Friends Magazine as
well as to publisher Think Scotland, Glasgow. My deepest
appreciation to Sean Conlon, Assistant Photographic Librarian of
Historic Scotland, for his assistance. (FRS: 09.10.09)
All Hail Thy Palaces and Towers
By Drs. Kenneth Simpson and Lorna Ewan
Songs of Lowland Scotland
From the times of James V, King of Scots, A book of c. 600 pages of
songs published in Scotland in 1870, and arranged in episodic form
by John Henderson.
The Life and Public Services of Henry Wilson
The Late Vice President of the United States by Rev. Elias Nason and
Hon Thomas Russell (1876)
We have now completed this book
Here is how Chapter XXI starts...
COMMANDING in person, quick in perception, and well versed in
parliamentary practice, Mr. Wilson presided with dignity and great
acceptance over the Senate; and his decisions were respected by the
members of both parties. his earnest desire, expressed on every
suitable occasion, was conciliation between the factions in the
Republican party, and the restoration of fraternity and friendliness
between the North and South.
Although his elevation to the office of vice-president lessened his
senatorial labors, he still allowed himself no rest. Every leisure
moment was devoted to the cornposition of his great work on "The
Rise and Fall of the Slave-Power in America," for which the
consultation of numberless authorities, and an extensive
correspondence, were demanded. His arduous labors were often
extended late into the night; and he observed to a friend, at this
period, that he seldom laid aside his pen until the clock struck two
in the morning. "My mail comes in late," he said; "the journals must
be read; my letters must be looked over, some of them answered; and
so I am obliged to steal an hour or two from the coming day before
But though strictly temperate, and early inured to toil, his
constitution was not adequate to the strain of such incessant
industry. his health began to yield to this habitual transgression
of hygienic law. His first fearful warning was a sudden, but only
partial, paralysis of a facial nerve, in 1873, by which his
countenance was slightly altered, and his utterance somewhat
impaired. The usual remedies were prescribed; and, above all, the
physicians imperatively enjoined repose from labor: but how could a
mind of such intense activity obey the injunction? This very
monition of the uncertainty of life incited the desire in the
Vice-President to complete his book, which he considered the most
valuable legacy he could leave to his countrymen. He, however,
yielded somewhat to his medical advisers, and spent the summer,
some time at the house of his friend, ex-Gov. Claffin, some time at
his home in Natick, some time in profound retirement, endeavoring to
rest from labor, and to recuperate his health. On one occasion, a
friend, calling at thin house where the Vice. President was living
very quietly, inquired of the servant for Mr. Wilson; when she
replied to him, "There's no such person here: I never heard of such
a man." On being further questioned, she responded, "Yes, sir, there
is an invalid stopping here; but I don't know who he is, and he is
out to-day." She reported this to her mistress, and was not a little
surprised to learn from her, that, for several weeks, she had been
waiting on the Vice-President of the United States.
Journal of a Lady of Quality
Being the Narrative of a Journey from Scotland to the West Indies,
North Carolina and Portugal in the Years 1774 to 1776
I gave you a wee intro to this in the last newsletter so here is a
bit from the first chapter for you to read.
Burnt Island Road on board the Jamaica Packet
9 o'Clock Evening 25th Oct 1774.
[Burntisland is a seaport of county Fife, on the north side of the
Firth of Forth, five miles across from Leith and Edinburgh. As there
was a ferry from Leith, it is quite probable that Miss Schaw and her
party drove to Leith in carriages and there boarded the ferryboat
for Burntisland. The seaport has an excellent harbour and was a
favorite anchorage for vessels entering or leaving the firth, but
the fact that the owner of the vessel lived at Burntisland may
furnish an additional reason for the place of departure. Some of the
Scottish regiments serving in the Revolutionary War sailed from this
port, and as early as 1627 we meet with a vessel called the Blessing
WE are now got on Board, heartily fatigued, yet not likely to sleep
very sound in our new apartments, which I am afraid will not prove
either very agreeable or commodious; nor, from what I can see, will
our Ship be an exception to the reflections thrown on Scotch Vessels
in general, as indeed, nothing can be less cleanly than our Cabin,
unless it be its Commander, and his friend and bedfellow the
Supercargo. I hinted to the Captain that I thought our Cabin rather
dirty. He assured me every Vessel was so 'till they got out to Sea,
but that as soon as we were under way, he wou'd stow away the things
that were lumbering about, and then all wou'd be neat during the
Voyage. I appear to believe him; it were in vain to dispute; here we
are, and here we must be for sometime. My brother has laid in store
of whatever may render our Situation agreeable, and I have laid in a
store of resolution to be easy, not to be sick if I can help it, and
to keep good humour, whatever I lose; and this I propose to do by
considering it, what it is, merely a Voyage.
As we have no passengers but those of our own family, we will have
all the accommodation the Vessel is capable of affording, and we can
expect no more.
My Brother has not yet got on Board, I dare say he will be sadly
fatigued with the business lie has had to go thro'. I will send this
on shore with the boat that brings him off.
I propose writing you every day, but you must not expect a regular
Journal. I will not fail to write whatever can amuse myself; and
whether you find it entertaining or not, I know you will not refuse
it a reading, as every subject will be guided by my own immediate
feelings. My opinions and descriptions will depend on the health and
the humour of the Moment, in which I write; from which cause my
Sentiments will often appear to differ on the same subject. Let this
therefore serve as a general Apology for whatever you observe to do
so thro' my future Letters.
I am just now contemplating the various Sensations our intended
Voyage and its destination produce in the little Group around me.
[Miss Schaw was accompanied by her brother, Alexander, and by the
three children of John Rutherfurd, of North CarolinaFanny, aged
eighteen or nineteen, John Jr., aged eleven, and William Gordon,
aged nine, all of whom, though born in North Carolina, had been sent
to Scotland in 1767 for their education.] The two young Rutherfurds
have not the most distant remembrance of their Father, yet such is
the power of natural affection on their little hearts, that they are
transported with the Idea of seeing him, and were they to draw his
Portrait I dare say it wou'd be the most charming picture in the
world; as the three people they love best are with them, they have
nothing to damp their pleasure. The case however is different with
their Sister, she perfectly remembers her Father, and tho' she is
equally rejoiced at the hopes of being once more clasped to the
bosom of a fond Parent, yet her satisfaction is check'd by various
considerations. In the first place, her Modesty makes her afraid he
has drawn a picture of her person in his own Imagination, to which
she will by no means come up, and her diffidence of her own
attainments makes her fear he will not find her so accomplished as
he has reason to expect. I believe she may make herself easy as to
these, for few Fathers ever had better reason to be satisfied.
Recollections of Marshall Macdonald, Duke of Tarentum
Edited by Camille Rousset, Translated by Stephen Louis Simeon (1893)
Again I introduced you to this book in the last newsletter so here
is a bit from Chapter 1 of the book...
Courcelles-le-Roi, May 16, 1825
The idea has occurred to me, my son, of beginning this sketch of my
life for you, without caring to know when it will be finished,
nevertheless, I set to work, having for guide and assistance nothing
but my memory. Let my pen travel on and write these lines, as you
will observe, in the simplest and most familiar style possible.
Truth needs no adornment, and, moreover, I am not writing for the
public; these lines are not intended for the light of day. I write
in haste from a habit of never leaving anything till to-morrow;
besides, my return to Paris cannot long be postponed and once there,
I shall have no time to continue this work, as I am contemplating a
journey of six weeks or two months, in order to see the three
kingdoms of the British Empire, with which I am unacquainted, and to
visit my father's birthplace in the Hebrides.
Paris, June 5, 1825.
You and my family will probably be surprised, and justly, at finding
among my papers as yet no special recital of my campaigns, not even
a diary; I owe you some explanation upon this point.
Twenty years ago I had ample leisure, as I was not being employed,
[After the trial of Moreau, in which a futile and unjust attempt was
made to implicate Macdonald, he remained five years in disgrace, and
was not recalled to service until 1809.] but I had recently acquired
Courcelles. it was the first time that I had owned an estate, and it
was but natural that I should wish to enjoy all its pleasures.
Surrounded with books on agriculture, I discovered attractions
hitherto unknown to me. I forgot the papers locked up in my chest,
and all my fine schemes for writing my military life were
temporarily abandoned. If Heaven prolongs my desolate existence, [He
had just lost his third wife, mother of the son to whom these
recollections are addressed. She was Mademoiselle de Bourgoing, and
had previously married her cousin, Baron de Bourgoing. She had two
children by the Marshal: this son, Alexander, afterwards Duke of
Tarentum, and a daughter who died in infancy.- Translator.] I will
include in this narrative an account of my military career, and of
the different ranks that I have held. As for events, they are
written in every history of the time but beware of them, especially
upon any subject connected with me, for histories, narratives, and
biographical notices must be affected by our recent troubles, and
consequently by the passions of men and by party spirit; however,
impartial history will some day avenge those who have fallen
I have never had reason to reproach myself, nor have I ever had to
blush for any circumstance in my life. I received an untarnished
name. I transmit it to you, feeling sure that you will keep it pure.
My conscience during a long and active life has nothing to reproach
me, because I always followed three safe guides: Honour, Fidelity,
and Disinterestedness; and I like to beileve that my guides will be
Courcelles-le-Roi, August 6, 1825.
My rapid journey has been brought to a satisfactory conclusion. The
coast of France looked to be like the Promised Land. I have once
more seen France, my beloved country! This is the first anniversary
of your birth. What joy and happiness that event caused us! Then,
alas! how many regrets and painful memories have come since!
I ought to tell you something about your family upon your father's
side. I alone can give you details, which I knew but imperfectly,
but which, in the course of my travels, I collected on the spot.
Your paternal grandfather was born in 1719, in the parish of Coubry,
or Boubry, in South Uist, one of the Hebrides. [I learn from Mr.
John Macdonald, of Glenaladale, whose father accompanied the Duke on
his journey to the Hebrides, that the district in which the
Marshal's father was born was that of Houghbeag. See also note on
next page.Translator.] He was educated in France at the Scotch
College at Douai, and was probably destined for an ecclesiastical
career. I know not what were his tastes, or wishes, but I do know
that, after completing a brilliant course of study, he returned to
the place of his birth. Thence he was summoned by Prince Charles
[Edward] Stuart, styled the Pretender.
Throughout the disastrous expedition of 1745 my father attached
himself to the good and bad fortune of the Prince, like a loyal
Scotsman. The cup of their common misfortunes, and of so many others
besides, was filled by the loss of the battle of Culloden, near
Inverness, in 1746. The details of this disastrous event are written
in history, and it would be superfluous to repeat them here; but
what are less known are the results that this unhappy affair had
upon the life of the Prince, who was compelled for several months to
seek shelter in caves and barns, in order to save his head, Upon
which a price had been set. He wandered from island to island,
guided by my father, until at last a heroine, Flora Macdonald, of
the Isle of Skye, succeeded in baffling their pursuers, and exposed
herself in order to assist their flight on board a French
man-of-war. Miraculously saved, they reached France.
Scotland's Status as a Nation
This statement was originally prepared for use within the United
Nations, the Organisation for Security and Cooperation in Europe and
other international organisations when the question of Scotlands
exercise of the right to self-determination was raised there.
Scotlands status as a nation is one of the key aspects to be
considered by the national and international authorities, who are
generally not very well informed on the subject, when the question
arises of diplomatic recognition of an autonomous Scottish state. It
is therefore written with a foreign readership in mind, and it
emphasises the points that will make the Scottish case in
international diplomatic circles.
The Old Man
I got sent in this story in an email and thought it would be a good
way to finish the newsletter...
The Old Man...
As I came out of the supermarket that sunny day, pushing my cart of
groceries towards my car, I saw an old man with the hood of his car
up and a lady sitting inside the car, with the door open.
The old man was looking at the engine. I put my groceries away in my
car and continued to watch the Old gentleman from about twenty five
I saw a young man in his early twenties with a grocery bag in his
arm, walking towards the old man. The old gentleman saw him coming
too and took a few steps towards him. I saw the old gentleman point
to his open hood and say something.
The young man put his grocery bag into what looked like a brand new
Cadillac Escalade and then turn back to the old man and I heard him
yell at the old gentleman saying, 'You shouldn't even be allowed to
drive a car at your age.' And then with a wave of his hand, he got
in his car and peeled rubber out of the parking lot.
I saw the old gentleman pull out his handkerchief and mop his brow
as he went back to his car and again looked at the engine.
He then went to his wife and spoke with her and appeared to tell her
it would be okay. I had seen enough and I approached the old man. He
saw me coming and stood straight and as I got near him I said,
'Looks like you're having a problem.'
He smiled sheepishly and quietly nodded his head. I looked under the
hood myself and knew that whatever the problem was, it was beyond
me. Looking around I saw a gas station up the road and told the old
man that I would be right back. I drove to the station and went
inside and saw three attendants working on cars. I approached one of
them and related the problem the old man had with his car and
offered to pay them if they could follow me back down and help him.
The old man had pushed the heavy car under the shade of a tree and
appeared to be comforting his wife. When he saw us he straightened
up and thanked me for my help. As the mechanics diagnosed the
problem (overheated engine) I spoke with the old gentleman.
When I shook hands with him earlier, he had noticed my Marine Corps
ring and had commented about it, telling me that he had been a
Marine too. I nodded and asked the usual question, 'What outfit did
you serve with?'
He had mentioned that he served with the first Marine Division at
Tarawa, Saipan, Iwo Jima and Guadalcanal.
He had hit all the big ones and retired from the Corps after the war
was over. As we talked we heard the car engine come on and saw the
mechanics lower the hood. They came over to us as the old man
reached for his wallet, but was stopped by me and I told him I would
just put the bill on my AAA card.
He still reached for the wallet and handed me a card that I assumed
had his name and address on it and I stuck it in my pocket. We all
shook hands all around again and I said my goodbye's to his wife.
I then told the two mechanics that I would follow them back up to
the station. Once at the station I told them that they had
interrupted their own jobs to come along with me and help the old
man. I said I wanted to pay for the help, but they refused to charge
One of them pulled out a card from his pocket looking exactly like
the card the old man had given to me. Both of the men told me then,
that they were Marine Corps Reserves. Once again we shook hands all
around and as I was leaving, one of them told me I should look at
the card the old man had given to me. I said I would and drove off.
For some reason I had gone about two blocks when I pulled over and
took the card out of my pocket and looked at it for a long, long
time. The name of the old gentleman was on the card in golden leaf
and under his name...... 'Congressional Medal of Honor Society.'
I sat there motionless looking at the card and reading it over and
over. I looked up from the card and smiled to no one but myself and
marveled that on this day, four Marines had all come together,
because one of us needed help. He was an old man all right, but it
felt good to have stood next to greatness and courage and an honor
to have been in his presence. Remember, OLD men like him gave you
FREEDOM for America. Thanks to those who served...& those who
And that's it for now and hope you all have a good weekend :-)
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