1902 - 1985
Written After One Year In Captivity.
"As his children's minds were growing into knowledge, their Daddy's was groping into memory, as his life was supressed behind 'barbed wire' their life was unfolding under the guidance of their Mother's love and into his soul through their separation came full perception of the life and love that was to be"
December 25th., 1942
Youngest son of Albert L. Parker and Josephine Woodward, born in Coaticook, Quebec, and married to Beryl Smith, daughter of James Smith and Ida Buchanan. He had two children, Cynthia, born in 1932, and me, Ronald C.W., born April 28th., 1939. He left when I was just 2 years old and came home when I was 6. These were important years missing in our lives.I have been asked, "Why are you writing about a war that happened 60 years ago that nobody remembers and nobody cares about?" The answer is that this is not about war. This is about my Dad set in the context of a war. What he did, what he saw, what he endured, how he survived to carry on his life will be a matter of public record. This is about him.
He was born March 2, 1902. He died August 10, 1985.
In his youth Dad loved sports. He was a pretty good boxer who ... " could have done better if I hadn't kept hitting the other guys fist with my face." He was a football player who the big guys used to pick up and throw over the scrimmage line wiith the ball in his arms when they needed a first down. His favourite sport was hockey. He played for the Anglo Canadian (Pulp & Paper Mills) Employees, the forerunners of the famous Quebec ACES.
He was a man with a full range of emotions. He loved to laugh. He could do a great imitation of Mortimer Snerd, and would do it just about anytime, anywhere. He was slow to anger, but would sputter like a wet fuse before going off like a small fire-cracker. He could be moved to tears by music, and could move us to tears as he played his beloved cello. How he loved to play, his head back, eyes closed ... sawing away, not aware that sometimes the sharps and flats were half a fingertip off key. While being held prisoner some of his fellow prisoners made a cello out of an old oil drum for Dad which he played during 'entertainment nights' put on by the prisoners to ease to the pain of loneliness.
Most of all he loved his family. He loved his Beryl, his wife of more than 50 years, he loved his kids, and his grand kids. And we loved him. He is missed.