7th June 2018

Again, I rose well after Sue and Gwenda and found them sitting in the small dining annexe, drinking tea and chatting merrily as I descended the stairs and headed to the kitchen to prepare my own brew of robust coffee. Annoyingly, I spied a lovely day through the window, no dark clouds in sight, no trees waving at the end of the garden, and a dry driveway surface indicating no rain overnight. I briefly wondered why I had slept so well, but the answer was obvious: I was now in holiday mode!

What a shame that our brief stay with Gwenda coincided with the worst weather Canada could throw at us… Well, perhaps that’s a little over the top, as I’ve seen photos of snowdrifts reaching the guttering of Gwenda’s bungalow. Still, it illustrates our disappointment at not being able to sit out in the garden, enjoy the evenings, or wander along the river at leisure. It was not to be, but at least we enjoyed each other’s company, and, in the end, that made the location irrelevant.

After breakfast, we continued to chat about this and that until nearly midday, when Sue set about making lunch, quiche and coleslaw. I took the opportunity to fill up the car with petrol (a far more sensible word than the Canadian/American “gas”). Afterwards, I put out Gwenda’s rubbish for collection later in the afternoon, then tinkered with her TV to improve the sound, as she was starting to have difficulty hearing some of the programmes.

All too soon, we had eaten lunch and were saying our goodbyes. Just before leaving, we met the next-door neighbour, Garry, who kindly took some photos of the three of us. Then, leaving a tearful aunt behind and with a lump in our throats, we headed for the Trans-Canada Highway.

The journey to Latchford went without a hitch. The roads were unerringly Roman-like in their straightness (I hadn’t realised they made it this far, I thought they had stopped at Hadrian’s Wall), and it was trees and lakes all the way, with the occasional settlement to break the monotony. The SatNav on my phone decided, after a few miles, to stop talking to me. I suppose it took one look at the route and thought it might as well have a nap, reckoning I could manage ‘straight’ all on my own! So, I simply followed the little black arrow along the endless blue line marching from the top of the screen to the bottom, until we finally pulled into the car park of the Frontiersman Motel on Highway 11, some four hours later.

A few minutes after we had rung the bell for attention at Reception, a young lad appeared, dishevelled and barefoot. We had woken him, and he handed us the key to our room, then quickly explained where it was and mentioned that if we wanted a shower, we should persevere as we were at the end of the pipe and the hot water would eventually arrive. He pointed to the restaurant across the road and the petrol station a little further down and informed us that there was a lovely walk along the lake to the dam. Leaving him to return to his bed/cot, we found our room.

First, we checked out the restaurant, then the petrol station, before heading down to the lake to see what was there. It was a pretty spot, clearly well-used in the summer months by families having BBQs and picnics, but today it was quiet and peaceful. For a while, we watched a beaver or otter on the far shore of the little bay we were attempting to walk around, but we couldn’t be sure of the species as we could only see the top of its head and the wake chevroning behind it as it searched for fish.

We came across the world’s shortest covered bridge, famously situated in Latchford and no doubt the end point of many a pilgrimage. Alas, not today, there appeared to be a distinct lack of fellow pilgrims, just Sue and me. We took a few photos to prove that we had actually been to this iconic spot; no doubt they will soon be framed alongside our pictures of the Great Pyramid of Giza, the Eiffel Tower, Machu Picchu, etc.

We wandered along the bank of the lake until the mosquitoes decided to make an appearance. Retracing our steps, we found Latchford Dam, which we walked over and back, stopping in the centre to gaze at the waters racing below. Rebuilt in 2016, the dam is quite impressive, with both the road bridge and the railway bridge running alongside it. We paused briefly at a small memorial park dedicated to a Latchford soldier who, in 1945, earned the Victoria Cross through his outstanding bravery before making our way back to the motel.

Later in the evening, we did indeed eat at the small restaurant recommended by our young receptionist (it was the only one in town), where we enjoyed a hearty and, in Canadian terms, very filling meal.

Back in our room, Sue read her book while I wrote this and engaged in a little research on a Latchford hero before watching TV, until, inevitably, the zzzzzzzz’s arrived.

Sergeant Aubrey Cosens, V.C. Born in Latchford and raised near Porquis Junction, Cosens enlisted in the Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders of Canada, Canadian Active Service Force, 1940, and transferred to the Queen’s Own Rifles of Canada in 1944. Early on February 26, 1945, his unit attacked enemy forces at Mooshot, Germany, a strategic position vital to the success of future operations. His platoon suffered heavy casualties, and Cosens assumed command. Supported by a tank, he led another attack against three enemy strongpoints, which he captured single-handedly. He was later killed by a sniper. For his “outstanding gallantry, initiative, and determined leadership,” he was posthumously awarded the Commonwealth’s highest decoration for valour, the Victoria Cross.