I don’t ever remember having any type of thanksgiving dinner, or xmas dinner, or anything like that in our PMQ on the various bases.
I do remember going over to Sue’s family in Oshawa a couple of times when we lived on Canadian Forces Base Downsview. But Richard always felt odd, out of place, and usually agitated which always turned these dinners into a minefield of broken glass.
I’m definitely not a day person.
Far too many people to deal with during the day.
Night is better, but I have to deal with my daemons at night.
I’m more of a sleep person.
Anything but humans.
Humans are an evolutionary disaster.
We have brains that can remember, plan, and forecast.
But instead of using our brains to their highest potential we use our brains to lie, steal, maim, scheme, and deceive.
Some of us even hallucinate magic beings that justify our misdeeds.
Others use these magical beings to inflict their wills upon others, even with the goal of intentionally causing pain, suffering, and even death.
Describe a family member……….
Well, I think I’ve described my father the best I can.
My stepmother? I didn’t really know her all that well even though she lived with us from August of 1980 onwards. There is a lot of truth to the old medieval stories about wicked stepmothers. Didn’t help much either that she was only about 10 to 12 years older than me and that my father started dating her while she was in her very late teens or early twenties.
Stepbrother? Again I don’t know him. I moved out of the house just after he turned 2. I had some brief contact with him when he was 5 and we moved to CFB Griesbach for Richard’s last posting but I haven’t seen him since.
My mother? I don’t really know her too well. She left when I was five. My father poured all sorts of lies and bullshit into my head when I was a kid. When I finally did meet her again in 1990, she was very damaged. When I saw her again in 2013 she was even worse than 1990. Extremely broken. But just about everyone who came into contact with Richard ended up being fucked up.
So, let’s talk about Scott.
Remember in my previous posting about my dealings with Sheldon Robb of the RCMP? I went to Edmonton in the summer of 2013 to see Scott to talk about the matter from Canadian Forces Base Namao. When Scott found out that I was going to meet with Sheldon Robb, Scott wanted to meet Sheldon. Scott wanted to ask Sheldon to check his CPIC history to see if there was anything in there that would explain why he couldn’t get into the States and why he was randomly being pulled over by the Edmonton Police Service.
We met with Sheldon at a Timmies in St. Albert. Sheldon was absolutely fascinated with and perplexed by the Captain McRae affair from CFB Namao and how things had unfolded.
Scott asked Sheldon if he had a chance to look into Scott’s CPIC file to see if there was anything that would explain his inability to cross the border and his frequent interactions with the police for traffic stops.
Sheldon proceeded to excuse himself saying that he had just received a text and he had to return to the detachment, but that we could meet again latter. There would be no later. When I called Sheldon the next day he explained that there were warrants for Scott’s arrest. And as Sheldon was with the federal RCMP and not the municipal Edmonton Police Service he’d have to arrest Scott and take him into custody.
After Scott’s death, I attended his apartment in Edmonton. Couldn’t stay for long in the suite as the entire floor had been removed and the smell of death and rot was still very heavy in the apartment. But I did manage to snag his passport before leaving. Around 2019 he had been denied entry into the States. He apparently made it to Mexico for gastric bypass surgery.
I can’t explain the difference between Scott and I. We were like night and day. Same household, same neglect, same mental, physical, and sexual abuse. Same alcoholic grandmother and same alcoholic father. Same rage fulled grandmother and same rage fulled father.
The one thing that I think may have possibly contributed to the difference is that Richard had dumped any responsibility for raising Scott on to me. I was responsible for my actions, and I would receive punishment if my actions were deemed inappropriate. I was also responsible for raising Scott as if he was my son, and if Scott got into trouble. Richard liked it this way. If I fucked up, it was my fault. If Scott fucked up, it was my fault. This way Richard could keep his hands clean. Wasn’t his fault that his kids were fucked up, it was always somebody else’s fault.
I guess the difference between Scott and myself would be best summed up by the fact that when I moved with Richard and Sue back to Edmonton in July of 1990, Scott didn’t move with us. Scott was still completing his sentence at St. John’s Training School for Boys in Uxbridge, Ontario.
Scott had detected early on that Richard would unleash on me for anything that Scott had done as I wasn’t “raising my brother right”. Scott had even delighted in telling one of his friends that if he wanted to get Richard to beat me up that all he’d have to do is take one of Richard’s screw drivers out of his toolbox, and just remove a screw from one of Richard’s computers or whatnot and that Richard would explode. It was a great source of pride for him.
Scott wasn’t too bad until we moved to Canadian Forces Base Downsview in North York, Ontario. That’s when things went off a cliff.
The first time that I knew Scott was getting in to trouble was when we went to Edmonton for the summer of 1985 to stay with our grandmother. Scott got picked up by the Edmonton Police Service for breaking into lockers in the men’s change room at the Kinsmen Sports Centre and stealing cash and credit cards.
When we got back to Toronto after the summer that’s when Scott and his friend Greg started getting into all sort of legal trouble. Greg was some civy kid that lived in the local neighbourhood.
Stealing cars, breaking into houses, breaking into semi trailers, breaking into warehouses. You name it Scott and his buddies were doing it. Scott tried stealing Richard’s ’83 Mustang GT once but he couldn’t drive standard. But he did steal our stepmother’s Pontiac Chevette once. Scott’s theft of the Chevette was directly tied by Richard to me allowing the babysitter to have abused Scott from 1978 until 1980.
I had a weekend job working for a man named Bob Becker. Bob owned a company call Trans American Video Amusements. He was a video game operator. He had a workshop up on Keele St. and Steele Ave. I’d go up on weekends and work on video games, pinball machines, or jukeboxes. Perfect job for a loner geek like me. Gave me a place to be away from Richard. Anyway Scott shows up with his buddy Greg and some friends. Scott has told Greg that I agreed to fix Greg’s V-6 Nova. Problem was I said no such thing. Greg was the last person that I’d ever do anything for. Greg and Scott made a habit of stealing my belongings. And the other problem was somebody had pulled all of the electrics out of the engine compartment and made a mess of it.
Even though I didn’t have a driver’s licence at the time I backed Bob’s truck out of the shop so Scott and Greg could push Greg’s car in. Once in Greg and Scott started looking for anything of value that they could pocket. Scott and Greg disappeared for a short bit but they came back around an hour later. After having no lock with the car I pushed it back outside and got the keys for Bob’s truck and drove it back in. Once back in that’s when I realized that Bob’s truck mounted mobile phone was missing and one of the side cutters from the shop were sitting on the floor by the remnant of the phone’s wiring harness.
There was no doubt that Scott and Greg stole the mobile phone. Stealing the truck would have been too obvious. And besides it was a late ’70s Chevy Karyvan with a large cube box and a lift gate on the rear. Definitely not the most indiscrete vehicle to steal.
When I worked for another small video game operator I would often do service calls for that company. That meant that I had to carry the master keys for the machines. I used to carry a pager. Vince or Ravi would message me if there were service calls for me to look at after school. Well, I checked the pager after school and it was a whole bunch of messages from Ravi and Vince. Both wanted to know how my some kid named Craig got hold of my keys. Turns out that Scott had taken my keys out of my bedroom and sold them to one of his friends for about $50.00 and then told this kid the addresses for a lot of the locations that Vince and Ravi had games at. This kid Craig got caught opening up machines and taking quarters out of the coin boxes.
In the years after Scott had been diagnosed with Grand Mal Epilepsy he developed this state where he would be asleep but if awoken he would be in an uncontrollable rage until he gained control. As he wasn’t allowed to smoke in his bedroom he’d often come downstairs and pass out on the couch in the “TV” room, or he’d pass out on my bed. After the first time or two of waking Scott up to get him to go upstairs and go to bed and being on the receiving end of his rages I decided that I would just go upstairs and sleep in the living room. Even Richard would no longer try to disturb Scott. In a way it was fun watching the once mighty Richard cower in front of Scott, but it was short lived joy as I would often be subject to the same rage.
How much trouble did Scott get into after I moved out for the first time in 1987, and then for good in September of 1990? I don’t know. I know that by his own admission he did some jail time.
When Scott finished his sentence at St. John’s he was sent out to Alberta. He moved in with Richard and Sue in their new house in Morinville, but his stay was even less than my three weeks in Sue’s house. Richard called me up one day at work and said that he wanted to stop by my place for a visit. Scott was in Richard’s car. Richard told Scott to get out of the car and that he was now my problem to look after, that Richard was washing his hands of us and that it was time our mother started looking after us. It took Scott less than three days to eat up all of my food and to get me some eviction warnings from Creepy Walter, the landlord. The warnings were due playing my music too loud. Wasn’t me playing the music, it was Scott. But same thing. I called Richard for help with the groceries. Fuck no, he had paid enough all of these years to raise us, I could fuck off if I thought I was getting another fucking penny out of him. He suggested that I hit up that bitch mother of mine and get her to foot some of the bill as he was sick and tired of not being able to enjoy his paycheque.
I made contact with Marie and she agreed to take Scott out to her acreage by Wabamum Beach.
After I left Edmonton in ’92 I never saw Scott again until 1996 when Scott showed up in Vancouver to go to “Columbia Academy for the Performing Arts ” on West Broadway. Richard called me up and told me that Scott was having car troubles and that I owed it to Richard to help Scott. So I did. Then Scott went away. He came back around 2000. He only stayed out here a short while, then he was gone again. Saw him once in 2003 when I drove to Edmonton over the summer. After that I never saw him again until 2013.
I would find out that after I left in ’92 he has stolen a truck from a car dealership in Canmore, AB and drove it all the way out to Ontario where the OPP caught him just outside of Kenora, Ontario. No doubt he was heading back to Toronto.
Scott was shipped back to Alberta to stand trial and he got sentenced to more time in juvie. Apparently Richard refused to have anything to do with Scott. And when Scott tried to get our mother Marie to pick him up Marie was hesitant as Scott had become extremely belligerent to her before he stole the van.
On the morning of January 1st, 2000 Scott gave a pair of Skytrain attendants my name, my social insurance number, and a fictitious address that had the proper postal code had that address actually existed. Scott worked for a company in the geographical area serve by this postal code and he knew fictitious addresses that would look as if they were plausible.
I didn’t discover the impersonation until 2006 when ICBC sent a collections agent after me. I knew the ticket wasn’t mine as I’ve never had a fare evasion ticket anywhere, AND more importantly I was at work on standby for the chaos that was supposed to break out due to the Y2K bug.
And I had been told by John Potter at my Sea Cadet corp in February of 1987 that Scott had used my name and SIN when he had been arrested for stealing yet another car. So Scott giving my name for a fare evasion ticket was par for the course.
In 2013 I had to track Scott down due to the statement that Richard had given to the CFNIS in 2011 and I also needed to serve Scott with a written examination for Federal Court for my judicial review to ask him some question “on the record” to be admitted to Federal Court as evidence.
Scott said that after having not spoken to them since 2008, Richard and Sue were in a panic to find Scott as Richard and Sue wanted to know what the fuck was going on and why I was giving Richard a subpoena for Federal Court.
I asked Scott what he meant that he hadn’t spoken to Richard and Sue since 2008. He asked me if I remembered Erik from the first time we lived on Greisbach in the ’80s.
Kinda, I replied.
Well, the pussy committed suicide back in 2008 and Richard and Sue wanted me to go to the funeral, but there was no way that I was going to go, not for him.
Why? What happened?
Well, I came across some credit cards. Okay, I stole some credit cards from the gas station I was working at. I gave Erik some of the cards and then we went over to West Edmonton Mall on a shopping spree. The thing is we got caught.
Scott then went on to explain that he used his previous experience in the criminal justice system to keep his mouth shut. “If the police have enough evidence to charge, they’ll charge. They don’t need to talk to you. If they’re talking to you they’re trying to get you to give them the evidence to charge you”. He said that Erik was so scared that he was trying to explain his way out of being charged, but that Scott just kept his mouth shut. In the end Erik took the fall for the entire affair and Scott walked away hands clean.
Of course, being charged with credit card fraud and receiving a jail sentence will pretty well prevent you from going places both travel wise and employment wise.
According to newspaper articles I’ve found, Erik went off the rails, started drinking, got into an incident at a bar, and then committed suicide a short time later.
I don’t really know how solid the relationship was between Scott and Erik was prior to the credit card matter. I know that when we lived on CFB Griesbach, Sue would often go hangout with her friend Darlene. If I remember right, Darlene and Sue knew each other from their time at AGT. Sue and I didn’t spend much time together, and she rarely took me on car rides, especially not on shopping trips, and especially not over to Darlene’s place. Scott was Sue’s constant companion. So much so that Sue took Scott for ice cream once at the DQ on Castle Downs road, as she was getting in the car with Scott, I asked her if I could come. Nope. Retards don’t get ice cream. She called me retard frequently after I was admitted into the Westfield program for emotionally disturbed children.
There was one time that I went to Darlene’s place that will forever stand out in my mind. Darlene and Sue had gone off to Londonderry Mall to do some shopping. Darlene provided her kids with just about everything they wanted. They had some video tapes with kids on them signing popular hits from the radio. This was definitely not something that Richard would have tolerated in his house. I’m signing along with the videos and having a good time. But then I realize that Scott, Erik, and Erik’s younger sister are nowhere to be found. After checking around outside I made my way upstairs and discovered Scott, Erik, and Erik’s younger sister naked as jaybirds playing doctor.
As the events of CFB Namao were still fresh in my head, and as I was still receiving “therapy” from Captain Terry Totzke, I knew that this wasn’t going to be good. So I fucking hightailed it back to the base. That was about a 1 hour walk, but I did an awful lot of walking as a kid anyways. I could walk from CFB Griesbach to grandma’s apartment on 107th and 111st whenever Richard had blown his fuse. I could walk to my job at Pizza Plus in Kingsway Garden Mall. Booking it back from Darlene’s place to the base wasn’t a problem, and was far preferable to getting caught in the same house as those three.
How close was the relationship between Scott and Erik? Don’t know. But they did see each other far more frequently than I ever did. And the fact that Scott thought that Erik was worthy enough of being Scott’s partner in crime means that they must have had more than just a casual relationship. But no matter how strong that relationship was, it wasn’t strong enough for Scott to not turn his back on his friend.
There were times after the 2011 CFNIS investigation where it became very clear that Richard was still very capable of playing head games with Scott. For instance, the morning of my Federal Court hearing Scott gets into my Facebook and Twitter feed with all sort of accusations that I had allowed and encouraged the babysitter to abuse us. A quick check of Scott’s facebook feed showed that Richard had shown up at Scott’s place the evening before and had given Scott all sorts of computers and computer equipment. No doubt Richard also took the opportunity to “set things straight” which explained Scotts weird tirade.
Scott kept up these accusation right up until 2020 the Military Police Complaints Commission released their report on the 2015 to 2018 CFNIS investigation in which they said that it was very clearly obvious that Captain McRae was a pedophile and that the military police and the CFSIU in 1980 were very much aware of the babysitter’s actions, that the babysitter was known to have molested numerous children on base and that the babysitter was actually receiving psychiatric care at the time for his sexual attraction to children.
Scott’s attitude further changed once my class action was filed and became public knowledge.
Was Scott evil?
No.
Scott came from the same fucked up and dysfunctional house as I did.
The difference between Scott and I probably comes down to the fact that I tried to desperately get out of the house whenever I could. I always had jobs at pet shops, or pizza shops, or working on electronics, etc.
Scott on the other hand was under the direct influence of Richard.
Richard was probably the single most toxic person that I ever knew.
I really wish that I had learnt earlier in life that the Canadian Armed Forces were nothing to look up to.
As a child growing up in a military family living on military bases you get exposed to the military in a way that civilians aren’t exposed to.
I’ve flown in a Sea King.
I’ve flown in a Chinook more than a few times.
I’ve flown in a Hercules at least once.
These flights were typically on “family days” on base, but with the Chinooks it was when I was at the squadron I could go on test flights if I promised to keep my mouth shut and just sit there.
And when the Canadian Forces used to operate passenger planes for transferring personnel, I flew in one of these from Canadian Forces Base Shearwater to Canadian Forces Base Namao.
I don’t remember going to the squadron on CFB Shearwater or on CFB Summerside, but I was a frequent visitor to 447 Sqn on CFB Namao in the days prior to the Captain McRae fiasco. I knew how to turn on the DC breakers to get power to the cockpit radio and I knew how to select the AM band and tune in the local radio station and kill time in the cockpit while my father was busy doing who the hell knows what. Yeah, I knew how to tune into the base tower or the local civilian towers, but this wasn’t as much fun as the radio.
I followed a mechanic up on top of a Chinook once. The rotors were off the helicopter and he was doing something with the swash plate assemblies. This was prior to us moving off CFB Namao in September of 1980 so I would have been around 8. I was out of my father’s hair so he didn’t give a shit so long as I didn’t fall off and create paperwork.
Sure, my father was a drunk and an asshole, but so were a lot of the other guys. And they all seemed to love hanging out together at the mess. Yeah, my father could get angry and issue beatings, but that was my fault. He wouldn’t hit me or beat me if I didn’t deserve it, right?
And after what I had done on CFB Namao with the babysitter and Captain McRae I really deserved his anger and his fury, right?
For the majority of my life I held the Canadian Armed Forces in high regard.
And of course that didn’t change until May of 2011 when Master Corporal Christian Cyr let the beans out about the whole Captain Father Angus McRae fiasco.
To this day I can’t believe that I was so fucking stupid to believe that the Canadian Armed Forces had any honour.
The more I dug into the whens and whys of the Captain McRae fiasco the more it became crystal clear that the Canadian Armed Forces is an organization that places more concern in its public image and its ability to “wash the laundry in house”.
It cares not about the children living on base.
It cares not about the families living on base.
And it really doesn’t care about the individual members of the Canadian Armed Forces.
It’s a soulless entity that will destroy lives in order to protect its image.
Men like my father?
Just fucking mindless robots that go along with what they’re told because they’re not allowed to think on their own. They’re part of the hive-mind or the Borg. Completely fucking useless automatons that can’t do fuck all unless the chain of command tells them to.
The Canadian Armed Forces will never reward individuality. The Canadian Armed Forces is all about conformity and following orders.
If the Chain of Command tells you that you 8 year old son is a homosexual because he was found being buggered by his 14 year old babysitter, well who the hell are you to question the wisdom of the chain of command?
If a Colonel doesn’t want the public to know that over 25 children were sexually abused for a two-year period on his base, then the public isn’t going to find out. Fuck the victims. Just charge McRae with enough crimes to get him the boot from the military, but don’t charge McRae with the full extent as this will only call your command ability into question and your plan of retiring from the Canadian Armed Forces as a Brigadier General will be at risk.
And don’t forget, in 2011 the Canadian Forces National Investigation Service knew the whole sordid affair from CFB Namao as they had the CFSIU DS 120-10-80 investigation paperwork as well as the Courts Martial transcripts for CM62 in their possession. They knew the full fucking truth. But they still insisted on running a dog’n’pony show investigation because there was no way that the Canadian Armed Forces was ever going to willingly suffer the public humiliation of having the Canadian public discover that the military had historically hidden child sexual abuse that occurred on the bases in Canada and that the problem was quite extensive.
And that’s the lesson that I wished I had learnt earlier in life.
Maybe not too young, but at least by my early 20s.
Fuck.
Fuck is my favourite word.
Growing up in a dysfunctional family living on various Canadian Armed Forces Bases across Canada I learnt the arts of the profanities at a young age.
And of course the word “fuck” was one of the first words that I used with any type of proficiency.
It didn’t take long for me to work up to “fuck off”, “fuck you”, “get fucked”.
I could even sing along with Gary Lee & the Showdown’s “The Rodeo Song” when a couple of the boys from the Canadian Airborne Regiment were playing the song one evening at the base auto club when my father was working on his car.
Fuck was an empowering word, I wished that I had used “fuck you”and “fuck off” on Canadian Forces Base Namao more frequently. Maybe the babysitter and Captain McRae would have found me too unappealing.
When I’d get into fist fights with the other brats on base I always found that my punches were able to land just a little harder with the profanities. And conversely when I got the shit kicked out of me by my father or the other brats on base the profanities would ease the pain away.
In 2013 I had gone up to see Scott over the summer. We stopped for coffee at a coffee shop on the east side of Edmonton. We were sitting there for about 10 minutes when this elderly gent came over and asked Scott and I to stop with the swearing as he’d never heard two people swear so much.
Swearing was baked into our vocabulary.
Sure, the Canadian Armed Forces will bend over backwards to portray the military communities on base to be right out of Mayberry. But back in the ’60s, ’70s, and ’80s the PMQs were full of angry alcoholics, some with untreated CPTSD / PTSD. Fuck, CFB Shearwater had a “Battered Wives Club”……
The whole fucking community was full of testosterone, alcohol, anger, and untreated mental illness. So yeah, kids from the junior ranks and non-commissioned side of the base were usually rough ‘n’ tumble.
This is a simple one.
NONE.
Next prompt!
Before going to Iceland in June of 2023 I had never been outside of North America. When I moved to Vancouver in 1992 I had started going down to Seattle every now and again.
Prior to that, and including all of the years that I lived on Canadian Forces Base Downsview in Ontario, I had never gone down to New York or even the American side of Niagara Falls.
Actually, I was over the American border once, but that was when I was on a job in the spring of 1990 and I had a stop over in the town of St. Stephen, New Brunswick. I had gone over the bridge into Calais, Maine a couple of times just to see what things were like.
I landed in Iceland a few days before the summer solstice in 2023.
I was in Iceland for just over a week.
Why did I go?
I had been expecting to be able to apply for medical assistance in dying back on March 17th, 2023 and going to Iceland was on my bucket list of things that I wanted to do before I kicked off this mortal coil.
Well, of course the Government of Canada chickened out at the last minute, so I’m still trapped here.
Why was Iceland on my bucket list?
Well, I talked about this before, but I’ll touch on it here again.
In 1976 my father had been posted from Canadian Forces Base Shearwater in Nova Scotia to Canadian Forces Base Summerside on Prince Edward Island. His drinking and his physical abuse of my mother started to get out of hand.
In the winter of 1977 my father had my mother booted out of the military housing. My father then had his mother come in from Edmonton, Alberta to live in the PMQ and raise my brother and I as he was frequently away from home on exercises.
By the late spring of 1978 my grandmother had returned back to Edmonton.
In July of 1978 I had been found unconscious in the middle of the road due to an incident involving my bicycle. Someone had picked me up and driven me to the Prince County Hospital. The only next-of-kin listed was my father. My grandmother’s name wasn’t on the admission papers.
What was on that papers was this little curiosity:
Apparently it’s somewhat of a straight shot from CFB Summerside the to US Base in Iceland
So, being the curious type, I had to go see what was so great about Iceland.
It was an 8 hour flight from YVR to KEF.
It was an interesting week and a bit in Iceland.
Never did figure out why Richard went, must have just been a routine flight.
I mainly stayed in Reykjavik.
I couldn’t really see anyone that resembled me, so doesn’t look like my father made any pleasure stops while he was there.
I might go back in the winter of 2026 for the Winter Solstice.
I started blogging back around August of 2011 just after I received my social service paperwork from the Alberta government.
I quickly realized that I had no one to talk to about the events that I had lived through on Canadian Forces Base Namao, Canadian Forces Base Griesbach, and Canadian Forces Base Downsview.
And talk I wanted to.
To go from someone who had been reviled by his own family for causing the events on Canadian Forces Base Namao and for having fucked with his father’s military career to now being one of at least 25 children that got chucked under the fucking bus by the Canadian Armed Forces due to chain of command decisions made by grown adults in May to June of 1980.
I had begun counselling sessions in May of 2011 with a counsellor from the EFAP program at work, I could tell that he wasn’t able to comprehend any of what I was telling him. Sure, the counselling went on for a few years. It was nice having someone to talk to even if he had nothing to offer in the slightest.
I thought that these blogs would get me more answers and more details about what had happened on CFB Namao. But this hasn’t worked out. Yes, I have been contacted by other brats who were abused on the base at the time. But much like I had been prior to my crash course in the damaged military justice system, most people who had grown up on military bases as children had no idea of just how fucked up things were on the bases back then.
There are generally two types of base brat. The ones that came from somewhat functional families and who undoubtedly participated in the shunning of kids from dysfunctional families that would occur on base. And those that came from dysfunctional families like mine that are unaware that their own serving parent sacrificed the wellbeing of their children to appease the chain of command.
The members of the former group will not under any circumstance admit that there were dysfunctional families on base as that means that they would have to admit to the fact that they often participated in the shunning and harassment of the children of these families.
And you had better fucking believe me when I say that a military community is not very tolerant of non-conformity. The military is built around 100% conformity.
The members of the latter group will not admit that their family was dysfunctional as they subconsciously know what happened, but they don’t want to have their suspicions confirmed.
I quickly came to realize that the general public has no idea of what happened on the bases in Canada, and the general public just doesn’t seem to care.
The media that once existed in Canada no longer exists. It’s all downsized, consolidated, and owned by the Americans. And timing is everything. The last 25 years have been extremely unstable in the geo political sphere, so the story of how the National Defence Act allowed matters like Captain Father Angus McRae to be buried often becomes sidelined due to current events.
So, I type away on my blog in the vain hope that something will come of this all the while knowing that this blog will only really appeal to a very small minority of people.
The computer asked me, so I must answer.
In no particular order:
Beeshive 