I’m going to tell you a story on this Sunday, the day before Remembrance Day.
My mother, who loved Frank Mahovlich, and therefore hated the Toronto Maple Leafs for trading him, was a teenager in the second world war. Oh, and she, like me, was half German. She had relatives who still spoke German at home, and she had some who changed their last names. Her parents had been born in Canada to recent immigrants, her father from England with a really hard to spell name. One of those old Saxon names that flummoxes people with vowels that do unexpected things.