Unforgettable Arnold Adventures 

This is the original story that was reworked to fit the narrative in Hope from Stone.

Some of the most memorable occasions I’ve spent are with Arnold. Two events that especially stand out are a Remembrance Day, and an annual tulip trip to La Connor, Washington.

Arnold was a long retired chef and camp cook. Well into his 70’s when I met him through mutual friends, Arnold was as Dutch as Dutch could be. The language was a throat disease not a language he joked, tapping the dash as was his habit for emphasis. Arnold had a very bad back, literally bending him in half. He could straighten but the norm was 90º. I never did know exactly what the condition was, but he worked very hard at maintaining his range of motion and could stand straight with effort. After having to surrender his drivers license, he faithfully rode his bike and swam at the local pool like clockwork and I’d see him all over town. In later years he would trade his bicycle in for a walker, a large walker to fit his tall frame, even though he bent in the middle to right angles. Arnold loved the VSO and the opera. He always bought seasons tickets to both. The performances took place in downtown venues some 100 km away and getting there was always part of the event for Arnold. He had collected a long roster of names over the years, and would always be lining up his rides weeks in advance. Each driver was expected to drive, pay for a modest dinner at one of several regular resturants, and take care of the parking fees. In turn, Arnold supplied the concert ticket, two if need be. Which were beautiful seats. In all, it was a most fair, if not generous arrangement.

He called one rainy night to line up a ride for a Remembrance Day concert. A concert at the Orpheum with the Dal Richards Orchestra he said. Arnold would be a good person to spend Remembrance Day with I thought. I knew a little of his story which dribbled out over the years. He had an affection for the Canadian military. So when I got the invitation, I immediately said yes. 

Arnold had been a prisoner of war. The Germans occupied Holland and he was taken to a German slave camp. He was 18 years old. His brother also was a taken prisoner, although to a different camp. Arnold worked outside in hard slave labour, severely underfed, and undernourished for 3 years. I never knew what happened to the rest of Arnold’s family, and could only shudder to think. Eventually, Canada liberated Holland set all the prisoners free, including Arnold and his brother. But not before they had been reduced as human beings where it took over a year to recondition them back to mainstream life.  Arnold went on to immigrate to Canada, marry, have children and lead a long healthy productive life. He remarried at 78 – to a woman 27 years his junior and died at age 90.

So in a nutshell, if anyone had anything to be bitter about, particularly around war, Arnold was surely was one. But it was not the case. He had a heart of gold and much love for many. He had a special soft spot for the Canadian military who liberated Holland. He continued to be interested and involved in politics right up to the end of his life. He made many friends in that arena, as well as his cultured friends, his local church community, staff at the various concert halls and the local merchants. Arnold was known and loved by all.

I respected Arnold’s attitude towards war, which he deeply understood having lived it first hand. I knew spending Remembrance Day with him would be memorable for me. Plus I really liked the Dal Richards Orchestra, who were hosting it at Vancouver’s jewel, The Orpheum Theatre. It was stacking up to be a beautiful afternoon. 

We went for dinner as usual and took our usual seats at the theatre. Dal and the boys were already behind their individual podiums that had the script D on the front. Wearing their matching suits and ties looking their best as always, they quietly warmed up. A stray G note , or F chord would occasionally vibrate out. 

With the house loaded, the lights dimmed, Dal welcomed everyone. The audience was a terrific mix from grey and very grey, to middle aged, youth and children, with no real majority in one category, which surprised me. 

The band started out with some popular old-time wartime songs, unfamiliar to many, including myself, but embedded in others, like Arnold. I glanced over and he was bobbing his head, singing along, knowing all the words so very well. As the show went on, it turned out to be a beautifully arranged variety type show with maybe six vignettes. Each one presented uniquely different from the other and was a brilliant array of entertainment. Tasteful and not too sensationalized. Dal himself, I’m sure, experienced war first hand so knew the songs, their meanings, and played them in context.  It was a standing joke with Arnold: their ages – Dal was older by five years. But who’s counting after 85!

One vignette especially stands out. The stage set like a soda pop shop where servicemen in town came for soda. The pretty young waitresses and service men broke out into four couples dancing – exactly the same steps to exactly the same music they would’ve danced to in the 1940’s. Dressed so accurately for the part, girls in their sweaters with hair coiffured in great swirls and dramatic parts; men in their proud uniforms and collapsible caps on an angle. For me not being of age to have experienced this, it was a wonderful opportunity to see how some of the brighter spots of wartime might’ve played out. 

I’d glance over at Arnold and he would be wiping a tear, or tapping a toe. He literally had gone back 60 years in his mind. The intros by Dal were so well articulated, he placed the scenes so well. At one point we stood to sing the national anthem, and at a another point, a solitary bugle rang out a lovely version of Taps. The afternoon flowed seamlessly. Even the children were mesmerized and captivated. The show was a very full two hours and very entertaining. I was glad I got the call for this concert. This show ended with a ballad as a tribute to all the service men and women, past and present, gone but not forgotten, and one couldn’t help but be touched. The lights came on and no one stirred.

After a few moments, I asked Arnold if he was ready and we gathered our belongings. All the way home you could hear a pin drop, we were lost in our own thoughts. It was truly an honor to have spent Remembrance Day with someone like Arnold who could have so much to be bitter about but had so much gratitude instead. 

To me, those are real heroes of war.

** *

The last of my most memorable Arnold-Adventures was an annual trip to the Tulip Festival in Washington State.

Every April, a patchwork of early spring flowers draped La Connor, Washington. There were fields and acres of tulips and daffodils of every shade. Row after perfectly furrowed row of color – reds, yellows, purples, and oranges. A vision to behold.

It was always cold no matter how are you sliced it. Jackets zipped all the way and runny noses with pockets of extra Kleenex were always of the day. The festival itself was over rated but it was always a lovely Sunday-drive Spring thing to do. The two hour drive to La Connor was always a little further than you remembered, so was welcomed when you finally arrived. Scads of other tourists came to the town’s claim to fame and traffic crawled with looky-loos. Barns and garden sheds were converted to accommodate the masses for the one week exposition. Display boards explained the ins and outs of storing, planting, and growing bulbs into fine sturdy tulips while wet, muddy barn floors were sopped up with clean dry straw. Port-a-johns lined driveways and local art clubs arranged their best wares. Arnold and I would meander around in durable shoes, snapping pictures to send to his brother in Holland.

Roozengaarde Gardens sported a giant Dutch windmill, wonderful wide gravel walking paths and flush toilets. It was the most polished farm by far. After the long drive, one really needed to get out and stretch but it was usually too mucky or dangerous at the other farms so these gravel walkways with a giant flat parking lot were a welcome sight. It was the go-to farm.

The town itself offered a few of the usual things Sunday-drive things to do. Along the Swimonish channel, antique shops, a popular seed store, and refurbished historic gift shops lined the main drag to browse around in, while the boats on the water made a picturesque backdrop. Arnold and I never stuck around though because we headed off to Lynden for lunch.

Lynden is a very Dutch community in the next county some 45 minutes away. Hailing an authentic Dutch cuisine was “The Lynden Dutch Bakery”, an Arnold-must, and regular conclusion to the tulip trip. Lynden itself was a lovely border town of 5,000 residents known for its popular good old-fashioned summer country fair. American flags graced midsized heritage houses with immaculate front yards along the tree lined main drag. The area was surrounded by equally immaculate farms and farm houses.

So with bellies full of pannekok, pockets full of crumpled Kleenex and our memory cards full of fresh air and color, we’d head home through the Sumas border, each to our own cozy, comfortable Lazy-Boy rockers, tired but grateful to be alive.

** *
Over the years, there were other shows, outings and visits – Sleeping Beauty, a Russian ballet on ice at the vaudeville Mount Baker Theater in Bellingham; The Faerie Queen, a Royal Winnipeg Ballet at the Queen E., The Vancouver Chamber Choir singing Christmas carols, a summer stroll with gelato on the White Rock pier, a chance meeting outside Penguin Meats, or breakfast at Yucca Tree. The list goes on.
Arnold honed his life into the most profound, beautiful symphony. He was a true phoenix who rose up from a pile of ashes, to spread love and compassion in all four directions like the blades of a windmill. It was a privilege and an honor to be his friend.

Although he would’ve said the opposite.