I called an old friend who lives in the neighborhood and told him I'd be in the bookstore for a few hours yesterday, and to drop in if he was passing by. He came bearing coffee, mine being a watery espresso from Second Cup (they have no idea how to make it...for shame!) but welcome nevertheless.
As we were chatting, an elderly man came to the cash desk with a book on D-Day. He would have been in his 80s, trim and strong-looking.
"I was flying aircraft on this day," the gentleman said, a RCAF veteran. Then he turned to my friend. "You sound English," he said.
"Scottish," corrected my friend.
"Highly refined Scottish," I chimed in, to explain why he didn't sound so obvious, although his mother was part Sassenach.
"I'm Scottish Canadian," the former RCAF pilot said, looking and sounding quite pleased.
"He's also a historian," I said. "U of T PhD and all." (I should know, I typed his dissertation)
A discussion of D-Day ensued, and I let the Celts at it.
For all our dead in the Second World War, I was very pleased to see a live one!