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 Educated in London, England, in the field of Medical Laboratory Technology, specializing in Clinical Biochemistry. Emigrated to Canada in 1970. Received B.Sc in Clinical Chemistry in 1973 and M.Sc in 1978. A major field of interest was the study of the relationship between High and Low Density Lipoproteins, and development of a technique for their quantisation, using high speed centrifugal analysis. Initiated the composition of a manual in Clinical Chemical Techniques, and was directly responsible for its continual update. In 1983 entered studies at Queens University at Kingston, Ontario, toward a M.Div degree. Graduated, and ordained as a minister in the United Church of Canada in 1986. Has written and produced a number of one act play-lets for family church audiences, along with numerous religious stories for children. In the process of compiling them into a publishable format. A major project at present is that of writing an autobiographical account of adventures and misadventures in ordained ministry.
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MY ACCOMPLISHMENTS:
- First Book completed and seeking a publisher; "The Tangled Saga of Bobby Whosisname." © 2007
A book in rhyme telling the adventures of a mischievous boy, especially when in church. - "Hot Under The Collar" © 2007
Second book is in the editing and rewriting stage; gives an account of the often surprising, amusing and horrifying events that fill a pastor's day.
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MY RESIDENCE INFO:
City: Amherstview
State/Country: Ontario, Canada
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BOOKS PUBLISHED:
"The Tangled Saga of Little Bobby Whosisname." Seeking a publisher.
Excerpt from Bobby Whosisname:
Little Bobby Whosisname, was born with giggles that was plain.
His mum and dad soon showed the strain, for of their lives he was the bane!
All who were present there that day, said “Look, how cute, he wants to play!”
But that opinion did decay, as Bob, his humour did display.
For Bobby grabbed the doctor’s nose, and held it tight as he did hose,
poor chap with urine, head to toes, who jumping back, he then did pose,
A danger to the staff around, and knocked a nurse right to the ground.
In midst of this, I will be bound, I heard this funny laughing sound.
A nurse, in panic, arms did flail, and reaching out, she held the rail,
around the bed where Mum lay pale, now feeling very, very frail.
Of course, what else, it had to be, the nurses hands were wet with pee.
Hindsight’s a wondrous thing to see, but foresight would have made them flee.
You see, she slipped, and then did fall, sending Mum and bed toward the wall!
This tale is true, it is not tall, I would not try to fool you all.
It’s not that you should be misled, for all the room looked on in dread,
for it was not a normal bed, but one with buttons at the head.
Most often working well, I’m told, but Mum, in fear, did grab a hold,
of the pee soaked buttons, lo and behold, giving cause to be so bold,
to say she should have done that not, would have saved her landing on her ‘bot’.
No one who saw it has forgot, for it surely hurt an awful lot.
Then, as the buttons shorted out, the head came up, gave her a clout.
The motor wasn’t very stout, the bearings started burning out.
The foot descended with a crash, the nurse’s toes were nearly mashed.
Everybody looked abashed, as that expensive bed was trashed.
They saw her body sliding down, stopping only when she hit the ground!
Diving in from all around, they tried to save her I’ll be bound.
To laugh out load would not be cool, in fact I’d say it would be cruel,
as utter chaos there did rule, amidst an ever spreading pool,
Of Bobby’s urine, who’d have thought, on ‘All-Fools’ day they could be caught,
by a baby they’d just brought into the world, now so distraught.
They’d met a tiny new born child, who surely was not meek and mild;
who at first had them beguiled, and at his birth they all had smiled.
Then, from the midst of mess and muckle, came forth a most unholy chuckle.
A sound enough to raise the hackle, something like a choking grackle.
A noise of unrestricted glee, from Bob, the source of all that pee.
All turned to look, they had to see, for it surely could not be.
That one so tiny and so young, on all of them this stunt had sprung.
For years they knew this tale’ll be sung, the shame of it already stung.
An act was needed, really brave, from further chaos so to stave.
Another nurse then grabbed the babe, while, at the same time, tried to save,
His Mom, from landing on her bum, a big mistake, or so say some.
For nurse and babe and also mum, were on the floor, when in did come;
attracted to that certain sector, by the less than pleasant nectar,
Head Nurse and Government Inspector, who both stood staring at the specter.
Tangled bodies, limbs and legs, sticking out beneath the bed.
A sight that certainly did beg an explanation, broke the regs.
Then, rising high above the smell, of Bobby’s urine came the yell.
In anger, caused its pitch to swell, like a voice right out of hell;
“Just tell me, pray, what’s going on? What means this sight I’ve come upon?
Such behavior’s frowned upon, if I have my way you’ll all be gone!”
I know that this is rotten prose, but a rose by any name’s a rose;
the doctor whirled around, and froze, with urine dripping off his nose.
Freeze is what he should have done, ‘cept floor was slippery – down he come.
None of this was really fun, except for Bob, the new born son.
You’d never think a babe could roar, to laugh like him would make me sore.
To see Doc there upon the floor, chaos enough – he’d added more.
Trying then to stand up straight, Doc had a very wobbly gait.
Almost did a figure eight, as across the floor was seen to skate.
Then with a stumble, stagger, trip did go, into Inspector, caught him so –
The action suddenly appeared to slow, as Doctor caught him such a blow.
Down they went, the two of them, slid into Bobby’s Uncle Ben.
That’s an action I’d condemn, for Ben is not the best of men.
He’d come to see the new born lad, not thinking things could be this bad.
He’s the brother of Bob’s Dad, a guy that’s easy to make mad.
See, Ben had not had time to eat, and had this craving for red meat.
When Ben’s hungry he’s not sweet, an appetite that can’t be beat.
He’d grabbed a burger on the way, giant hunger pains he’d thought to stay,
to keep those rumbling sounds at bay, his empty stomach not betray.
Now Uncle Ben’s not all that small, I don’t mean height, not that at all,
Around the waistline, I recall, he is much more than he is tall.
Around the midriff it would take the largest measure they could make.
For breakfast he will eat a steak, and follow that with chocolate cake.
To him this burger’s just a snack, a huge one that looked like a stack.
About to bite it when a smack, caught him one almighty whack.
They hit him right about the middle, those two men who slid on piddle.
With what came next I will not fiddle, the outcome being not a riddle.
Not that they hurt him, that’s not right, it’s that his burger then took flight.
The pair of them looked up in fright, their faces turned a ghastly white,
as a mighty roar Ben did let loose, those guys had really cooked their goose.
They might well have tried to call a truce, with a randy charging moose.
For Uncle Ben sure likes his grub, especially that served in the pub.
He’s like a bear who’s with her cub, take his food and he will drub,
you down upon the very ground, you will not even last one round.
For his temper he’s renowned, don’t take my word, just ask around.
He eats his food with pints of bitter, if he didn’t he’d be much fitter.
Into his eyes there came a glitter, you can tell he’ll be a heavy hitter.
Ben’s not just large, he’s really big, don’t ever say he’s like a pig.
Don’t even say it as a dig, your chances won’t be worth a fig.
For that would make him really mad, what he’d do to you would be real bad.
O, afterwards he might be sad, if he even cared a tad.
Now, as the two slid into him, his burger flew into the bin;
The smile he had slid down his chin, to deprive him of his food’s a sin.
You know the kind of guy was Ben, often mad, and was just then.
Bending down he grabbed both men, he shook them hard, and guess what then . . .
He picked them up, such was his power, and stuffed them in the patient’s shower.
There within they did both cower, as over them Big Ben did glower.
He turned the tap on, just the cold, to cool them down, or so I’m told.
In innocence it did take hold, and the bedlam of Bob’s life unfold.
For all the while, through all this muss, wee baby Bob he did not fuss.
While all around him cursed and cussed, wee Bob was not a Gloomy Gus.
In fact, it seems he thought it fun, to see these grown ups who, not one,
could deny their pride undone, by this wayward newborn son.
None could stand up straight and tall, except for Uncle Ben, that’s all,
in the middle of this brawl, while others on the floor did crawl.
To all of this was Bob oblivious? Not according to that giggle – insidious.
Some of those with morals scrupulous, said it seemed to sound lascivious.
Too soon to have a sense of humour, at least according to the rumour.
Our Bob was not a baby boomer, but set to be an early bloomer.
Don’t let that baby face, so sweet, ever fool you with deceit.
Our Bobby long has had them beat, it’s really an unusual feat,
In one so tiny and so young, to have such a sense of wicked fun.
That’s the label to be hung, around Bob’s neck by those he stung.
That’s how our Bob came in the world, don’t dare to tell me that’s absurd,
For everything that you have heard, I promise now that it occurred.
I’m told that it’s the Gospel truth, by the nurse that day, my auntie Ruth.
She was drinking at the time vermouth, to ease an aching wisdom tooth.
Yet Bobby’s Dad with face so pale, said he’d swear he saw a tail.
Told one and all, to no avail, he left there feeling rather frail.
Said, all was needed would be horns, for folk to call Bob – Satan’s spawn.
A thought that on folk sure would dawn, as in Bob’s clutches they were drawn.
Such awful thoughts Bob did provoke, and let me tell you that’s no joke.
Now, as for that Inspector bloke, his pride’s the only thing he broke.
A fellow known as rather dour, his soaking now had made him sour.
Stumbling forth from out the shower, at all around his turn to glower.
“You’ll certainly hear more of this! Mark my words!” He yelled and hissed.
At them all he waved his fist. When he leaves he won’t be missed.
But that was only just the start, for all at once there came a fart.
Left and right they all did dart, like the Red Sea they did part.
One of the most immense proportions, came from Bob, in great contortions.
His face screwed up then in distortions, he looked about to have convulsions.
He let fly an awful crap, that smelled just like a long dead cat.
From that time forth our little chap, for many deeds did take the rap.
Bobby’s aim was sure and true, guess where did land, that smelly poo.
Take a guess and join the queue, for this was Bobby’s grand adieu.
You’ve got it right, and that’s no lie, for through the air they saw it fly,
Bobby’s smile was really wry, as it angled for their favourite guy.
All that slimy smelly packet, landed on the I inspector’s jacket,
who stomped off with an awful racket. The words he used I think we’ll bracket.
Yelling that he’d make them pay, for all that happened there that day.
All this because our Bob did play, and with urine one and all did spray.
Head nurse, of course, was all a fluster, her decorum tried to muster.
Lacking her accustomed luster, calling out with fuss and bluster,
“This day has got the best of me; clean up this mess of poo and pee!
The stink is just like rotten brie, of this we soon must be set free!”
Into a tirade she did start, till Bob let forth another fart.
Seeing then his bum cheeks part, she thought it best that she depart.
She decided best to beat retreat, not wanting to receive a treat,
with Bob about to re-excrete, she made an exit so discrete.
Expecting yet another poo, she decided that just wouldn’t do.
The blame to Bob will sure accrue, for doing what babes always do.
Holding back gave Bob’s poo power, shooting forth at miles an hour,
as doctor came out of the shower, to be the one Bob did endower.
With that gift, not heaven sent, I’ll not tell you where it went,
landing right where it was meant, with an awful stinky scent;
Except to say I hope he’d chose, to bring to work a change of clothes.
For along with him that stink now floes, to go with him where’er he goes.
That’s how it was when Bob was born, could he be the devil’s spawn?
His parents left that day forlorn, the world they knew they aught to warn.
As through the years things did unfold, that people questioned, so I’m told.
Some would say, they’d be so bold, that he’ll never be as good as gold.
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"Hot Under The Collar." Nearing completion.
Excerpt from "Hot Under The Collar."
“Could I take a tour of the manse, before I give you my final decision?” I had asked, after my last interview.
Conspiratorial glances were exchanged between the members of the interview committee, as if this were a question they had dreaded my asking.
“I’m sorry, but we don’t happen to have the key at the moment,” offered one especially embarrassed lady, looking from one member of the committee to another but not at me. “We’re having a spot of plumbing work done, and the plumber seems to have walked off with all the keys!”
At that moment I should have realized that something was badly wrong, especially knowing that just about every member of the community would probably possess a key to what they’d consider to be communal property. But these were all such nice people and the manse, I was sure, would already have been inspected by the local Presbytery Committee on Manses.
Trustingly, I ventured, “Well, perhaps I could come back with the family in a few weeks time?”
I thought nothing, at that time, of the ready acceptance of my suggestion. Those three months had since rapidly passed, during which we had all visited the manse and been duly appalled at its disgusting condition. The whole interior had most certainly been freshly repainted but, unfortunately, the task had been allotted to a member of one of the congregations who seemed to have somehow obtained access to vast supplies of the paint that the armed-forces use to camouflage tanks. Every wall, door and window frame was painted in varying shades of brown and green, with every window painted tightly shut. That may well be an acceptable cure for drafty windows, but it also gave rise to one of the rare occasions when my wife was struck speechless!
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