Somebody up there likes me

Joyce Somerville

1982

My first glimpse of Toronto Airport will stay in my mind forever. The date was Sunday 19 December 1982 and after two decades of procrastination I had finally arrived in Canada. The friendly Scottish solicitor who was sitting next to me was a seasoned traveller and he advised me to prepare for the Canadian winter climate. As he held out the sleeves of my sheepskin coat for me I thanked him, but he probably never realised just how grateful I really was. He was probably blissfully unaware that his relaxed small talk and silly jokes had calmed my frazzled nerves considerably during the eight-hour-flight. My fear of flying had done battle with my desire to visit Canada since I was a child. The fact that I had even managed to board the aircraft was a major coup as far as I was concerned.

My dear departed Dad had driven me to Prestwick Airport and bought me a couple of drinks in the departure lounge but I was still petrified. What is the very worst that can possibly happen? I kept asking myself over and over again. That the aeroplane would crash, of course, but I reasoned that if my number was up my time on this earth could be ended just as easily crossing a busy road anywhere on solid ground. My fascination with Canada began in 1962 when parcels from this strange country began to arrive from a couple called Morgan and Petra. Dad had met Petra, an Englishwoman who lived in Ontario with her husband Morgan, at a writer's summer school in England and the friendship turned out to be a lifelong one for Dad. Among the gifts which had been sent to myself and my three sisters were gigantic Easter eggs, cakes, and boxes of chocolates. By 1962 my Aunt Betty and Uncle Donald had emigrated to Toronto and they, too, sent some lovely gifts. One year I received a lovely white ski-jacket with an unusual zigzag pattern and I wore it until it almost fell apart at the seams. In 1965 a thick blue book arrived from Morgan and Petra- "For each sister to enjoy as she grows old enough". As soon as I read the first page, I was hooked on the adventures of the harum-scarum redhead from Prince Edward Island who was better-known as "Anne of Green Gables". Reading this book only increased my desire to see this wonderful country. By 1968 I was at secondary school and was friendly with Alison, who had lived in Canada for seven years and told me all about the lifestyle in Ontario. It sounded wonderful and I wanted to see the place for myself but I was still terrified of flying. In early December 1982 I received a call from Alison who had gone back to stay in Canada. "Why don't you come over for the New Year?" she asked. Mum, God rest her, then called Aunt Betty and asked if she would like to have me as a guest for Christmas. Aunt Betty readily agreed and I will always remember seeing her and Uncle Donald waving through the glass partition as I waited for my passport to be checked. Soon Uncle Donald enveloped me in a big Scottish bear-hug. I will always remember the day that I overcame my fear of flying. As I mature I realise that there is not much left in this life to be frightened about. I have travelled on numerous flights ever since and I am still here to tell the tale, so I can only conclude that somebody up there really does quite like me. ... (continues)