The Vodka Blog

Last Monday, May 6, my Poppy died. We knew he was sick but nobody expected he would go so quickly. Least of all Poppy. The man was the picture of health for most all of his 90 years. Not even a World War could kill him. When he got sick over Christmas, he recovered so quickly that by the time I got home, for the holidays, he was dashing up and down the stairs of his ward. When they discharged him, he laughed and bragged that nobody could believe his age, he was doing so well.

But then, cancer. God damn cancer.

My Poppy’s name was William Clarke, but everyone called him Bill. I called him Skipper. He was born in Victoria, Newfoundland. He met my Nanny, Minnie Morris in Montreal after serving in WWII (remember their amazing love story?) and built a business and a family on Bell Island, before moving to St. John’s to be closer to his kids and grandkids.

William Gordon Clarke, September 17, 1922 – May 6, 2013

Minnie and Bill

Poppy loved to play cards. He took pride in his home and had a green thumb. He taught all of us how to drive and was the best driver on the roads, right up until his hospitalization.

His favourite place on earth was Lower Island Cove, in the house my Nanny was born in. He pulled water from the well, he painted the clapboard, he took us on rides along the coast and through the woods on his three-wheeler. He knew where to find the best berries. He hunted partridge with his brother Leonard. He gutted fish next to the stream. He scolded us for walking too near the cliffs. He stood at the gate, hand-in-hand with my Nanny and waved goodbye when we would leave.

My Poppy was an amazing storyteller. His tales from the war are almost unbelievable – like the time he was stranded in a windmill in Holland for a week after the Germans destroyed a dike. Or the time he pulled a body from the road, only to see the same boy months later during the liberation, who turned out to be the twin of the dead solider, looking for his brother.

His favourite person in the world was my Nanny. His Old Hen. Her illness (Alzheimer’s) has taken away most of her memory, but while he was alive, she always knew Poppy. He’d come in the room where she lay and lean over to kiss her head and make her smile. She was his joy. They always said they would die together, not wanting to be apart in life for even a moment. I was hoping Nanny’s illness would make her forget this but she keeps insisting that she doesn’t want to live now. She wants to go be with her Bill. What do you say to that?

I really loved my Poppy. More than I know how to convey here. He called me his “Old Trout” and when I was with him, I felt safer and more loved than anybody else ever made me feel. I know he was old and lived a good life. I know I was lucky to know him as long as I did. But I don’t care. None of this makes me feel better. I wasn’t ready to say good-bye. I miss him. I miss him.

Tags: Loss, Lower Island Cove, Poppy, William Gordon Clarke