My late and great Gramp.

I was telling Boris about my grandad tonight. He’s ok when I ‘ talk seriously ‘ to him about things, so I told him about me canoeing in a race in Alaska that crossed Lake Laberge ( it’s a bloody long lake – 35 miles long  )

Whilst there I stopped and collected some stones from the banks to give to my Dad and my aunties in memory of their Dad. My Gramp used to recite this poem, off by heart. It was his party trick, you could say, and was always, and will always be special to those that heard him recite it.

It features the lake I mentioned.

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