Sen-Sen Farewell

$399.00 on eBay. 

 The last few packages of Sen-Sen on the planet are selling on eBay for $30 - $40 each. An investment possibility? What will they be worth in ten years when I’m 87 and in need of extra cash? Will everyone who remembers Sen-Sen be dead? Probably.

I mentioned it at the book store to Jean, my friend. We were discussing a perfume we both wear, called Elixir which I told her I thought smelled faintly like Sen-Sen. She disagreed but immediately recalled a moment from her childhood in a farm town in Iowa and an elderly man, Arnold, who went to their church. Her parents had always told her to be nice to Arnold, a WWI veteran, because he had the shakes. Arnold kept Sen-Sen candy loose in his pocket and would hand them out to the kids, each tiny piece accompanied with a lot of old-man pocket lint. Jean remembers taking the tiny gift, being slightly repulsed, and telling Arnold she would save hers "for later." Jean has never been much for lint. 

My memories of Sen-Sen are related to drinking. I remember it as the tell-tale scent that surrounded the drinkers, and that was just about every man, when we were children. It was a big seller in bars and at the legion hall, but actually did the opposite of the intended masking. The minute you smelled it you knew something was being covered up and it stained the user's tongue a freaky greenish black.

For one crazy moment I thought about going into business, making a new version of Sen-Sen and contacted the manufacturer of a tableting machine. The more I read, the less interested I was. But then I read about one of the manufacturer's customers who had the brilliant idea to tabletize toothpaste. Pop a tablet in your mouth and it softens and becomes brushable. Goodbye billions of tubes and tops. After a little research I found this isn't a new idea. People have been making versions of this for years. Here's one method. Looks like fun to try.

1917 Lucy's Letter

Francis Joseph Killeen 1917

Canadian forces at Arras, France

We saw "1917" the other day. Great film and I have a special interest in the piece of history because of my father's story.

Imagine this. It's Dec. 26th, 1916, Boxing day in Winnipeg, Canada. The neighbors pop into each other's houses up and down the block, admire each other's gifts, drink tea and feast on Christmas leftovers, mostly Christmas cake. Before they enter the house, the visitors stomp their feet on the doormat outside because their galoshes are caked with snow. The first real winter snowfall had started earlier in the morning. Deep winds have blown the snow into drifts. Diggers, a team of special snow removers, can't free the half-buried streetcars. The city is almost paralyzed.

At my grandmother's house, Lucy Armstrong Killeen Massey and her second husband Bertie, twenty years her junior, along with most of her nine children receive their guests, pour tea and pass "dainties" around. In the middle of the celebration, my father leaves the house and makes his way, through terrible weather, to the recruitment station where he enlisted. Because he is under age, he lies on his Attestation papers stating that he was eighteen, not seventeen. What moves him to sign up on that very day— on a holiday, in a snowstorm? And what motivates his step-father, Bertie, at age thirty-two, to enlist the very next day, Dec. 27th?

The following appeared in the Winnipeg Tribune on that day. Is the sentiment enough to move a seventeen-year-old to enlist?

Or maybe he is influenced by a neighbor who lived a block away and had recently returned from the front. Perhaps the neighbor comes to tea that day and tells exciting stories about his time overseas? At seventeen, Dad lists his occupation as Warehouseman on the Attestation paper. Knowing Dad, I imagine he was bored to tears and looking for excitement.

He agreed "to serve in the Canadian Over-Seas Expeditionary force and to be attached to any arm of the service therein, for the term of one year, or during the war now existing between Great Britain and Germany should that war last longer than one year, and for six months after the termination of that war provided His Majesty should so long require my services or until legally discharged."

My grandmother must have been dismayed but the recruitment posters plastered around the city encouraged women to send their sons to war.

As in the film, there is an important letter involved in my story. This one, from the HQ of the Overseas Military Forces of Canada, likely determined that my father survived World War 1. Lucy wrote to HQ on January 7th,1918 including Dad's birth certificate. She received this letter back. Note the reply to her request was dated a little more than a month from when she wrote it—her letter traveled from Canada to England and she received a rapid reply in less than a month, during a war.

Why did Lucy wait until a year had passed to take action? Dad had shipped out from Halifax and was trained at Shornecliff, England. For most of the year, 2017, life at Shornecliff was pretty good for Canadians. They were well liked by the British. But in October, 2017 he was sent to France where Canadians were little more than cannon fodder. As of 10/22/17, he was at or near the front. 

I can imagine Lucy opening a letter from Dad and reading about life in the trenches. I wonder what he said? He sent this cryptic post card in October.

"Some bashful looking baby, eh?"

Oct 8/17  Dear Mother, Just a few lines to say I am well and enjoying health, and hope you are and also little Pearl. Tell Lorne and Hilda that will not be able to write them for a couple of weeks. Don't be surprised if you don't hear from me for a while. Will write you soon if possible. Your loving son, Joe

 I'm sure any excitement he might have felt for the first months in England had faded away and he was at risk every minute of every day. I don't believe Lucy wasted any time and acted as soon as she could.

Because of Lucy's letter, Dad was pulled back from the front and out of the trenches at Arras, France, which is captured in the film in gruesome detail—the terror, the lack of information, the close quarters where everyone was squashed together like sardines enduring the noise, the smells, the weather. Instead, Dad spent several months in the rear, dragging ammunition around. As soon he turned nineteen he was moved back to the firing line and was wounded (gunshot to the eye) on his first day back. It was September 3rd and he was in the 2nd Battle of Arras where the objective was to break the German Drocourt-Queant line. He was shipped to Cambridge Hospital in Aldershot England to recover. Fortunately the war ended and he never had to return to combat.  

Today, January 27th, 2020 is the 101st anniversary of Dad's discharge. On his discharge papers he was nineteen years and five months old. His trade was listed as student. He had a small scar on lid of his right eye. I'd say he was a lucky guy.

He couldn't wait to get back to school. Dad graduated law school and passed the bar in 1923. He left the military between the wars and was in private practice for years, but he volunteered again during WWII in 1939. He was forty when he enlisted this time, trained troops in Fort William, Ontario and served as a Judge Advocate. After the war he threw himself into being a veteran. He served as the legal counsel for Deer Lodge Hospital, the Veterans hospital, in Winnipeg. He worked for the Department of Veterans affairs and the Veterans Land act. He was a lifelong member of the Canadian Legion which was formed after WWI as a place where veterans could talk to each other. Long before we recognized PTSD, these men were treating each others trauma by befriending each other and providing mutual support. 

Go see the film, kids. You'll get the real feeling for what your Grandfather, Great Grandfather, Great Great Grandfather and Great Great Great Grandfather endured. And how close we all were to not being here at all!!!

Back to Bali for Christmas

Sunset from Candidasa

Breakfast every morning at Villa Sarchi

A young Bali beauty

This year we flew JAL staying overnight in Tokyo before going on to Jakarta the next morning. It's easy to fly from Jakarta to Denpasar on Air Asia, which is like Southwest Airlines, no frills, on time, gets the job done. 

Like last year, we were again surprised as the ever-worsening traffic and the demise of many things we loved about the island. The place is bulging with tourists from China and Russia and of course the Aussies. The Balinese keep themselves more and more separate from the tourists, except for work. They must do this to protect their culture. 

Villa view in Candidasa. Beach and Mt. Agung.

At the last minute, the reservation at our villa in Singaraja was cancelled. The owner called to tell us the place was falling apart. Attacks by termites and some serious deterioration of the pool forced her to close the place for repairs. Graciously she offered to help us find a place and she paid for the difference in the price. Fortunately a place I've always wanted to try, the Samuh Hill Residence was available and we spent a glorious six days there, agog at the view and amazed at the service.

Full moon in Amed

The villa in Amed was just as enjoyable the second time around. It has the best pool I've ever had the pleasure of soaking in for ten days. In Ubud we enjoyed a place owned by a Balinese (a rarity) with a rice field in a jungle-like setting. Ate a great restaurant across the way from it — Sacred Rice. Lovely place.

We had a great time in our own very familiar places in Bali. But sadly, most of the island is disappearing under concrete, tourists and cars.

Salt man

They solved the dog problem and now they have a cat problem.

Sacred Rice restaurant

Wonderful clouds over Indonesia flying to Jakarta.