True friendship is a wonderful gift

Did Maysie Scott have the gift of friendship?

I’ve lived in Ship Cove five years — in the house Maysie once owned — and her reputation as a gardener and as a friend remains untarnished by time or tears.

Whenever someone in the community drops by to visit, they look out the window at the backyard and say, “Maysie was a great gardener.”

Judging from the deep sighs which accompany these observations, Len and I obviously fall far short of her reputation as a gardener.

While Maysie lived, her back yard was a bower of flora and fauna, and the poppies she coaxed into a brilliant riot of colour in the front yard were superseded only by the fact that they prospered even more after her death; as if she still tended them, but with a more heavenly hand.

If you walk up to Graveyard Hill you will see the poppies on her grave; they are a living testimony to Maysie’s love of life and colour.

Yet, there is another legacy that Maysie left behind, perhaps brighter and even happier than her flowers; the legacy of friendship.

Each person Maysie befriended tells me that Maysie was a dear friend, and that is quite an accomplishment considering she lived in a small community where judgments can sometimes be too ‘honest’.

In this life, I’ve learned it’s not the troubles people go through that matter so much as who they go through them with. Having a true friend is like winning a one-in-a-million lottery.

I have such a friend, and her name is Bea. She lives in western Canada now, but neither time nor distance have diminished the bond we have shared for many years. When we first met we were mothers of young children; the children have grown up and most of them have moved away, but we still have lots to talk about.

Back then, if times were tough, I could dial her number and ask if the ‘doctor’s chair’ was available, and it always was. Many problems were discussed; many problems weren’t immediately solved, but the ‘doctor’s chair’ and Bea’s listening ear were salve to a sore heart.

I can remember the first time she and I were pressed into leadership at our local church. As apprentices, we were very nervous, but it was our friendship and humour that got us through. Bea often confessed she hated the “C” word (Commitment) and I wasn’t too keen on dealing with the “P” word (People), but as a team we were unbeatable. To some folk it may come as a revelation that church people can sometimes be very trying; but Bea had such a way with difficult people she could ‘lower the boom’ and they’d still be clamouring to be her friend.

The main thing I liked about Bea was that she was always so happy to see me, and it’s pretty hard not to like a person who is so unashamedly glad to have you around. We were in and out of each other’s homes — sometimes for a few short minutes; sometimes for hours; sometimes in laughter; sometimes in tears — but the friendship endured.

In a day and age where dysfunctional families are the norm rather than the exception, Bea’s family is just as vibrantly approachable as she is. I visited them recently in Halifax; Bea wasn’t there, but her mom, her sister and Bea’s daughter and I, attended church, enjoyed dinner together, and reminisced about old times.

Her mom has an amazing story to tell: in her childhood she was orphaned; then later she became an acrobat in a circus. The man she married became a freedom fighter in the Hungarian Revolution, and in 1957 they both had to flee for their lives when the secret police discovered her husband’s political leanings.

Their first child, a girl, had to be left behind when they fled. They were pursued by guns and dogs and escaped by the skin of their teeth into Austria, and lived in a refugee camp, where Bea was born.

Later, they immigrated to Canada, disembarking at Pier 21 in Halifax, and later their third daughter, Eva, was born, completing their family. Their first child, Elizabeth, was 14 years old before she was reunited with her family in Canada.

*****

Some people come into our lives and quickly go. Some stay for awhile and leave footprints on our hearts.