The Whistling GhostTuesday, July 06, 2010
On Sunday, Rosemary, Rebecca, Lauren and I visited Lesley Finlay’s beautiful garden in her sprawling estate in Southlands. She always has lots of goodies to eat and an assortment of drinks from wine, to beer to soft drinks. The girls love going there and Rebecca adores the many (as in many) roses that Finlay has in her garden. They are superbly grown.
We have gone for three years in a row and until Sunday I had not been able to figure out the mix of people that went. There were members of the Vancouver Rose Society and obviously friends and people connected to Finlay’s husband who is a surgeon. Every year there would be a couple of Finlay’s restored cars (American cars from the 30s) but this year there were a few more including a candy red Buick Roadmaster from the mid 50s. That’s when it dawned on me the Doctor Finlay invited people from an auto restoring club.
As we left after a pleasant afternoon eating well and looking at beautiful specimen roses I saw a ghost.
It had not been there when we had entered. It was a light yellow convertible (with its top up). I had seen this apparition before sometime around 1982. In fact I had photographed it with its owner, Ed Aveling for an article on antique cars, written by Alyn Edwards (seen here with his Ford Skyliner) for Vancouver Magazine.
The man proudly standing by the light yellow ghost was a man that looked familiar. I looked at him quizzically and he told me, “You photographed me with my 1947 Lincoln Continental for the Vancouver Magazine article that had Ed Aveling’s 1936 Auburn. Ed died and, when his son died I purchased the car from his estate. The car still has the paint job that you photographed. My name is Peter Trant.”
I photographed Rebecca with the car marveling at the fact that my eldest daughter and I had been given a ride in the Aburn back then. I can still remember the curiously exciting whistling sound of the car’s supercharger.
A ghost, from my past, an exciting and exotic one, brought a smile to my face. I felt a certain level of comfort to find out that some things, some delightful things, simply don’t change. And Leslie Finlay would add (and I would not disagree) that some of those things that delightfully don't change happen to be roses.
The Auburn and my daughter Ale