Riding into the past's present

Cemeteries make some people cringe. I get it.

To me they are interesting, and a nice way to find valuable context.

On my Vespa I visited family members at the Mount Royal cemetery, back in Montreal.

Here in Toronto, my Vespa took me across Toronto to see the intimate connections of Toronto to Vimy Ridge, including majestic Vimy oak trees, and the resting place of Walter Allward, the man who gave the Vimy Memorial to France in honour of Canada's soldiers who fought and lost their lives in World War I.

Back in Montreal, in suburban Beaconsfield actually, my grandfather's resting place is in the Last Post Cemetery, one of the few military cemeteries in Canada. Georges Terroux fought in World War I. I would often ride my Vespa to visit his grave, and it was also within dog-walking distance from our home. 

My Brompton, all by itself, doesn't get me too far from home, but we do have a cemetery within bicycle range. And that cemetery has its share of surprising wonders.

Among them: 

• a member of the Romanov family who escaped from the Bolshevik revolution, Imperial Highness Grand Duchess Olga Alexandrovna of Russia;


• THE Tim Horton (yes THE doughnut king!);


• and yet another amazing individual you are about to meet.

Last year I found the princess and the king, but I couldn't manage to find the person whose resting place meant the most to me.

It's completely appropriate that her resting place eluded me.

Having lived an amazing and very public life, Barbara Frum is now very much sheltered and protected. It's as if she is wary of public life, in death, and seeks to avoid attention.

It's almost poetic.

To access her tomb, first you need to find it. It's not really visible the way most graves are. In the height of summer it all but disappears in the greenery. That's because it is a modest intimate gravel rectangle completely surrounded by hedges, with a single narrow gated stone passage on one end. The headstone is not in any way visible from outside the hedged enclosure.

Even in leafless early spring, it's still hard to find.

Once you do, you find the narrow passage through the hedge guarded by a massive cast-iron gate.

There is no catch, latch, or lock. All you need is a fairly hefty push to gradually open the gate and enter Barbara Frum's presence. A final obstacle is an unadorned grey stone high curb that makes you turn right as you enter the enclosure so that at first you face the hedge, instead of the headstone.   

True to her spirit, Barbara Frum's gravesite lacks any trace of typical pomp and circumstance. Her tombstone is very bare and does its best to be inconspicous. It faces inwards, into the gravel-covered, hedge-surrounded space, doesn't face the enclosure entrance, and faces away from the cemetery's open spaces. Such humility is rarely seen in any cemetery.

Who is this Barbara Frum, you ask?

She was the soul of CBC's As it Happens. I have such fond memories of commuting in a car and listening to the most amazing news stories. Like when in the spring of 1977 there was a large hostage event in three office buildings in Washington D.C. Barbara Frum managed to have one of the hostage takers on the phone at the B'nai Brith offices, and was speaking with him. She asked the guy to hold the line, they had another person to speak to. On the other line she managed to get the Washington D.C. police chief. Have you spoken to the hostage takers, she asked. No, came the reply, we can't reach them, and we don't have time to talk to you, we have our hands full. I have them on the other line, Ms. Frum said. And that's when the negotiations began. It kind of left me speechless. No? This was not an isolated bombshell, Barbara Frum managed to do this kind of incredible in-depth reporting week in, and week out.

So here you now have a tiny slice of my present, and of Barbara Frum's present.

Finding it, and sharing it with you, was easy-ish, thanks to my trusty Brompton, presently the key ingredient in my life on two wheels.