at truth everyday. I was after a bit of history the other day on my way back from Hamilton Friday when I thought I would see if I could find Britannia United, my father’s first church after he got his collar when I was six or so, the year before we headed to live in the Maritimes when history itself changed. It was there that I either choked on my letter of the word “C-h-r-i-s-t-m-a-s” or told Santa that in fact I had been bad – something that I later learned was right out of a movie of the week script. We have a picture of me there on the last Sunday School of the year in the back sticking my tongue out, wee bastard that I was
I got off the highway in Mississauga heading back from Hamilton at the bit where the road names are familiar in that way things that you only knew for the twelve months when you are six are familiar. I drove up Britannia and got lost and jumped back on the 401. Little did I know what Lord Goog now tells me – all too late – that I missed it by a couple hundred yards as the church was not actually on Britannia. Anyway, here are the Google Maps of it all.
Note that it no longer sits in the middle of miles of sugar beet fields as it did in 1969. The owner of the farm shown in the upper left of the top photo learned that the selling highway cloverleafs was much more profitable than the selling sugar beets.
