Dear David, 
We are remembering you today and everyday, and, we hope that your Soul is comforted in the ultimate Peace and Love that surrounds You.

"  Hope is the thing with feathers
    That perches in the Soul, 
    And sings the tune
   Without the words,
    And never stops at all.   "
         -  Emily Dickinson.

Love Surrounds You, and, Penny & Bryn,
Pat and Family  ❤️

My dear David, a true master craftsman:

"When craftsmen strain over what will remain out of sight, it is because they accept the existence of an all-seeing eye that will indeed know what they have done and compare it to the ruthless perfection of the physical universe of which they are reminded second by second, with every cloud that passes and every star that blinks."

- Mark Helprin, "By Starlight Undiminished"

Love and miss you forever,

Penny

We exchanged numerous of our writings. David was an established writer. I was beginning to write reminiscences. As I wrote more, I began to explore the craft of writing. David sent me several of his published pieces, and I sent David several of my unpublished musings. David was always encouraging about my writing. He was quite a writer as well as being a Jack-of-all-Trades. He sent me a copy of a book he published. I believe it was called Winnipeg Boy.

Even though we live thousands of miles apart, the magic of email and FB has enabled us to engage in numerous conversations. I knew he was seeing an oncologist at the beginning of August but did not hear how that meeting went. I guess the oncology news was not good.

A shath (Arabic: شطح‎ šaṭḥ, plural: šaṭaḥāt or šaṭḥiyyāt), in the Islamic mystical tradition of Sufism, is an ecstatic utterance which may be outrageous in character. Peace to David. Shalom aleichem.


Bread and honey was my staple those days. I probably pushed it unduly on anyone who would listen. I suspect my foolish notion was that if it was good for me, it was good for everybody. Now I sort of think just the opposite. I suspect the bull is dead by now. Who knows what has replaced it.

It was a special setting, wasn’t it? The stream emptying into the Bay. The tide. The magical light in the teepee. The simplicity of it all. Robert (aka Marcel) thought that was the summer I went crazy. I don’t know if he only realized it then, but in retrospect, I have been more or less the same all along-probably crazy. You are, BTW, more than welcome to go there and stay as long as you like. The teepee is gone. You would have to provide your own shelter. – email excerpt from Vilnis circa March 2021

We had a wonderful week-long visit. David and Penny turned in their railway tickets and accompanied me and my dog back to Winnipeg in an older used Volvo I had just purchased.

David and Penny had several gatherings at Tirawa. At one gathering, we tore down a small structure that may have been the Schreyer residence. It was tiny. It took only an hour or so. Penny has a picture of me from that gathering in a white shirt.

By the time of the gatherings, the cabin from David’s parents was on the land. We rested in it at night. In another gathering, we cut many poplar trees about 10-12 inches in diameter. David used those trees as the basis for a log cabin. At another outing, we helped David put a roof onto their log house. David continued his building efforts and other endeavors while Chuck, Arthur, and I went to school to become Industrial Arts teachers. Arthur married Susan, Penny’s sister. David showed up one time in our school cafeteria and asked if we had any insights into building a fireplace. We quickly constructed a fireplace out of cardboard and blew cigarette smoke into it. It was before the Internet. That’s how we did research.


Although David and Penny had grown up in an urban environment, they decided to settle in rural Manitoba. One winter day, David invited me to go look at a piece of property in the Tyndall area of Manitoba. We drove there in the blue VW and hiked it. Most of the land was clear, albeit covered in weeds, stubble, and snow. Portions of the land had bullrushes. We drove to the prospective sellers, and while I played with their young son, David questioned the seller about the bullrushes. The seller quickly pivoted and suggested another piece of land that had been formerly owned by the parents of Edward Schreyer, a recent Premier of Manitoba and eventually a Governor-General of Canada. David purchased the second piece of property. Penny immediately named it Tirawa—"making the world for the people to live in”—which expresses the Plains Indian concept of the harmonious relationship between humans and nature.

The Workshop existed for three years, but government grants were drying up. I managed to start another government-sponsored project called Kidstuff Workshop. My previous partner in the original Workshop, Robert, had married and became ensconced in the provincial government. The purpose of Kidstuff Workshop was to design and build custom furniture for the burgeoning daycare field. I invited Chuck Smith, Arthur Matrick, and David from the Workshop, to join me. We had a wonderful time and designed and built a lot of good-quality hardwood daycare equipment.

Most of our university friends were becoming professionals, establishing careers, and beginning to make a lot of money. A small number of people our age were not interested in that path and were interested in “returning to the land.” My college roommate, Robert, and I were interested in settling in rural Nova Scotia. We purchased some of the most beautiful land on the shore of the Bay of Fundy. David and Penny travelled via train to St. John and took a ferry across the Bay to Digby to visit us. 

as a Christmas present and was excited to test its capabilities. Near the projected building site, we found an electricity source. We managed to plug the Cobra in with a long extension cord. David picked up a two-by-six and proffered it to the Cobra. As soon as David turned it on, we knew why it was called a Cobra. It screamed. As David offered the lumber, it bit, then quickly commenced to whine, sputter, and die. We had such high hopes for it. It was our only electrical source for cutting lumber. The saw specs delineated a high rev, hence the screams, but little torque. I don’t know what David did with the Cobra. He may have left it in that field to rot. We were relegated to using hand saws for the rest of the building project.

We spent an incredible four days together building a cabin for David’s parents, working sixteen-hour days. The building of the cabin deserves a story of its own. I sent David an email with many reminiscences, but he seemed disinclined to elaborate. One of several miracles happened. David and I had no idea of how to build a cabin. On the day we were about to build the walls, a neighbor came by to examine what we were doing. It was clear we were fumbling along. It turned out that the neighbor was a seasoned carpenter. He told us exactly what to do. We built most of the cabin in four days. What was typical of David when he started a project, he finished it. He completed the cabin by himself over several weeks. After the cabin was done, David’s parents invited me to dinner. They were gracious and served roast beef and Yorkshire pudding in a lovely setting. It was the only time I have had Yorkshire pudding. They had to instruct me on how to eat the pudding. They also generously gave me some money, which I neither requested nor expected. Within a few years, the location of the cabin became untenable. It was hauled to Tirawa, where it survived the journey and still sits today.



Oh, man. He has passed. My little brother in the fraternity. We have history. We went to the same high school, Kelvin. We became reacquainted at the University of Manitoba when several pledges brought pledge David to me. They said David was thinking of un-pledging. I attempted to talk David out of leaving the fraternity. David said he was sick and tired of the phonies in the fraternity. I told David that I agreed with him, but there was something to be gained. David never did abide with hypocrites.

After university, David worked for the Winnipeg Free Press. Then he came to work at the Workshop, a government-funded project started by my roommate, Robert Hue, and me. The Workshop was for low-income folks. David grew up in a wealthier part of Winnipeg and was proud of his family. He had the notion that folks with little money loved their families and might want family portraits, which they could not afford. David took it upon himself to go to people’s homes and create family portraits. It was not long before his earnestness was recognized, and he became the manager of the Workshop.

During our early Workshop days, David came to me with a proposition. A long weekend was coming up. “Would I help build a cabin for his parents.” Neither David nor I had built squat. This seemed like a great opportunity. David’s parents would pay for the materials. We merely had to supply the labor. I readily agreed. On the designated day, I gathered what little tools I had, a hammer, a six-inch level, and maybe a small square. David met me at my house in the early morning with a Cobra radial arm saw fastened to the roof of his infamous blue VW bug. David had received the Cobra as a Christmas present and was excited to test its capabilities. Near the projected building site, we found an electricity source. We managed to plug the Cobra in with a long extension cord. David picked up a two-by-six and proffered it to the Cobra. As soon as David turned it on, we knew why it was called a Cobra. 


Since meeting David forty-nine years ago, I have many times enjoyed his and Penny's hospitality, generousity, kindness and companionship.  In that time we shared a few adventures, many laughs, and lots of chores and projects.  The latter always made easier by your knowledge and humour.  Together these  gifted me innumerable cherished memories.

The one over-arching, all embracing memory I have of David is of a true and constant friend.  For that, thank you.

Bill

The first time that Penny and David invited us to a gathering out at their place, Tirawa, was another lifetime ago.   Seeing Tirawa was a transforming experience in my life, and in Paul's life.
The first time I stepped into their log home, the smell of cedar was so strong that it caught me.   I was awestruck!   It was like another world.   An place filled with magic.  Back to a forgotten reality.   Back to the Earth.  It was so overwhelmingly beautiful.   
I had no idea of how much vision and work this must have taken to create.  I just knew that I loved it. 
They are the reason that Paul and I bought the 80 acres 3 miles north on Mars Hill.   And eventually, built our home.   They were the role models. 
There are too many significant memories to write about.   It would take a very lengthy book!! 
However.... one of my first memories is of Penny and David coming up to our place to cut Christmas trees on a ridiculously frigid day  and loving every minute!!
Another was hearing them driving up with Kwana in their ridiculous old  truck for a visit, and hearing them coming for miles because Kwana, their perfectly well behaved Golden Retriever, was barking louder than you can imagine for the entire darn way!!
I remember many more dinners, milestone celebrations and the sharing of THE FISH Lamp, with George and Dave and Ron and Miriam and Pat, ALeta, Frank, and our small children, and we laughed so hard we almost threw up!!!  It was innocent and wonderful and hard.
And I remember the night they told Paul and I out on our road under a indigo night sky filled with stars that they were expecting BRYN!  
My deepest most heartfelt sympathy for my darling, lovely true blue life long friends,  Penny and Bryn.   Love to you Always. 🙏♥️




I just viewed the Memorial Service for David and it was a memorable and uplifting tribute to your brother. Thank you so much for sending it so we could share in saying good-bye to him.

I have to admire both Bryn and David's wife for 'holding it together' so well during their reading of their eulogies. I was not able to even stop the tears from flowing at Michael's funeral, let alone read out a eulogy for him! Seeing all the photos of David reminded me of how similar in looks the two of you are...you have the same eyes and when I look at him, I am instantly reminded of you. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised as you are siblings, but the resemblance is extraordinary.

He was an extremely talented woodworker as evidenced by some of the things he built as shown in the slide presentation. I also remember reading about him in the Free press when they published an article about his 'living off the land'. 

I am sure all of you will miss him enormously, but his memory will live on in you. Again, please accept my deepest sympathies in your loss of such a wonderful brother as David.

“Perhaps passing through the gates of death is like passing quietly through the gate in a pasture fence. On the other side, you keep walking, without the need to look back. No shock, no drama, just the lifting of a plank or two in a simple wooden gate in a clearing. Neither pain, nor floods of light, nor great voices, but just the silent crossing of a meadow.”

Mark Helprin

I met David at the Workshop where he and Vilnis Vulfs worked for a few years in the early Seventies. David also participated in "Get Together Seventy'" with our group, which included Vilnis and Mitch Podolak. That's when we closed off Portage Ave. from Main St. to the Hudson Bay Company. I was proud to be a "Sod Captain" when we placed grass over the pavement and then brought in picnic tables  for seating and placed bandstands for local musical groups to perform well into the night.  Oh, to have the Seventies back again.

We spent many times with Penny and David at Victoria Beach and David willingly gave of his time to help Janet and I renovate our rental cottage at 1st and 3rd Avenue, just a few cottages north of Penny and David's beautiful cottage. 

David will be long remembered, both for his beautiful wooden artwork and his books. A true artist in every sense of the word.

Farewell dear friend - our parents were close friends across the street. 

Dave,  I will miss all the  laughs we shared!  

Your memory will live on with all that you created, not the least of which was your wonderful family!

You will be missed my friend!

Jack

David and the whole Jones Square family have always been so welcoming to me. I love going to their place to play cards, eat amazing food, and fail at cross-country skiing. David even taught me how to use a snowblower. 

I’ll always remember carting out a wheelbarrow full of fireworks to the end of the driveway with David, Penny, and Bryn in the middle of winter, trying to light the fuses with freezing hands. Cocktails and explosives…the Jones Square clan knows how to party. 

I remember being in awe the first time I stepped into the house as an adult. David and Penny’s art filled the house to the brim. An art gallery of entirely their own work, from a giant guitar (my personal favourite) to intricate hand made tables. One of their beautiful boxes even found its way to the mantle of my grandma’s house, and had been there for years without me registering it was an original Jones Square.

I’m going to miss David for many reasons, but most of all because he made me feel like family. 



The last time we spoke in person, we were yelling, “let’s get ready to party” and waving our hands in the air (for us, partying was binge-watching action movies on Netflix—my least favourite genre made bearable because I was watching with my very favourite person). We also discussed the necessity of having a pool in his hospital room, and he added that he would like to request a diving board as well. His lightheartedness sustained us and everyone he knew. Levity in the face of loss.

Rabbi Jonathan Sacks writes that “[f]unerals connect us in a way that is difficult to quantify or make sense of. Life and death are shared experiences. They live on in our love and memories.” In writer Meghan O’Rourke’s words, “The people we most love do become a physical part of us, ingrained in our synapses, in the pathways where memories are created.”

Love you forever, dad.

We bonded over unhealthy food like lazy daisy cake (the only cake either of us could make), ice cream, and chocolate. Some of my fondest memories are of him picking me up from figure skating and getting me dill pickle chips or Chicken Delight. We would hide the evidence, but mom always knew. 

We also played a somewhat unreasonable amount of Rummy—that card game that takes absolutely no skill. Mom would often win, so dad was always accusing her of cheating and hiding cards up her sleeve. They kept track of every game but never added up the scores, and they especially liked when I played because I lost every time.

Dad loved mom dearly and infinitely and referred to her fondly as “the little general” and “the energizer bunny.” You may not know this, but mom isn’t good at resting. 

We had so many conversations about you, mom, and he loved to tell me about when you first met and how he thought you were perfect—smart, funny, and so pretty. You created a beautiful life together, and you are infinitely connected, your lives interwoven, entangled, and inseparable. 

Continued . . . 


Dad was also a very manly man and loved chainsaws, lawn mowers, trucks, axes, chopping wood, and going to Home Hardware (mom’s version of going to the bookstore). He was also a big fan of fireworks and would make a huge production every May Long weekend at Victoria beach. The louder the better. We’re surprised he never lost a limb.

I also have so many memories of him teaching me to drive and ride my bike—in that order: he let me drive his big blue truck while sitting on his lap when I was about five years old. I was driving solo by six. 

He had endless patience and would push me around on my little multi-coloured tricycle for hours with a long stick. He also put up with my debilitating impatience as I learned to ride my bike—eventually he put his faith in me and just let go of the bike as I was riding (but told me he was still holding on). I was incensed, but it worked. 

Later in life he taught me to change a tire at least five times. I pretended to understand each time, and he pretended that he didn’t remember already teaching me each time he showed me how to do it. The same happened with mom. Neither of us ever learned, but he kept teaching us again and again even though it was utterly futile. 

Continued . . . 


Dad was constantly making me laugh, and we had several running jokes that were only funny to us—like calling each other and pretending to be the pizza delivery guy. Pretty funny, right? You had to be there.

He had so many weird and goofy sayings that are now permanently ingrained in my mind like “Cool man, Van cool”; goodness gravy train; porky beans (not so much a saying—he just had me convinced that pork and beans were called porky beans); and “cup a joe,” which he repeated every morning because he knew it drove mom crazy—his way of showing his love and affection. 

Dad's incessant singing of nonsense is also deeply embedded in my brain—he would string together scattered (and often incorrect) lyrics from songs and then just repeat the same lines ad nauseum throughout the day. Crazy-making but so memorable and so dad.

Dad was loved by all animals as well as by people. Animals were just drawn to him, and our dogs and cats always preferred him to mom and me—it was infuriating. Even my beloved cat Bruce liked him better than me, and he napped beside dad whenever he could.

People, especially women, were also extremely attracted to dad because he was a very attractive man—my friends thought he was “hot,” and there are several people in this audience who very often referred to him as “sexy” and uttered such words as “hubba hubba.”  You know who you are. 

Continued . . . 

Dad was gentle, loving, kind, warm, caring, and thoughtful; hilarious, silly, goofy, lively, and lighthearted; smart, quick-witted, well-read, and bursting with knowledge; and he was a creative, imaginative, and multitalented genius—a masterful writer and a brilliant artist with the ability to build and fix pretty much anything. He was extraordinary but remained totally humble, and I remain in complete awe of him. 

Singer-songwriter Nick Cave writes that “the paradoxical effect of losing a loved one is that their sudden absence can become a feverish comment on that which remains. . . a luminous super-presence”; this is exactly what I am feeling - dad's "large and luminous spirit" is ever-present and enduring (Popova). 

Dad always made me feel deeply loved, supported, and understood. He read everything I wrote, and he did so with such care and attentiveness that he would catch the tiniest of typos even after I’d read the pieces close to a million times (and I never exaggerate). He was such a gifted writer, and I always strove to impress him. 

He also watched all of my interviews and lectures and supported me to such an extent that he even watched my interview with Green Party Leader Annamie Paul—as some of you may know, he wasn’t the biggest fan of the Green Party . . . He didn’t care that we had different beliefs and loved me for me. He was proud of me, and he made me feel that every day. 

Because he never wanted to hurt my feelings, he also rarely disagreed with me, which is why I have always thought 2 +2 was 5. 

Continued...

Met David when I was 14 or 15 through Steve Hunter, who was a golfing buddy, along with all the Duck Dodgers. We certainly had a lot of laughs in those days. David became Serge, as in Savard, and that stuck for a long time.
A lot of very fond memories, in fact he was our wedding photographer!! (48 years ago)

Dear Penny, Bryn and family

Shortly after I moved across town, in grade 4, a "Hollywood Handsome" kid rolled up to me at the playground of Robert H. Smith School and uttered..  "You must be the new Irish kid".

That's when I first meet David and we remained good friends for over 60 years.

I liked him the first time I met him and respected him for his intelligence, athleticism, loyalty and zany sense of humor.

As Penny mentioned in an earlier passage, the "Duck Dodgers" were a group of guys that bonded in the junior high school days.  The vast majority of us "Duck Dodgers" left Winnipeg and all of us know how difficult it is to overcome time & distance to maintain friendships. Enter "David Shath Square".  Unlike Logan who called him "Square", I always called him "Shath" in memory of his dad.

Back to the point, "Shath" was the catalyst/organizer/chief cook & bottle washer who went to great lengths to get the "Duck Dodgers" together for a half dozen reunions.  I can't even begin to quantify how many laughs and how much joy these "silly weekends" brought to all of us and in my opinion, "Shath" was the most beloved by the "DD's"

In closing, "Shath", thanks for bringing so much joy and entertainment to so many of our lives,  So sad & disheartened to see you leave us so early, my old friend.

Tim Dennehy 




Well, one thing for sure, David's way with written words could make me laugh like no other. When he wanted to organize a reunion his correspondence would bring you to tears of laughter. 
One memory that stands out as a quasi adventure was when Brant Lewis and I dropped in on David while he was a boat boy on Lake of the Woods. We three decided to make a midnight raid on the Yaught Club beer supply, stacked outside the back door. Our only access to get there was an antique wooden boat with a couple of paddles. Once we started we realized we needed to  bail water as fast as we could paddle. We barely made it back with the beer intact and totally exhausted. Lots of laughs and fun memories. Recently David and I bonded over our struggles with cancer. His strength and humor was a great support which will be everlasting . This world is somewhat dimmer with the passing of David's light. My deepest sympathies to his wife Penny and his daughter Bryn. We will meet again, don't know where, don't know when. Vaya Con Dios David. 


Together, we pursued a self-sustaining life-style throughout our 43 years together at Tirawa, working from home, creating our art in partnership for close to 20 years; raising chickens for a number of years; planting and harvesting our own wheat crop one year (and weeding it by hand with the help of stalwart friends) as well as mowing and baling a hay crop; cutting and splitting our own firewood to heat our log home; and growing a large vegetable garden and preserving the fruits of our labour to last from garden to garden. 
Working on our 1979 Ford 150 truck, tractor, and 2005 Cobalt was what gave him the greatest pleasure in the past year, which was one of almost constant trial with one medical problem after another. And in this time of testing, he still mustered the strength to build with me the tree house that had been a life-long dream of mine, a testament to his selfless devotion.  
David loved his family above all. Johanne and her family; Susan, AJ, and Evan; and Gerry and his family were in his thoughts often. And Bryn was the joy of his existence. She brought such light into our lives with her lovely and loving spirit. Her remarkable accomplishments were a constant source of pride for him. The deep love we all shared sustained us through difficult times and times of being apart, and I pray it will continue to “carry” us “through suffering and death” as it has “through all tests,” as Mark Helprin would assure us. We will be bereft without you but will love you and honour your memory forever and always.
Please rest in abundant peace, my dear David, knowing you are surrounded by love, and finally knowing fully the exceptional worth of your remarkably well-lived life. 




I remember having a ton of fun with David Square as a teenager growing up in River Heights. One time we chartered a 32 passenger ski bus for a run to Agassi. Because we were a little worried about selling that many tickets, Square (nobody called him David) decided we should sell ten good looking girls the first tickets, then the boys would sign on. In the end it worked because we ended up loading 40 wild friends on. Square had told everyone not to sit downside so the driver couldn’t do the head count. 
Whether it was double dating with Penny and Square (he always came up with an idea that wouldn’t cost us a dime), or building that crazy hydro plane in the basement without any idea of how we would get it out, or the 1955 Pontiac Shaker Square had when he drove car pool. Once the Shaker got going it could only slow down as the driver did not want to risk stopping it as it may not start again. Square would lean on the horn a block away to give me time to get out an catch the moving drove  lift. Life was never dull with Square on the team. The Duck Dodgers will miss him deeply. Nick Logan

Defined by his kind and gentle spirit, David also possessed a Lively levity lightheartness and had his own unique sense of humour. He was a steadfast and loyal friend, maintaining connections with the infamous Duck Dodgers (friends from high school days); fellow woodworkers from the Workshop (especially Bill and Vilnis); the Roof Rats (another wild group of friends forged at the Sunnycrest, among them George and Dave, Ron and Miriam, Pat and Paul, and Pat;  friends made in our move to the country, including Ginny and Jochen, Keran and Bruce and family, Rosemarie and family, Joe and Judie, Greg and Elaine, Nancy and Lorne; other close friendships formed more recently who have become family to us—Shosh and Sheldon and the Erickson clan: Danielle and Collin, Sara, Devin, and Freyja, Kim and Aaron, and Evan), and long-time friends, Tim and Pat, Rhonda and Tom, Lindy, and Janet and Bill. 
David enjoyed playing his guitar, especially The Rolling Stones’ “Paint It Black” and Van Morrison’s “Gloria.” He recently refurbished his high school Framus guitar, retrieving it from a leaky shed in our back pasture and transforming it into yet another work of art, veneering the front and back with book-matched (mirror images of one another) sheets of macassar ebony. He also loved the boat he owned for a time and the cedar strip canoe he built with help from his friend Bruce. His love of boats began early as he worked as a boat boy at Lake of the Woods during summers while in high school. He built a hydroplane at the age of sixteen with which he raced around the Lake of the Woods during those summers at break-neck speed.
- continued

I want to express my profound thankfulness for you, David, my beloved husband of 50 years, for being my devoted partner on this wondrous life journey we have shared, one refined by struggle and blessed with both trial and triumph as we strove always to live our lives in a meaningful and purposeful manner, for your mirth that lightened and brightened my life, for your immense talents and skills that sustained the sanctuary we created together, and for our many shared accomplishments.
You were a man of many extraordinary talents: log home builder; one-of-a-kind art furniture designer/maker; silver smith and jeweler; journalist and author; carpenter, plumber, electrician, small engine mechanic, and all round DIY’er. 
Together, we built our log home in the woods near Tyndall, Manitoba from 1973-1978, cutting, peeling, and hauling many of the logs from the Agassiz Forest and harvesting the remainder from our own property. The interior cabinetry, wiring, and plumbing were also done by you. You made our home a work of art graced with your finely crafted furniture, the spiraling cedar staircase, and many other sculptural details. 
After graduating with a BA degree in English literature, David was a carpenter and manager at The Workshop (1972-1975); a public relations writer at the University of Manitoba (1975-78); a one-of-a-kind art furniture designer/maker (1978-1995); a journalist with the Winnipeg Free Press (1995-2015); and an independent journalist (2015-2019). David was also the published author of Vacuum Veneering (1995) and When Falcons Fly (2007), which is under option for a film based on the book to be jointly produced by Pegasus in Iceland and Buffalo Gal Pictures in Winnipeg.  
- continued

Sincere condolences,
Angela (Hay) Humphrey

David Square and I grew up 4 doors down from each other on Montrose St. in River Heights.

We once used an IED pipe bomb to trip a breaker on my family's electrical panel, and also explode one of our neighbour’s precious yards.

Someone must still be cleaning up all the broken glass from the bottles we shattered in the shooting range he set up in his basement.

This is not the time to talk about David and I trying to shoot a neighbour's cat by strapping rocket-style fireworks to a 2 x 4 and bombarding the cat's house with mis-aimed fireballs.

Including all the laughter and cackling, that's how I remember David Square.

We were saddened to read that David has passed away.

Our contact with David and Penny occurred forty years ago, when we attended an Arts and Crafts Show in Winnipeg. We fell in love with a hand crafted walnut jewelry case, crafted by David, and with India ink decoration by Penny. The box was beautifully finished inside and out, with lots of inlays. We purchased it and after the show David and Penny delivered it to our house. We still love it and proudly display it in our home. We’ve never forgotten this artistic couple. 

We send our condolences to Penny and family.

Bruce and Beverley Jacobs


Penny & Bryn,
Allison and I were very sad to see David's obituary today.  He was a very nice man and we enjoyed having all of you as cottage neighbours at Victoria Beach.  We are sorry for your loss.  Remember the good times to help you through this very sad time.
Gordon Challes



Penny, Bryn and family,
Please accept my sincere condolences on the passing of your beloved David.


When my brother Dan Berry died at 55 a number of years ago, we had a memorial service here in Winnipeg  and Dave attended.
I remember speaking with Dave and being so impressed with the time he took to express his condolences, and how empathetic he was. It was so much appreciated.
I was very sad to hear that Dave too had suffered with cancer. So sorry to hear of your loss, Penny, Bryn, and family.
Dave was a very special guy.
Susan Berry

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David Shath Square

17 janvier 1950 – 26 août 2021

Thomson Funeral Home

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