Mr. Robert "Bob" William Fowler

Gillian:

Robert William Fowler, or Bob (never Bobby) as he was known to friends and family, was born in Birmingham, England and spent his early years growing up in the UK alongside his older sister Jean. During his teens he relocated with his family to Lucknow, India, living on the grounds of a country club and adjusting to a very different climate and culture. When his father, Robert Owen Fowler and step-mother Kay chose Canada over New Zealand as a location to emigrate, Dad boarded a steamer with them and sailed across the ocean to this country – and after adventures in Vancouver, Toronto and Iroquois Falls (which was a bit of a weather shock after the heat of India), and through a rather strange set of circumstances, the Fowlers eventually settled in Liverpool, Nova Scotia. Dad finished high school here and then headed to Halifax to attend King’s College, where he played sports, studied the classics, and of course, met our mum. After dating, then marrying and starting a family, Dad eventually gained citizenship in Canada - but he never lost his heart for England or his British ways.

In his younger years, Dad was always dressed impeccably, rarely going anywhere without a tie on, something he likely gained from his short stint at boarding school when he was a young boy. His comb was always tucked into his shirt pocket to keep his incredible head of wavy hair in its right place – even in his final days, his caregivers at Maplestone Enhanced Care were still commenting on “that lovely hair”. He loved the game of cricket - and was surprised when he arrived in North America for the first time and caught a glimpse of (his words) “that weird sport, baseball!” His favourite movie of all time was the British classic film “Goodbye Mr. Chips” – he watched it many, many times over the years. He was a daily tea drinker who would put the pot on in the morning with about three orange pekoe bags, and then just keep reheating it and sipping from it throughout the day, until it was so strong it could practically peel paint. When asked about his choice of after-dinner “pudding”, his answer was always one of two things - a nice bowl of “vaniller” ice cream, or just a “bananer" - he never completely lost his accent. He also never lost his love of fish & chips, or a nice pint of lager.

Dad also had a deep love of classical music, which was ignited when he first saw Disney’s Fantasia on the silver screen as a young boy. His prized collection of close to 400 CDs included a wide range of composers, as well as all the great operas and in particular, the best soprano voices - Maria Callas, Kiri Te Kanawa, Cecilia Bartoli, Mirella Freni, Lesley Garrett, Jennifer Larmore…. But none was more enthralling to Dad then the sublime Renee Fleming; it is likely safe to say that besides mum, Renee was the other love of his life. You have already heard one of her pieces today – well if he had his way, this entire service would have been sung by her…. but for some reason, she didn’t return our emails!!!!

So to honour his love for all things symphonic and operatic, please take an extra listen to the background music during the reception downstairs, and you’ll hear some more of his very favourites.

Dad enjoyed travelling; he saw various parts of India during his teen years, he and Linda honeymooned in Europe (which truthfully didn’t end so well, when he took off his wedding ring to wash his hands and left it on a basin sill somewhere in some foreign country – mum refused to get him another one for a very long time!); they enjoyed tours all over Canada, the warmth of Bermuda, a wonderful cruise and overland excursion through Alaska, and of course they returned to the UK many times, to visit with Jean and family, tour the countryside and enjoy a little bit of his homeland. Dad also loved to take pictures and often had his camera with him everywhere he went; he even scaled a wall back in the 50’s to get “the perfect shot” of the Taj Mahal in Agra, an iconic black and white photo which was framed and hung on the wall of our family home for as long as I can remember. In later years, Dad spent countless hours after each trip painstakingly piecing together scrapbooks complete with every photo, map, ticket and souvenir postcard all carefully and neatly labelled in his excellent penmanship, and cross-referenced with each other – that was the journalist coming out in him, I suppose.

Tim:

In our minds, Dad was the definition of a true gentleman. To quote our cousin Jennifer, he was “humble, kind, patient, respectful, deferential”. Dad was always willing to step forward and help, a hard worker who supported everyone around him without fanfare or need for acknowledgment. His quiet care and concern for his aging parents and in-laws, as well as other seniors in his community; his unending love for his children and grandchildren, his compassion for animals, all of these things helped his true spirit shine through. We could use a few more like him in the world these days; less talk, more service to others.

That said, Dad certainly had opinions! Anyone who received the Chronicle Herald in the late 70s and 80s will know that, as his name was often spotted on the “Letters to the Editor” page. He liked to frequently contribute his thoughts and feelings on the topics of the day – politics, journalism, community concerns – and had a succinct, but (ahem) flavourful way of getting his points across. Despite being quiet, he was a man of words; Jeremy remembers that he had a huge Oxford English dictionary always open on his desk at work, and I recall a corresponding smaller version at home, that often made for “light evening reading” in his wingback chair by our living room fireplace. We still have a number of those letters he wrote, and some of them were real zingers. But he always presented his ideas from a well-read and informed background, and within the style of debate – through discourse, rather than uneducated, brash opinion. As I say, we could use more of that in the world today.

By trade, of course, Dad was a newsman, and loved his work at CBC, despite the long hours and often stressful deadlines, as he quick-cut live incoming newsfeeds in the editing room at top speed, and then ran them up the stairs to the control booth to get them on air in time. When we were younger, we would often go and wait at the studio for him to finish his shift, so we could then grab a ride home. We were well known around the Bell Road building as “Bob’s Fowler kids”… always welcomed warmly, getting to sit with the receptionist at the old switchboard where we pretended to connect calls, or being plunked in front of a typewriter in the newsroom, so we could watch and take in all the goings-on, type on real copy paper, pretend to answer the phone, and basically, try to emulate Dad.

Later, as the senior news editor, things were a little less hectic for him – and some favourite memories include watching him and his colleagues on set when the Evening News went live. We might be giving away some trade secrets away here, but it wasn’t unusual for an impromptu baseball game to commence during commercial breaks, with the bat and ball made out of the copy that had just been read on air! Also for a time, Dad sat working on set behind the anchors during broadcast – but sometimes he’d have to call home during dinner and ask mum to talk to him, just so he could look busy! On a side note, when Jeremy and I were in high school next door at QEH, we would race to CBC to try and be the one to get Dad’s car keys from him – the first one who got there, got the car, and Dad’s gas for the day.

Dad did have a hard time saying no – in fact, he most often said yes, followed by “but don’t tell your mother”. Whether it was slipping money to us before a trip, or operating “Dad’s taxi service”, waiting patiently for us at our various jobs or activities, he was always thinking of, and putting his kids first. It wasn’t until years later when we were grown up and out on our own that he finally splurged on himself, in the form of a fancy car with all the trimmings – but all Dad was really interested in was the great stereo system with a CD player, so he could play his favourite music at top volume!

Holly:

Another way Dad showed his love for us was at Christmas – which was an event in our house. Dad would start his shopping in August, and by the time the holidays rolled around, there was always far more under the tree then we could ever imagine. Both our parents were good shoppers, always finding just the right things - not necessarily the trendy toys or fancy clothes, but things we needed, and whether big or little, LOTS of gifts we enjoyed. However, when we were younger, those gifts would not appear under the tree until the big day, which meant they had to be placed out of sight beforehand. But Dad thought that wasn’t quite enough - and for good reason, with four snoopy kids in the house - so he would devise codes: random and different sets of combined letters and numbers, two each assigned per child. These codes changed completely year to year, and each gift, once wrapped, would be tagged with the corresponding sequence, rather than our names, so that if we found them, by accident, we would have no idea which gift belonged to who. The codes would only be converted to names, on Christmas Eve, when the presents were finally placed under the tree. It was brilliant!

Except that, every year, at some point, Dad would completely misplace the piece of paper holding the key to the codes. He would frantically search high and low trying to find that little slip of mystery (because of course, he couldn’t remember how to break the codes himself!) and he would be muttering very, ahem, non-seasonal words under his breath the whole time. But he usually found it, and thankfully, before any of us did. However, there was one year he didn’t…. and so had to unwrap every gift to find out what it was and who it was for, and then rewrap it. And that was the last year for the codes…

While Christmas was a serious affair, Dad also liked to show his lighter, sillier side at home. He had a skill for drawing cartoons, he would giggle out loud while reading and re-reading the stories of humourists like Stephen Leacock, some of his most favourite words were “thingamabob” and “whatchamahoozit”, and he got the biggest kick out of slapstick comedy. He also loved to ham it up himself, both for the camera (as you’ll see from some of the photos downstairs later) and for his grandchildren. My daughter Kendra said that what she remembered most about her Gumpy was that “there was always some sort of crazy face and noise coming out of him at the dinner table”. Even after the grips of Alzheimers took hold, when his words finally left him, you could still elicit the occasional “heeheehee” and “woohoohoo” out of him, and those moments, for us, were golden.

Dad was diagnosed with Alzheimers in 2002, at aged 65. This was devastating news for our family at the time, for a man who was only a few years into retirement, and already with a wife challenged by her own 23-year battle with Parkinsons. Thankfully, the progression of his disease was slow, and so he and mum still had another seven years together, during which time he was able to remain a loving, caring husband to her, as he had always been over the course of their 48-year marriage. However, it wasn’t long after her passing in 2009 before he required care himself, more than we could provide for him. Thankfully, a red-headed angel appeared in our midst, and Dad and his “best pal” Sonya spent many lovely days together during his last few years at the homestead on Romans Avenue - and for that, we will be eternally grateful.

We are also so thankful for the care Dad received from his doctors, Ernie Johnson and Chris MacKnight, his Red Cross home support workers, and the wonderful staff at Maplestone Enhanced Care, who made his last few years and especially his last few days with us so comfortable. Alzheimers is an awful burden for anyone and any family, but their collective support helped Dad and all of us to bear it as gallantly as we possibly could. We are forever in their debt.

To our dearest Dad, brother, uncle, Gumpy and Grandad, we love you and will miss you more than words can say, but we are so thankful that you are at peace, and once again dancing with mum and watching down on us from above. Rest well.

Poems for Gumpy / Grandad

God Saw You Getting Tired – adaptation

God saw you getting tired

And a cure was not to be

So he put His arms around you

And whispered "Come to me."

With tearful eyes we watched you

As you slowly slipped away

And though we loved you dearly

We couldn't make you stay.

Your golden heart stopped beating

Your tired hands put to rest

God broke our hearts to prove to us

He only takes the best.

And when we saw you sleeping,

So peaceful and free from pain

We could not wish you back,

To suffer that again.

You did not deserve to suffer more

So He set you down to rest.

To His Kingdom you are surely bound,

So to sit with all the best.

- Brandon and Graham Fowler

Grandad – by Fiona Burke

Gumpy - We know you can no longer stay with us,

you fought long and hard to be with us.

We know you now watch over and protect us.

Although we cannot hear your voice or see your smiling face,

We know deep down in our hearts that you have not left us.

Instead every day you surround us - with the singing of the birds,

the rising of the sun and the falling of night.

Our mournful hearts are left behind,

But in our deep despair, our greatest comfort is knowing

that you are now at peace with the angels.

So as times passes our tears will dry,

our hearts will mend,

but our love for you will never end.

- Ryan Mahoney

A Garden - By unknown poet

Our grandfather kept a garden. A garden of the heart;

He planted all the good things, That gave our lives their start.

He turned us to the sunshine, And encouraged us to dream;

Fostering and nurturing the seeds of self-esteem.

And when the winds and rain came, He protected us enough;

But not too much because he knew we’d stand up strong and tough.

His constant good example Always taught us right from wrong;

Markers for our pathway that will last a lifetime long.

We are our grandfather’s garden; we are his legacy.

- Robert & Kaela Fowler

* * * * * * * * * *

81, Halifax, passed away peacefully on March 16, 2019, surrounded by loved ones. Born in Birmingham, England in 1937, he was the son of the late Robert Owen Fowler and Constance May Millington (Walker). Living in Lucknow, India during his teens, Bob then emigrated to Canada with his father and step-mother Kay in 1955. Bob attended Liverpool High School and King’s College in Halifax, where he met his wife Linda (nee Cruikshank, Amherst). Bob spent 35 years working for the CBC in radio and TV as a news reporter and writer; before retirement he was the senior editor for the Halifax evening news. In addition to his work, Bob loved classical music and opera, travel and taking photographs, reading the dictionary, watching cricket, and all things British - including a “natty shirt and tie”. He and Linda were also long-time active members of St Philip’s Anglican Church and avid square dancers, and in retirement, he enjoyed his long daily walks and a good afternoon nap. A gentle, quiet thinker, Bob also had a great sense of humour and loved to make his grandchildren laugh with his many silly faces and ear wiggles. Predeceased by wife Linda and infant brother Leslie, Bob will be deeply missed by his beloved family: sons Jeremy (Amanda) and Timothy; daughters Gillian and Holly (Marshall Hamilton); grandchildren Brandon, Graham, Ryan, Kendra, Hayley, Robert Jr, Kaela, and step-grands Charlotte and Catherine; siblings Jean Warde-Jones and Keith Walker; many nieces and nephews. Bob was also blessed to have an honourary daughter, his special caregiver and “best pal” Sonya Beeler, who provided loving, tender care to him in his later years while challenged with Alzheimers. Bob’s family are indebted to Sonya, Dr. Ernie Johnson, Dr. Chris MacKnight, and the staff at Maplestone Enhanced Care for their compassionate support throughout his 17 years of illness. At his request, there will be no visitation, and cremation has taken place under the direction of Cruikshank's Halifax Funeral Home. A memorial service will be held at Cruikshank’s, 2666 Windsor Street, Halifax on Wednesday April 17, at 11:00 am, with reception to follow; family flowers only. Memorial donations may be made to the Alzheimer Society, and messages of condolence for the family may be placed at www.cruikshankhalifaxfuneralhome.com