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TURNER, Annie Bain
Born at Wick, Caithness, Scotland, March 26, 1909, daughter of Alexander DUCHART and Rachel MacKAY, died in Brockville, Ontario on Saturday, August 31, 2002, Annie was the beloved widow of Leslie Rishmon TURNER, the dear mother of Neil and his wife Rose; and John and his wife Helen. She was the proud Grandmother of Rhonda, Janeen, Daren, Andrew and Lianne and the loving Great-grandmother of Alexander and Sarah. There will be a visitation from 10-11 am and the Funeral service will begin at 11:00 a.m. Tuesday, September 3rd in the chapel of the Judson Funeral Home, Athens, Ontario. Internment Wednesday, 1 p.m. at Westminster Memorial Park, Toronto. Flowers are gratefully declined but, if desired, contributions in Annie's memory to her favorite charities, the Brockville General Hospital, Brockville, Ontario, or the Canadian Heart Foundation would be greatly appreciated.

The above notice was sent in by Helen Tunrer who also added - Our Mother introduced us to Caithness too. I had many talks with her. She said that she attended Primary School at the top of Huddart St. in Wick and remembered that her principal's name was Mr. Fullerton. All the houses on Nicolson St. [she lived at #26] were big stone ones and you used to be able to look down the street and see right out to sea. It is all blocked off at the end of the street with bldgs. now, so you can't see the sea anymore. Mum said that you could watch the boats coming in the harbour from the attic window. The wind would blow right up the street from the sea and great gales would lift the door knocker. The salt spray from the sea was so bad that all the windows as well as all the brass on the house had to be cleaned every Friday!

At the funeral we are going to use George Mowat's song 'The Moors of Caithness'. Mum was 93, born in Pulteneytown and the words of the first and last verses are so appropriate. Does anyone have a copy of the tune.
[a song by George Mowat]

It is long since I left my native land,
Where all my forebears lie,
Where the wind blows keen o'er vacant moors,
Beneath the dome of the sky.
But I shall never forget that land,
Nor the feel of the sun and the rain,
Nor the mile upon mile of heather in bloom,
Across the treeless plain.

Though time and age may make me frail,
That spell will hold me fast,
And bring me thoughts of peace and quiet
And comfort at the last.
Though my bones will lie in the city's smoke
Beside those loved by me,
My spirit will wander the Caithness moors,
Till all eternity.

Helen Turner