The 71st anniversary of the D-day invasion, which launched the Invasion of Normandy was June 6. This historic event was the beginning of the end for the Nazis and the first step for the Allies retaking Europe. For most of my life, my connection to this important battle was kind of vague. As a Canadian, I was grateful for the sacrifices of so many brave souls who fought there but I had no personal link. None of my family, as far as I knew, had been involved. But then something changed to bring it into better perspective for me.
It’s almost two years ago now. That’s when I became the proud keeper of a vintage Gibson acoustic guitar, courtesy of my brother-in-law Don Walker. I saw it first late one night after playing a gig at the slanted palace that is Salty Towers in St Andrew’s, New Brunswick. Rob MacDonald and I finished the show and headed back to Don and my sister Kathy’s home about 20 minutes west of St Andrews in St Stephen, NB, right on the U.S. border. We sat down at the dinner table, cracked a beer and Don pulled out a brown concert size guitar case and passed it to me. Inside was a gorgeous, slightly weathered and unbelievably resonant small-body acoustic, a 1934 Gibson L-00. I took it out gingerly, as if I was handling a delicate piece of sculpture, but soon felt its impeccable construction and durability. This guitar was rock solid. I played it for a while that night. It seemed to have the tone and sonic strength of 10 guitars, which more than compensated for its slightly tough ‟action.” I put it away, thanked Don, and was happy for the chance to have played it.
Less than a year later, Don and Kath came to visit us in our new house in Pointe-Claire, about 20 minutes from downtown Montreal. We had just moved in and they had come to see it and our new baby Simone. Don had told me a few weeks earlier that he was bringing the guitar. He couldn’t use it.
He had just retired after 30 some years as a Phys Ed teacher at St Stephen High School and had taken up guitar. It was something he’d been planning for a while. An avid music fan, Don was up on every country hit of the past 20 years and also versed in the music of the 50s, 60s and 70s. If there was a dance tape or disc to be made for an event or party, Don was the one to make it.
But he was left-handed.
And he was not going to have a 1934 Gibson L-00 altered to suit him. That kind of change would include mounting a new bridge and surely messing with the magic a guitar acquires over 80 years of seasoning.
So Don was passing the guitar down, to the most logical place in our family: me. I would be the keeper, the custodian of this very special instrument until it was time for another move down the family chain, to another guitarist to come.
The reason I mention this stunning Gibson guitar now goes back to Normandy and connection.
You see, this guitar’s first owner, the one who bought it in 1934 for a then not insignificant retail tag of $25, and the person who played it for its first 10 years, was Don’s uncle and namesake, the late Don Walker, an older brother of Don’s dad, Gerry. That Don Walker was one of the soldiers who set out in landing craft from the south coast of England on that fateful morning in June 1944 to break the Nazi’s hold on Europe by penetrating their Atlantic Wall along the coast of France. The force, comprised primarily of British, American and Canadian troops, made amphibious landings on five beaches on the Normandy coast. The Canadian troops landed in the early morning hours at Juno Beach, waged a terrifying battle against Nazi positions along the shore, and, in time, moved inland to begin the liberation of France. The Juno Beach invasion was a success, but with a high price for the Canadian contingent: 340 killed, 574 wounded and 47 taken prisoner. Don Walker of St Stephen, New Brunswick was one of the young men killed.
So often when I play this guitar, I get a real sense of this courageous young man who first owned it and played songs on it, but who didn't get to enjoy it nearly as long as he should have.
I recently recorded a new album with a project called Sussex, after the NB town not far from where I grew up. We recorded at Studio Frisson, one of Montreal’s most renowned studios, located in a converted chapel in the northeast part of the city. It’s a stunning small wood and brick structure that was built in the early 1900s. This building that looks like it should be in the English countryside somewhere is surrounded by modern duplexes and condos, gas stations, fast-food joints and wide boulevards in a now densely populated area of Montreal.
The music on this new album is original but it is channelling the blues and jazz of the 20s and 30s. The studio and the songs were the perfect occasion for the Gibson to make its recording debut. I used it for several takes on a few songs during the sessions, and above and beyond the fact of its huge, rich sound, it also just felt right. It was having its moment. When the Sussex album is released in the fall of this year, this guitar will be heard in homes and across the airwaves around the world.
And there is a part of me that wants to believe in the kind of heaven where Don Walker could be listening and enjoying his guitar in action.
It’s almost two years ago now. That’s when I became the proud keeper of a vintage Gibson acoustic guitar, courtesy of my brother-in-law Don Walker. I saw it first late one night after playing a gig at the slanted palace that is Salty Towers in St Andrew’s, New Brunswick. Rob MacDonald and I finished the show and headed back to Don and my sister Kathy’s home about 20 minutes west of St Andrews in St Stephen, NB, right on the U.S. border. We sat down at the dinner table, cracked a beer and Don pulled out a brown concert size guitar case and passed it to me. Inside was a gorgeous, slightly weathered and unbelievably resonant small-body acoustic, a 1934 Gibson L-00. I took it out gingerly, as if I was handling a delicate piece of sculpture, but soon felt its impeccable construction and durability. This guitar was rock solid. I played it for a while that night. It seemed to have the tone and sonic strength of 10 guitars, which more than compensated for its slightly tough ‟action.” I put it away, thanked Don, and was happy for the chance to have played it.
Less than a year later, Don and Kath came to visit us in our new house in Pointe-Claire, about 20 minutes from downtown Montreal. We had just moved in and they had come to see it and our new baby Simone. Don had told me a few weeks earlier that he was bringing the guitar. He couldn’t use it.
He had just retired after 30 some years as a Phys Ed teacher at St Stephen High School and had taken up guitar. It was something he’d been planning for a while. An avid music fan, Don was up on every country hit of the past 20 years and also versed in the music of the 50s, 60s and 70s. If there was a dance tape or disc to be made for an event or party, Don was the one to make it.
But he was left-handed.
And he was not going to have a 1934 Gibson L-00 altered to suit him. That kind of change would include mounting a new bridge and surely messing with the magic a guitar acquires over 80 years of seasoning.
So Don was passing the guitar down, to the most logical place in our family: me. I would be the keeper, the custodian of this very special instrument until it was time for another move down the family chain, to another guitarist to come.
The reason I mention this stunning Gibson guitar now goes back to Normandy and connection.
You see, this guitar’s first owner, the one who bought it in 1934 for a then not insignificant retail tag of $25, and the person who played it for its first 10 years, was Don’s uncle and namesake, the late Don Walker, an older brother of Don’s dad, Gerry. That Don Walker was one of the soldiers who set out in landing craft from the south coast of England on that fateful morning in June 1944 to break the Nazi’s hold on Europe by penetrating their Atlantic Wall along the coast of France. The force, comprised primarily of British, American and Canadian troops, made amphibious landings on five beaches on the Normandy coast. The Canadian troops landed in the early morning hours at Juno Beach, waged a terrifying battle against Nazi positions along the shore, and, in time, moved inland to begin the liberation of France. The Juno Beach invasion was a success, but with a high price for the Canadian contingent: 340 killed, 574 wounded and 47 taken prisoner. Don Walker of St Stephen, New Brunswick was one of the young men killed.
So often when I play this guitar, I get a real sense of this courageous young man who first owned it and played songs on it, but who didn't get to enjoy it nearly as long as he should have.
I recently recorded a new album with a project called Sussex, after the NB town not far from where I grew up. We recorded at Studio Frisson, one of Montreal’s most renowned studios, located in a converted chapel in the northeast part of the city. It’s a stunning small wood and brick structure that was built in the early 1900s. This building that looks like it should be in the English countryside somewhere is surrounded by modern duplexes and condos, gas stations, fast-food joints and wide boulevards in a now densely populated area of Montreal.
The music on this new album is original but it is channelling the blues and jazz of the 20s and 30s. The studio and the songs were the perfect occasion for the Gibson to make its recording debut. I used it for several takes on a few songs during the sessions, and above and beyond the fact of its huge, rich sound, it also just felt right. It was having its moment. When the Sussex album is released in the fall of this year, this guitar will be heard in homes and across the airwaves around the world.
And there is a part of me that wants to believe in the kind of heaven where Don Walker could be listening and enjoying his guitar in action.
Don Walker, guitarist, soldier, early 1940s.