top of page
  • Writer's pictureClarke Wallace

going back: A Bit

My wife Rosanne and I took a drive on the weekend. We

ended up in Birchcliffe on Kingston Road, an eastern

extension of Toronto.

I found myself staring at the Anglican Church of Saint

Nicholas. Did it back memories? You bet.

It was my father’s church when I was growing up. I

was known as the ‘preacher’s kid’ which meant I’d have

to prove myself to those guys around me that I wasn’t a wimp.

I was eight or so when my dad, Rev. Nathaniel Clarke

Wallace, had me standing at the main doors on Sunday

mornings – I’ll swear the same doors as seen below

– where I

handed out prayer books to the parishioners arriving for the service.

I’d later sing in the choir until my voice went from high

to low. After that I couldn’t hold a tune. Or a note. I still can’t.

Writer’s comment: I’m the third generation with the same

name. Our son Nathaniel Clarke (the fourth) is stuck with it.

Though I think he’s proud of it. As I am.

12 views0 comments

Recent Posts

See All


Whales talk in their own language. Really. This came from Nature Communications. Their study shows how sperm whales talk to each other in their own way. Mind, they have the largest brains of any anima


My mother, Louise (Lockhart) Wallace, who has been dead these many years,. She was really something. Born in the upscale Rosedale area of Toronto, she didn’t let anything get in her way. That was my m


I had a desk in my small home office which sucked up whatever I put on it. Until I couldn’t find anything I wanted in the mess I’d created. I talk myself into thinking the solution was a larger desk.


bottom of page