anthony goodison was telling me about the ghosts he’d encountered, before glaucoma robbed him of his eyesight.
“oh, yes, several times,” the nearly 82-year-old britannia resident said. as a youngster growing up in jamaica, he spent summers at his grandparents’ home in the countryside. that’s where he first met the ghosts.
“different ghosts?” i asked. “more than one?”
“oh, yes,” he replied. “every summer. ones i saw and ones i heard. it was very cool, and frightening, too.”
i wanted to learn more, but i had just pulled into the parking lot of the
olde forge community resource centre on richmond road, where goodison would spend much of the day sharing coffee, discussions, games, lunch, exercise, that sort of thing, with about a dozen other seniors.
the ghosts would have to wait.
as a volunteer driver for olde forge that day, my job was to get goodison and others to and from their various appointments or chores. his was my second drive of the morning; i’d earlier picked up a 77-year-old woman, dropped her off at the lincoln fields metro grocery store and would later take her back home.
in the afternoon, i chauffeured 95-year-old gwen simpson, along with her daughter sylvia, to a physiotherapy appointment in bells corners. following that, i returned to britannia to pick up usha rao, 84, and ferry her to greystone village retirement home in old ottawa east, where her husband was staying while he recovered from an injury. after dropping rao off, it was back to bells corners to pick up the simpsons and drive them to gwen’s ambleside home, then back to olde forge to get anthony and, hopefully, hear more about the ghosts.