SURVIVING CANADIAN WINTER and the NEW CHEVROLET Mon pays ce n’est pas un pays, c’est l’hiver My country is not a country, it’s the winter --Gilles Vigneault Edmonton, Alberta The car was their symbol of hope, what they’d strived for in the years since they left the rubble that was post-war England. The accident ripped the scab off the past and reminded Margaret how impermanent life could be. Shafts of wintry sunlight streamed through the window, dust motes dancing in the stillness of the room. Margaret lay on the bed, a blanket pulled up over her head. ‘Here’s a cup of tea, luv. Try to drink it.’ George slipped it onto the bedside table. He sighed, tiptoeing out into the living-room to disma

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