A Waltz across Texas

Three chords and the truth- Saying good-bye to the last of a generation

Let’s make one thing perfectly clear- there is good, proper country music- and then there is crap. They stopped making good, proper country music many decades ago, when the likes of Roy Acuff, Mother Maybelle Carter, Jim Reeves and Ernest Tubb succumbed to old age and shuffled off the stage at the Grande Ole ‘Opry for the last time.

“A lot of country music is sad. I think most art comes out of poverty and hard times. It applies to music. Three chords and the truth- that’s what a country song is. There is a lot of heartache in the world.” Willie Nelson

Many people won’t agree with me about good, proper country music, but Uncle Hugh did. My Mother’s older brother, the last time I spent any quality time with him was 2012. My Uncle Stan was ailing, and Mother, too frail herself to travel independently, wanted to see him one last time, so I volunteered to tag along as driver/chaperone. We stayed at ‘The Farm”, Uncle Hugh’s rural home on the outskirts of Winnipeg for the better part of seven decades.

Hugh, then in his 90th year, had become somewhat set in his ways, and saw no point in altering his daily routine merely on account of guests, and so each evening we adjourned to the living room where we watched country music DVD’s (the old timers- like Hank-not the modern crap pumped out by Shania and Garth and their ilk) while consuming the allotted two beer daily ration. ( Two beers a day, and a healthy dose of powdered gelatin was his recipe for aging well) His kid sister (my aged mother) was somewhat bemused by the routine, but I loved it - three chords and the truth, all washed down with a couple of beers.

One song that I heard for the first time in Uncle Hugh’s living room stands out for me: It was Ernest Tubb’s “Walk across Texas”, a twangy, slow moving waltz with lyrics that spoke of enduring love. I noticed that Hugh grew silent, with a faraway look in his eye as the scratchy video played:

When we dance together, my world's in disguise
It's a fairyland tale that's come true
And when you look at me with those stars in your eyes
I could waltz across Texas with you.

I was sure he was thinking of Aunt Audrey, over 20 years gone.

Like a storybook ending, I'm lost in your charms
And I could waltz across Texas with you

Willie was right about the heartache- (I know, there is something about good, proper country music that always tugs at the heartstrings, so there is that,) - but it was the last time I saw my Uncle Stan, and the last time I explored the farm, with its Aladdin’s cave of a barn, the site of well-remembered boyhood summer explorations many, many years ago- the barn now empty except for a single horse stall with its old, blind occupant, sadly living out the last days of its life.

There were reminiscences aplenty that week, and much talk of growing old. Stan wasn’t going to make it to see 100, but Mom and Hugh both declared their determination to notch a century of life. Hugh made it, while Mom fell three years short, but not for lack of trying.

Can young folk even begin to grasp the enormity of a century of life? I’ve lived long enough myself to experience the glazed over expressions when I attempt to regale younger family members with tales of life before the internet, the computer, the Fax machine, or even the TV (yup, I can still remember the day we got our first TV!) but how do you fathom living through four monarchs, seventeen Prime ministers, and staggering advances in technology, from the era of bi-planes to the landing of a man on the moon, and all the wonders of the digital age? (Hugh, wisely, mostly kept his distance from all things computer-related, although Mom did give it a bash, with often interesting results, and they both had a somewhat strained relationship with cellular phones).

In the context of a very long life, can one then contemplate the depth of a love that spanned most of that interval? I know its a cliche, but truly, Audrey was the love of his life. They married young and had 38 years and three daughters together, before Audrey was taken, far too young.

Ever the prairie pragmatist, Aunt Audrey wasn’t about to consign her ashes to an eternity of Winnipeg winters, and so chose the milder climes of Victoria as her final resting place, even though it was far from home and family. There was never any doubt where Hugh would be interred - he would rest at her side. Although he died in June of 2021 it wasn’t until this July, that a ceremony could be arranged - ours is a far flung clan, not much prone to family get togethers at the best of times, and not at all in Covid times.

I am told that Hugh chose the time of his passing, and that his last words were “ I’m coming Aud!”- a torch he had carried for over 70 years still burning bright.

Like a storybook ending, I'm lost in your charms
And I could waltz across Texas with you

In yet another of my star-crossed misadventures, I missed the event- and I’m kicking myself still. In the middle of a summer that I had already privately labeled as the ‘summer of our discontent,’ marred as it was by natural disasters, injuries, illness and thwarted travel plans, I got the dates muddled, and missed Uncle’s Hugh’s send off.

Damn it- I should have been there. Not just to pay my respects and to catch up with the cousins, but to mark the passing of a milestone for our family- Hugh was the last of his generation- the door has now closed on a century of lives.

Instead, I was left to garner the details of the day from my better organized sister, who was able to recap for me many of the good words said of Uncle Hugh at the graveside- his kindness, gentleness of spirit, unfailing humour-the perennial twinkle in his eye- and his undying love for Audrey. He was a good man- damn it, I should have been there to see him off.

I sometimes wonder if our sub-conscious possibly plays a part when our schedules go awry-guiding us away from that which we really don’t want to confront. In this case, the family gathered to salute the last of a generation-with their passing others need to step into the breech and become the front line- and I am the oldest of the next generation- I am now not only standing exposed on the front line, I am leading the charge.

“Oh, and they played an old country song at the graveside”

“ was it?”

“Yes- they played “A Waltz across Texas”