The Comforting Smell of Smoke

Father Tom got up from his desk and looked out the window. The rain had finally stopped, it had been a steady rain since he had started working at his desk around 5:30am. The early spring was a tough time in Vancouver as everyone had grown weary of the grey skies and the rain. Even the soggy landscape was tired of it. Sprouts of green had pushed through the soil as if checking to see if it was time to break out. Today was a respite for everything – even the birds seemed to sing more loudly. Trees seemed to stand up straighter and lift bud- laden branches toward the sun. Father Tom knew that “sun worshipping” Vancouverites had already filled the outside tables at every coffee shop and restaurant and the benches in the parks.

That afternoon, Father Tom had arranged a visit with Anna, the widow of one of his old parishioners and a dear friend. She lived within walking distance so he lit a pipe and began the walk. He enjoyed walking as it gave him time to reflect. Today was no exception; he took the time to think about Anna’s husband William. He was a classic old gentleman always dressed in a suit and tie. When home he removed his coat, but not the tie, and put on the same old cardigan each time. There was always a pipe in his mouth and he loved smoking aged English tobaccos. His favourite blend was Dunhill’s Standard Mixture Full. It was a blend that was no longer available but William had many tins of it in his cellar. Odds were that they were probably still there in his study in the credenza by the window where he kept his tobacco and pipes. Father Tom’s memory was filled with visions of William and him deep in discussion with pipes smouldering, sitting comfortably in the old leather wing back chairs in the study. The smell of the rich tobacco was tantalizingly present in his thoughts. William had been a fine man. This afternoon would be a good visit. It would be a pleasure to sit with Anna and share stories and memories of William.

Father Tom was so deeply engrossed in thought that he almost walked passed Anna’s house. It was a lovely cottage style house located across the street from a park. The front yard was still a well manicured English garden. Anna maintained it with the help of a neighbourhood gardener. He opened the gate and walked up the path to the steps. He put his pipe in a pocket of his Harris Tweed jacket. As he came to the front door he removed his cap and knocked. It only took Anna a minute to answer the door. She was one of those women who had become more beautiful with age and retained her charm and grace in a wizened visage crowned by white hair drawn up in a bun.

“Hello Father,” she said “Do come in. I have the tea and biscuits ready. I thought that we would sit in William’s study. I haven’t changed a thing in and it is a comfort for me to sit there and feel his presence.”

“Anna it is good to see you. I think that William’s study would be a great place to sit and visit”, replied Tom.

Anna stepped aside and Father Tom entered the home. Anna closed the door and led the way to the study, even though Tom had been there many times before. They passed the parlour on the right and a bedroom on the left. The stairway to the upstairs was just past the living room and the study stood across the hall from them. The study door was open and inviting as they came to it. The comforting smell of pipe tobacco and smoke came from the room. It was clear to Father Tom that since William’s death, Anna had kept the room’s door and windows closed to preserve the tenuous aura of William’s pipe.

“Anna this place smells just as it did when William was alive. I almost expect to walk in and hear him call out from his chair. Everything looks exactly as it did the last time William and I sat here and enjoyed a pipe,” said Father Tom.

Anna chuckled quietly. She had expected this response from Father Tom. She knew that he had loved William and they had enjoyed many evenings in this study smoking their pipes while discussing books and history. They were alike in so many ways. “Father,” she said “he would indeed have called out to you when he heard the knock. He couldn’t be bothered getting up and opening the door but he would have called out and then I would have answered it.”

They laughed together as they pictured it. Tom imagined William shouting from his chair, pipe in hand and book on his lap. It seemed as if that had been just yesterday. It was hard to accept that William had been gone for over six months. They made their way to the chairs that he and William had shared. The coffee table in front of the chairs held a tea pot with two cups and a plate of biscuits – Digestives. Anna was prepared. She sat in the chair that Father Tom had always occupied in the past and gestured that he should sit in William’s chair. She poured a bit of milk in the cups and then the tea. She handed the cup and saucer to Tom and offered him a biscuit. He took one and settled back quietly into the depths of the wing back chair. Anna picked up her cup and saucer and did the same. They sat quietly with their tea.

Anna broke the silence that surrounded them. Her voice brought the good Father back to the present. He had been gazing at the side table to his left and was reflecting on the half smoked pipe that sat in its rest with a book next to it – Elie Wiesel’s “All Rivers Run to the Sea”. The book mark showed that it was half read.

Father Tom turned back to Anna and said, “I am sorry Anna; I was lost in memories and did not hear you. I guess I am not much good as visitor today.”

Anna laughed and said, “Not a problem Father. I often find myself sitting in that very chair doing the same thing. I was saying that I have a few things I want to talk with you about. I am going through William’s things and I have a proposition for you. But first what kind of hostess would I be if I didn’t ask you to light up your pipe. Would you like a bit of William’s tobacco to smoke? Yes? Here let me get it for you.” And with that she walked to the credenza and picked up a jar of Dunhill’s Standard Mixture Full. It was the same tobacco that he and William smoked when they were together.

She handed the jar to Tom and he opened it. He raised it to his nose and inhaled deeply, breathing in the rich aromas. He took his pipe from his pocket and loaded a bowl. He was about to reach for his lighter when he saw William’s Old Boy lighter on the table next to him. He took it and lit his pipe. He drew in deeply as he lit the pipe and exhaled the smoke. He watched Anna as he lit the pipe. She had her eyes closed and was quietly enjoying the rich room note of the tobacco.

“So many memories in that smoke Father. I cannot tell you how often I come to this room to sit and enjoy the smells of William’s pipes and tobacco. Thank you for bringing fresh smoke to the room.”

“Anna, smoking this tobacco brings to mind time spent here with William. The last time I was here we were discussing that Wiesel book on the table. William was taken with Wiesel and was reading as many of his books as he could find. He was intrigued with Wiesel’s concept of suffering and the human spirit.”

For the next hour as Tom puffed on the tobacco, he and Anna exchanged memories of William. Story after story was told. They laughed and cried and sipped their tea. They were encircled by a wreath of rich tobacco smoke and Anna was in no hurry to talk about the subject of her request to Father Tom. Time stood still for these two old friends.

As the bowl came to its end Anna quietly broached the topic of her proposition. “Father,” she said “I would like you to have some of William’s pipes and a good portion of his tobacco. I would give it all to you but I still enjoy the lingering smell of smoked pipes and tobacco that are part of my memories of William.”

“Anna, I’d be honoured to have some of William’s pipes and tobacco. Are you sure you want to do this?”

“William and I spoke often of this before he died Father and he wanted you to have his best pipes. He even set aside the ones that he wanted you to have. I remember him laughing and saying he would not give you his knock around pipes as you already had too many of those. He put them on a rack inside the credenza. They have your name on them. He also wanted you to take any others that you wish and give them to fellow pipe smokers. His only request was that you keep those on the rack for yourself. Let’s have a look.”

They walked to the credenza. Anna opened the door and lifted out the rack that William had labelled for Father Tom. There, in his shaky handwriting was Father Tom’s name. He had also scrawled his stylized wink behind Tom’s name. There were twelve pipes in the slotted profile rack, equally divided between sand blasted and smooth pipes. He took each one out and looked it over. They were beautiful not only in their making but in their memories. Each had been one of William’s special pipes – smoked only in this study.

Anna spoke as Tom handled each pipe. “Father, he also set aside another one for you. This was one of his favourites, an Andreas Bauer smooth meerschaum with an amber stem. It has some beautiful colour to it now – I remember when we bought that one. We were on holiday in Vienna and as usual William insisted that we stop at all the pipe shops. When he saw that pipe he could not take his eyes off of it. He picked it up and never put it down. He carried it around the store with him as he took in the sights and smells.  He insisted that you have it to keep its story going and add your own memories to it.” She handed the meer to him and said, “While you are looking at it I will go and warm our tea.”

Anna left the study and Tom turned back to the rack of pipes. Ten of them were older patent era Dunhill pipes while the other two were smooth straight grain Charatans. He would go over them more thoroughly when he got home. He was astonished at the thoughtfulness of his old friend. These pipes were in perfect shape, clean inside and out. He would not have to do anything to them, they were ready to smoke.

“William, my old friend these are amazing. Thank you so much for your kindness,” he said out loud.

Anna walked in the room with the fresh pot of tea and placed it on the table. She startled him as she said, “Father, I am so glad that you like the pipes. William was insistent that you have them. Forgive me for not giving them to you sooner but I was not ready to part with them until now.”

“No problem Anna… your timing is perfect! What better time than this while we are talking of William together.”

“There is a bit more Father, I am afraid I am not finished yet. Did you notice the two cartons to the left of the credenza?  I know your penchant for Virginia tobacco so you will find that one of the cartons contains nothing but that. The other contains William’s favourite tobacco – Dunhill’s Standard Mixture Full. I packed those for you as well as several hand packed tins of Baby’s Bottom that he picked up at the London Dunhill Store the last time we were there. We laughed together at that name. I am afraid there are just a few of those left. There is still quite a bit more tobacco that I will pack for another visit. You will have to come back anyway to look through the rest of the pipes. Now let’s have another cup of tea. Pack a bowl of that tobacco on the table and light your pipe. I am looking forward to enjoying the smells and memories of another bowl.”

Father Tom carefully put the rack of pipes back on the credenza. He was stunned with the kindness of his old friend. He sat down and picked his pipe up from the table where he had left it next to William’s half smoked one and loaded another bowl. He used the Old Boy lighter to fire the tobacco and raised his pipe, “Thank you Anna and I lift my pipe to you William. I could not wish for a better remembrance of you my friend. You will always be with me as I smoke these.”

Anna wiped a tear from her eye and smiled at Father Tom. “Here is your tea Father. Now where were we…? Oh yes, that Old Boy lighter you have been using is also yours. I put William’s tamper collection in the box of Virginia’s for you. There is also a letter that William wanted you to have. You can read it when you get home.”

With that Father Tom and Anna sat for the remainder of the afternoon enjoying the visit and the smoke. I am sure dear reader that William was smiling as he watched them; knowing that his well cared for pipes had been placed in the right hands.

03/21/11

Father Tom heard the front door open and felt a slight draft creep in under the parlour door. He called out to whoever had come in, “Whoever you are, welcome to my home. I am in the parlour relaxing with a pipe.”

The foot falls became louder as they came closer to the parlour door. He recognized the familiar tread. The parlour door creaked open on its hinges and his housekeeper Mrs. Conti came into the room. She was dusted with a fine snow on her already white hair but somehow managed to still look warm and cheerful in spite of the cold air outside.

“Good evening Father. Have you had anything to eat this Christmas evening? There are plenty of leftovers in the fridge from yesterday you could have helped yourself. Oh, by the way it was a fine service you gave earlier this evening. Now I am off to the kitchen to see what I can put together for your supper.”

“Thank you Mrs. Conti. No, I have not eaten. I have just been sitting here preoccupied with my thoughts and my pipe. Mrs. C. I am curious to know if you might have seen someone drop off the box that was in the entry way when I came home this evening.”

“I’ve no idea Father; it was not here when I left for a visit with my children this morning. Why don’t you open it and see what it is. Probably a Christmas present one of the congregation left for you. I’ll leave you to your thoughts Father, while I fix your supper.”

And with that she went to the kitchen and Father Tom was left with no more information than he’d had before about the package. When he had come home earlier that evening he had found a mystery box sitting on the floor inside his door. The mystery was not how it got there but why it was there and who had sent it to him. He could not remember having ordered anything from his favourite tobacconist or from the booksellers. There was not a return address on the box, just his name and address on the label and it had a local post mark. He had taken it into the parlour and left it on the side table next to his chair. It sat there now and all he had done since coming home was to sit and look at it wondering what it might be. (Now that might seem odd to you, if you are one of those who tear into things as soon as you see them, but Father Tom was not that way. He liked to try to figure it out before he opened it. He loved solving those little mysteries as there was so little else he ever solved in one short moment.)

“I guess I won’t make any progress on discovering what is in the box and who it came from without opening it! Humph maybe then I can solve this riddle.”

Without any further hesitation, he took off the wrapping paper from the outside of the box – just a plain brown wrap with tape at each of the folded triangles that held it tightly to the box. He carefully opened the paper – his brothers had always been bothered by his slow methodical way of opening packages and given him grief over it for years. But this habit remained with him unchanged after 60+ years of seasoned practice. Once he had removed the brown wrapper from the box he folded it neatly and laid it aside. The box itself was nondescript, just a brown cardboard box the size of a shoe box. There were no labels or printing on it that might have given him a hint about what was inside. It had been taped closed. He sat for a long time staring at the box just wondering about the hands that had packed it and what it held inside. It was not very heavy as far as packages went; nothing like those that held his books when they came by post. Nor did it have the shape or feel of a box of his favourite tobacco blends from the tobacconist.

He took his pipe knife out of the pipe cabinet next to his chair. With a deliberate motion he sliced the tape that held the box closed. He opened the flaps on the box and peered inside. He did not shake the box or jiggle it to try and guess its contents, he merely opened the flaps. When he did, the smell of good tobacco escaped from its open top. Maybe he had ordered something and forgotten. Whatever it was, it smelled good, comforting and somewhere in the back of his mind a memory niggled that told him he had smelled this before. He stuck his hand into the box and began to remove the tissue paper that filled it and obscured what was hidden inside. He folded the tissue paper and he added it to the neat pile of wrappings. At the bottom of the box nestled among the last pieces of crumpled tissue was an old pipe – an Oom Paul. It was beautiful and had the patina of a well smoked old-timer. There was something about this particular pipe that spoke to him. He took the pipe in his hands and laid the box aside. He turned it over in his hands trying to remember where he had seen the pipe before.

He held the pipe to the light beside his chair so he could better examine it. The stamping on the shank identified the pipe as a BBB Own Make. It was a beautiful piece of briar with birdseye on the front and back of the bowl and grain running parallel on both sides of the bowl and shank. There was a silver ferrule and a military mount silver end cap on the stem with hallmarks that identified it as having been made in 1919 in Birmingham. As he rotated it to the right, he saw initials HJH engraved in the silver of the ferrule. Who did he know that had those initials? He struggled to put a name and a face with them. Nothing! He raised the pipe to his nose and inhaled deeply. Perhaps he could identify the tobacco from the smell and trigger the memory of the man and the place. There was a deep, rich, earthy smell to the pipe. The cake looked to be just the right thickness and it gave off the aroma of Virginia or possibly a Balkan blend. There was none of the cloying smell of aromatics or the flowery smell of Lakelands. He held it closer to the light to look inside the bowl to examine the condition of the cake. What a surprise! The pipe had been packed and was ready to smoke. He touched the tobacco with his forefinger and found that it was springy to his touch and not too dry. No wonder the box and the pipe smelled the way they did. How strange to open an unmarked box and find a pipe packed and ready to smoke. This riddle certainly was not to be easily solved.

He reached for a pipe cleaner and ran it through the stem. It came out clean. He removed the stem and ran it through the shank. It too was clean. The vulcanite stem was freshly polished and shone with a warm, ebony glow. The silver had been polished and had lustre as well. He sat back again and puzzled over this odd package. He held the mystery monogrammed pipe for a bit longer – HJH. It was well smoked and broken in but very clean. It was as if the pipe’s previous owner had just prepared the pipe for him. No matter how hard he tried to put the puzzle together it continued to elude him. He had no idea what it all meant – that was for sure. The clues were there in his hands, clearly before him but the solution seemed to be just beyond his reach at the edges of his memory. He could not shake the feeling that he had held this pipe before and that the person who sent it was someone he knew well. He sat quietly for a few moments looking at the old pipe and letting it float through his memory. He was brought back to the present when he could hear Mrs. Conti moving in the adjoining kitchen. The unmistakeable smell of a meal being prepared for him was beginning to drift into the room. Time had seemed to stand still for him, and he had no idea how long he had been sitting there letting different thoughts drift through his mind, in an attempt to identify the gift giver among his pipe smoking acquaintances. He associated names and faces as he did this. He could almost smell their tobacco and hear their voices as he went through them in his mind.

He reached for his matches and tamper as he came to a decision; maybe he would remember if he could taste the tobacco and smell the smoke in the room around him. He struck the match on the striker and put flame to the tobacco. He saw it coil and writhe as the flames touched it. He smelled the initial smokiness before he even tasted the tobacco. Yes, it was a Virginia with Orientals blended to perfection – its sweet grassiness and the tartness at the back of his throat was exactly what he loved about a good Balkan smoke. He knew he had tasted this tobacco before. It was one he had indeed smoked and enjoyed. In the back of his mind he knew it was one of his favourites that was no longer available. As he touched a second match to the tobacco to give it the final light he pulled the smoke into his mouth and quickly shook out the match and laid it aside. He settled back to a mysteriously wonderful smoke. The smoke curled from his mouth and around the button of the pipe. It swirled in a twist around his head and wreathed him in a wonderful smelling cloud. He disappeared into the smoke for awhile letting it carry him through his past.

As the smoke moved through his mouth and out his nostrils memories flooded his mind. He knew exactly who had sent the pipe to him. The old pipe spoke to him from the smouldering tobacco. He remembered a sidewalk pub, a table where he sat sipping espressos and smoking his pipe with a friend. They were laughing and talking. On the table sat an old tin of tobacco that had been opened. They had both filled their pipes from it and were enjoying the aged tasted. He recognized the lid with its four green squares on the top – Dobie Four Square Mixture. The face of the man across the table came into focus. The pipe he now held was the same one the man in his memory had been holding. The tobacco he was smoking was the same tobacco as that aged tin. The initials HJH now made sense to him and so did the package.

Just a few weeks earlier an old friend of his had died. Father Tom had been asked to officiate at the funeral. It had been hard on him as he realized that he was truly gone. The burial made it seem so final. He had wept as he said the funeral liturgy for him and then laid his remains to rest in the cemetery next to the old church. He had known him as Jim Hughes. He had never thought much about any additional names that his friend may have had. He missed him though and thought about his absence every day. After the burial, Father Tom had gone home and spent the evening thinking about Jim. He had taken out his own pipe – the one that he had often smoked when they had been together, and packed it with one of his own favourites – Escudo. He had smoked a bowl to the memory of his friend. He had breathed a quiet “Rest in Peace, dear friend” as he sipped the aged coins of Virginia and Perique.

Now, this Christmas evening, he held that very pipe in his hands. He knew that this old Oom Paul had been Jim’s pipe. That pipe that held so many memories and could have told many stories about their friendship was now his. How had the pipe come to be sitting in his entry way this Christmas day? How had it come to his house in this box already packed and ready to smoke? Why tonight of all nights was it here? How had Jim managed to see to the delivery of this fine gift? Those and many more questions raced through his mind.

Suddenly it all made sense to him. He could imagine how Jim had filled the pipe with this chosen tobacco, tamped and ready to smoke to be shared with him. In his mind he saw Jim gently pack it in the box among the tissue paper. Jim had chosen to pass on this gift to his old friend and set about making sure it got delivered just in time for Father Tom’s Christmas evening smoke. He sure missed his old friend. Jim must be laughing at the trouble he had had identifying the source of the gift. He must have been amused at the struggle to grapple with it and then the sudden light that came on as he lit the pipe and smoked it. He must have been thoroughly enjoying Father Tom’s befuddlement and subsequent enlightenment.

“This one is for you Jim, Merry Christmas! You must be sitting and enjoying the discomfort you caused me in trying to figure out this gift my friend. Enjoy my thanks and savour the aroma of this fine old baccy!”

He enjoyed the bowl and the memories that it set loose as he smoked it. He sensed the presence of his old friend in this special Christmas gift. What a delight to have been remembered by the one whose presence he missed so dearly. In the background he could smell the aromas of a great supper that was just about ready. He knew that very soon Mrs. Conti would call him to the table for the Christmas evening meal and a glass of flavourful Shiraz. But until that moment he would sit and smoke with his friend and savour the memories that would always be attached to this old pipe.

12/12/10

Another long week had ended for Father Tom. It was Sunday evening and finally he had some time to relax and regroup before another week rushed to greet him with its speed and fury. He made his way into the parlor and bent to turn on the light by his chair. He went to the fireplace and knelt on the hearth rug, took a match from the match safe by the fireplace and struck it to kindle the fire. As the match brought flame to the kindling and newspaper crumpled under the lay of logs in the fireplace the flame began to take hold and the kindling began to burn with its characteristic crackle and pop. He rubbed his hands together in the rush of heat that radiated from the fire and let its warmth move over and through him before he stood and walked toward his recliner in its place next to the fireplace. He noticed that Mrs. Conti, in her usual efficient manner, had laid out a simple supper on the sideboard next to his chair. A cold Montreal smoked meat sandwich on marbled rye with a small bag of potato chips would wait while he unwound from the busyness of his day. He poured himself a nice glass of port to sip while he had a pipe before dinner.

He unbuttoned his vest and arched his back in a stretch to take out the kinks. He reached to the clerical collar that was at his throat and unfastened it and laid it on the mantle then he took a seat by the fire. It was good to be finished for the week. His week began on Monday and ended on Sunday evening so for him another week was finished. His Monday was a day off and he had not even taken time to plan anything more than a trip to the local pipe shop to pick up some needed pipe cleaners and a few more tins of tobacco for his cellar.

He talked to himself as was his custom as he settled into the fine old leather recliner. He sipped his port and said, “Ahhhh. I couldn’t ask for anything more than this! A good smoked meat sandwich, a glass of port – what a great supper Mrs. Conti has laid out for me. And now a blazing fire in the fire place and a comfortable chair to relax in with my pipe before I eat what she has prepared! Life is good!” The smooth rich port seeped into his cold bones and combined with the warmth of the fire he was soon comfortable and at ease. His week had closed and now he could afford to spend some time alone with his thoughts while he enjoyed his pipes and tobaccos. Though he enjoyed people and dealing with all of their joys and sorrows he needed this time to recharge and nothing provided that better for him than time alone in the company of his pipes.

He reached to the side of his chair into the small smoking cabinet that held his favourite pipes and tobacco. It was a dark, carved piece of furniture that he had been drawn to when he saw it because of its functional provisions for his hobby. It had a small cupboard that held six of his pipes in an upright rack and still had room for several tins of tobacco. On the top was a beautiful (at least to him it was beautiful) ashtray. Next to that was a small holder for his matches – equipped with a striker and room for a tamper and pipe cleaners. It fit comfortably next to his chair at just the right height so that he could reach it while sitting. He looked over the six pipes in the rack and selected a small bent Dunhill Shell Briar Dublin to smoke. It was a favourite of his – not because it was a Dunhill, but because it fit his hand perfectly and had never failed to deliver a great smoke. The Shell finish was very tactile because of the deep ring blast that encircled the bowl. As he held it he enjoyed the feeling of the pipe in his hand. From the stack of tins in the cupboard he picked up an open tin of Escudo. He used a coin from his vest pocket to carefully lift the lid from the tin. It was dime that he kept in that pocket for just this purpose. Held between his thumb and forefinger it was the perfect tool to lever the lid off of a tin of one of his choice aged tobaccos. He used it every time because he was meticulous about closing his tins to keep as much air out as possible. He did not like overly dry tobacco and hated to lose some of the taste by rehydrating it.

He pinched together a few of the coins of the tobacco between his fingers and placed them in the palm of his hand where he rolled them into a ball. He carefully stuffed the ball into his pipe. He enjoyed the taste of the Escudo prepared this way. Some of his friends always rubbed out the coins of Escudo but he found the flavor more pungent and full using his chosen method. No matter how care he took with the tobacco as he stuffed it into his pipe a few shreds of tobacco inevitably found their way onto his lap and finally into the space between the cushion and the arm of the chair. He raised the loaded pipe to his nose and sniffed the aroma of the great Virginia/Perique blend and savoured the tang in his nostrils. “Mmmm…what a great smell… it promises a fine smoke.” He had always enjoyed this part of the ritual of pipe smoking. For him it was a necessary part of his enjoyment of the pipe. That initial sniff began the magic of his smoke.

He struck a match on the striker on the top of his cabinet and moved it over the top of the bowl, pulling the flame to the tobacco as he gently sucked on the stem. The first light ignited the tobacco and it began to twist as it sprung to the top of the bowl. The charring light caught on and the nice smell of sweet Virginia rose above the bowl. It smoldered for a bit and then went out. Father Tom tamped it down with a small pewter pipe nail he took from the cabinet top and then struck a second match and watched as the tobacco caught fire and a thin curl of blue smoke thickened and rose from the bowl and then seeped from the edges of his lips and around the button of the mouth piece. He settled back to enjoy the full flavoured smoke of the aged Escudo. On the edge of his mind it niggled at him to check on how much Escudo he had left in his cellar but the thought quickly disappeared in the magic of the smoke. He was moving into that comfortable zone that pipe smokers seek in those alone moments of contemplative smoking. Nothing was better than that quiet place.

He pulled on the smoke with his mouth and let the smoke roll through his mouth and out his nose the taste of sweet Virginias mixed with the spicy pungency of Perique on the back edges of his tongue, in his throat and in his nostrils. The flavours of the blend tickled his senses with its usual urgency. The combined ability of a good pipe and tobacco to melt away the edges of a long hard week was a continuing source of enjoyment and amazement to him. He never quite understood how it all worked but he loved that effect as he smoked. It seemed that his cares and struggles just melted away as he was given perspective on his life in the act of smoking his pipe. As the smoke curled around his head he closed his eyes and settled back into the old leather chair. He pulled the handle on the side of the chair and the foot rest came up under his feet. He let out a quiet sigh as he drifted into the zone of the smokey air around his head. The blue smoke wreathed his head and he sat quietly, reflectively in the smooth flavor of the smoke. All thoughts of the smoked meat sandwich on the sideboard disappeared in to the taste of his pipe. He was lost in the space of the moment and all other thoughts has slipped from his mind.

Father Tom must have sat that way in an almost mystical state for the better part of an hour. The only noise in the house was the sound of the grandfather clock in the entry way to the house. As it struck 8:00pm he was roused from his state. The pipe had gone out and the room note of the fine Escudo hung in the air around him. He tapped the ash out into his potted fern next to the chair. The old fern seemed to love the ash almost as much as he loved the tobacco. He reached for a pipe cleaner and ran it through is pipe from button to bowl. He then folded it and swabbed out the bowl itself and tapped out the last of the ash. He placed his pipe in the rack inside the cabinet and put the tin of Escudo back in the stack of tins. He laid the tamper on top of the cabinet and picked up the burned matches and the folded pipe cleaner from his ash tray. He dropped the foot rest on the old recliner and pushed himself out of the chair. He threw the matches and cleaner into the fire and then went across the room to the sideboard and picked up the plate of his supper and carried it back to the chair. He sat down and set it on his lap and sipped his port. Then he took a bite of the sandwich and savoured the smokey taste of the meat. This evening had turned out to be exactly what he needed. A sip or port, a smoke of good tobacco, a great sandwich and the crackling fire to give him warmth. He turned and looked at the stack of books on the mantle and eyed the title that would be his companion with his evening pipe. Life was good and Father Tom enjoyed the moments of this evening with all the pleasure it had as if there would be no more.

12/04/10

It was good to be outside again. The cold winter winds and rain had kept him uncomfortably chilled and housebound. Father Tom had not left home other than to go out on his visits and parish work for more days than he cared to remember. Today he had woken up early and saw the clear sky outside and checked the temperature. It appeared that the Pineapple Express had arrived with a shift in the wind and it was actually warm enough to walk outside. He decided it was a day for a walk along the sea wall. He packed his satchel with a good book, a couple of tins of tobacco, his favourite pipe along with a tamper and Zippo lighter. He left a note on the kitchen table for his housekeeper letting her know he was taking the day off and did not need breakfast or lunch. He put on his top coat and his cap and locked the door behind him. He walked to the bus stop and caught the number 19 bus to Stanley Park. The bus was pretty empty as it was still early for the second run of commuters. He sat back and looked out the window as the bus ride toward the Park began.

The bus arrived at the first stop inside Stanley Park and he got off. He walked along the side walk by the Yacht Club to get to the sea wall. It looked like it was going to be one of those rare days in Vancouver, the sun was shining, it was crisp and cold and there was no one walking along the path. “Perfect”, he thought as he began the walk along the sea wall taking in the cool air and looking for the right bench to on which to sit and relax in the sun. He grabbed one of the memorial benches along the walk and sat down to pack a pipe. He knew that it was no longer permitted to smoke in the parks of the city and certainly not here on the sea wall but it was a quiet day and no one was out and about so he thought he would smoke anyway. The waves were lightly breaking just beyond the edge of the sea wall. He could see the scattered debris of the storm of the last few days on the beach below. The cruise ships and cargo ships were anchored in the harbour against the beautiful backdrop of mountains and bridges made the setting calming to the soul.

He put his satchel on the seat next to him and took out the tin of Elizabethan Mixture, an older version of the blend by Murrays, and packed it in his pipe. Over the years he seemed to almost do this without thinking to get a good pack. It was just the right load to give a good draw. He took out his lighter and rolled the wheel and got the flame going and drew it to the tobacco. The bloom sprang up at the touch of the flame and caught fire. He drew gently on the bowl pulling the flame into it. He tamped the tobacco and struck a second light to the bowl and watched as a billow of smoke rose from the bowl. Ah this had the makings of a great day! Sunshine and no wind, perfect for an outdoor pipe. It was a shame that the city had made this a guilty pleasure, but at this rate, the way he was feeling it would be worth the fine or warning. He put his satchel on the ground beside him and settled in for a good smoke.

As Father Tom sat smoking his pipe there was a rustling in the brush behind his bench. The rustling grew louder and sounded as if someone was walking through the brush toward him. He turned to the side so that he could see what was going on in the bush and waited, watching while he enjoyed his pipe. He wanted to see what was disturbing his solace – at least he knew it was not one of the constables who would ticket him for smoking! They did not traverse the woods of the park. After a few moments an odd figure walked out of the bush. I say odd not because of any prejudice regarding his state, but because of his appearance. He was a fairly tall individual – at least 6 feet. His clothes had that lived in look to them. His pants were covered with debris and dirt with several other pairs of pants peeking out below the cuff.  His belt was a piece of rope that was knotted in a half hitch and his upper body was covered by several layers of clothing as well. The top one looked like a slicker that was a bit camouflaged; the cuffs of a flannel shirt in greys and reds stuck out with what looked like the ragged cuffs of a union suit peeking out at the wrists. He wore a pair of fingerless gloves to keep his hands warm. His head was covered in hair – a long scraggly beard and moustache covered the lower half of it and long, unruly hair topped it off. His face bore the weathered creases that came from having lived outside for a long time.

To Father Tom’s surprise the fellow had an old pipe tucked in the corner of his mouth and there was a wisp of smoke curling up around his face. The pipe looked like it was a regular feature, a part of his face. He grinned at the good Father, gave a chuckle and said, “Looks like there are at least two of us here who have the good sense to break that obnoxious new Parks Board ruling against smoking in public spaces. Mind if I share your bench and join you for a bowl?”

Without waiting for a reply he sat down next to Tom and took a deep draw on his pipe and it came back to life. The smoke rose from the bowl. He had a contented look on his face as he puffed, leaning back and looking around him at the world – it seemed all was as it should have been. He was quiet for a long time and Father Tom wondered if he should interrupt the quiet to introduce himself to this fellow piper. He decided not to break the silence and to just sit and wait, quietly puffing on his own pipe. The sun shone on them both, the birds on the water made the only noise of the day. Things could not have been in better harmony.

Finally the nameless smoker, interrupted the silence and said, “M’ name’s Bill”. He said nothing more and returned to his smoke.

Father Tom responded in like manner, “Name is Tom.”

They shared the comfortable silence for awhile and both puffed contentedly on their pipes. The billows of smoke encircled the bench on which they sat and you could not have found two more contented looking pipers in all of Vancouver. It was a beautiful day and they were enjoying a view that was hard to beat, a smoke that was delightful and the company of a like minded brother of the briar. As they both came to the end of their bowls the feeling of contentment and restfulness lingered.

“What are you smoking Bill?” Tom asked.

“Whatever I can get a hold of is what I smoke,” replied Bill. “I’m not particular at all. Whatever I pack and light, I taste and enjoy! Doesn’t pay for a man of my means to be too picky about his choice of tobacco.”

“Guess that is true enough Bill. But me, I am partial to Virginia tobaccos and those that have a dab of Perique in them. I don’t smoke many English blends and almost never smoke Burley ones. Today I have a couple of tins of aged Virginia here with me. I have some Dunhill Elizabethan Mixture and some stoved Virginia Flake – Dark Star. I was going to load a bowl of the Dark Star would you want to give some of it a try?”

With that he took a tin of 1997 McClelland’s Dark Star out of his satchel and opened it. He took a few of the broken flakes between his thumb and forefinger, placed it in his palm and rubbed it out. He rolled it into a ball, springy and light, and loaded his pipe. He noticed while he did this that Bill was watching intently. When he had finished loading his pipe he passed the tin to Bill. He quietly watched as Bill copied what he had seen him do. Tom lit his pipe and pulled the smoke into his mouth. “Dark Star is sure a good smoke”, he thought as he contentedly smoked a bowl.

He watched as Bill set the tin down on the bench between them and tamped the tobacco with his forefinger. He took an old Bic lighter from his pocket and set fire to the tobacco. He puffed on it a few times, tamped it again with his finger and gave it a second light. He sat back, closed his eyes and savoured the tobacco. He gave a contented nod of his head as he exhaled the smoke. There was a palpable silence around the bench as the two men sipped the smoke of the aged Virginia.

“I like it!” exclaimed Bill. “Man this is really good stuff. I can see why you enjoy smoking it.”

“Wait until it burns down a bit deeper into the bowl. It is an amazing smoke. The dimensions of flavour are truly remarkable,” Tom said. Then with an after thought he added, “Maybe that doesn’t matter to you as much as it does to me but…hey what can I say, I love this tobacco.”

Bill turned toward him with a bit of a twinkle in his eye and said, “Don’t be mistaken, it matters to me as well. I just don’t get to smoke this kind of stuff that often!” With that comment he closed his eyes and sat back to enter into the smoke with a silent revelry.

The two men sat quietly, each in their own world. Each one left alone to their own thoughts as they sipped on the smoke. If you had walked by at that moment you would have seen two older gents contentedly sitting in a haze of smoke with a slight smile on their faces and the sun shining down upon them. They looked, in their contentment, as if nothing could have been better in their world.

As the tobacco burned down to the bottom of the bowl and left it mottled ash remnant behind in each of their pipes, the men turned toward each other. Tom looked down at the nearly full tin of Dark Star on the bench silently mulled over how he was going to give it to Bill. As Bill tapped out the ash in his pipe against the heel of his boot he murmured, “thank you Tom. That was a memorable smoke for me. Can’t remember when I have last had a smoke like that in good company to boot!” He rose to leave and stuck his empty pipe in his mouth. He looked back at the woods and said, “Take care Tom. Maybe I’ll meet you here again one day.”

Before he could walk away Tom rose as well. He bent and picked up the tin of Dark Star and handed it to Bill. He said, “Here Bill, take this with you. It is nearly full and there is a lot of good smoking to be had in that tin. I hate to see you wondering when you will get to taste that again. Enjoy it. You have given me a great day!”

After shaking hands, the two men parted company. Bill went back into the woods behind the pathway and Tom started heading back to the city. The ocean was on his left as he walked and weighed the day’s events in his head. It had been a great day and he had thoroughly enjoyed the company and the scenery. Now it was time to get back to his work. It was starting to get cold so he stopped and reloaded his pipe with some Elizabethan Mixture and lit it for the walk back to the bus stop. At least his hands would be warm and he could enjoy the pipe as he walked.

02/01/11

Early Tuesday morning Father Tom put on his clerical collar and his Harris Tweed jacket before walking to the parlour to pick up a pipe and tools for the day. He put a little bent Dublin in his pocket and a pouch of tobacco, tamper, pipe cleaner and his lighter in the other. He had to be at the hospital at 6am because one of his parishioners was due for surgery that morning. It had become his custom to be there with them before surgery and before the anaesthesia so he could encourage and comfort them. He lived fairly close to the hospital so he walked there.

Upon arrival he took the elevator to the 4^th floor and found Mrs. Nathanson’s room. He knocked gently on the door, called out softly that he was there and heard her invite him in. They talked for a brief time and she shared her fears and expectations with him. He finished his prayer just as the orderly came through the door to take her to surgery. He squeezed her hand and said, “See in a little while.” He walked with the cart all the way to the door of the surgical suite and bid her farewell.

Tom walked back to the surgical waiting room and checked with the nurse to find out when the surgery was to be over. He gave her his cell phone number and asked that they call him when the surgery was over and Mrs. Nathanson was back in her room. Since she had no relatives in the city and her son was in Europe and would not arrive in Vancouver until the next day, Father Tom was the contact. He took the elevator down to the cafeteria and ordered a coffee and a quick breakfast. He picked up a newspaper and took it to the table with his breakfast. He scanned the pages quickly and then laid aside the paper as nothing caught his eye. Once breakfast was done he carried his tray to the cart and headed to the main entrance.

Before going outside he packed his pipe with a bit of tobacco he brought with him and lit it before heading outdoors. He put on his cap and began the walk from the hospital to Cambie Street – just a few blocks away. It was far enough for a good pipe. He wanted to catch the train up to his favourite pipe shop and pick up 100 grams of his favourite shop blend and some pipe cleaners. He would have just enough time before the surgery was over to get the tobacco and get back to the hospital.

He arrived at the train terminal after a 10 minute walk and put his pipe in his pocket, bought the ticket and went down to the platform to catch the train. Within a few minutes he was on his way for a short ride to the 41^st Ave. station where a short walk would take him to his favourite pipe shop – RJ Clarkes.

He walked up the stairs, crossed the street and entered the pipe shop. The owner was in the back at the counter and nodded his greetings as he helped another customer. Father Tom, made his way to the jars of house blends and picked out his favourite. He knew it was a McClellands 5100 blend but he bought it from this shop regularly to have an excuse for visiting. He took time to inhale the aromas of several other jars of tobacco – he knew that the day would soon come when the jars would be moved behind the counter and covered to meet the increasingly harsh Vancouver laws regulating the sale of tobacco. He would miss the readily available buffet of smells and textures of the various blends so he always took time to savour the smells.

The other customer left and the shop owner said to Father Tom, “How are you today Father? What can I get for you?

“I am doing well, just stopping by before I go back to the hospital. I’ll take 100 grams of this blend and then two bundles of pipe cleaners. I could also use a bit of lighter fluid for my Old Boy. Thanks Richard.”

Richard poured the contents of the jar onto the old scale on the work table and measured out 100 grams. He took a bag and labelled it with the house name and then lifted the scoop off the scale and slid the contents into the bag. He had done it so often that not a thread of tobacco missed the bag. He sealed the bag and carried it to the cash register and put two bundles of pipe cleaners and a can of lighter fluid on the counter with it. He quickly tallied the total with the dreaded tax and quoted it to Tom. Tom took out his clip and handed Richard the cash and thanked him. He took the tobacco and other purchases and slipped them into his coat pocket – the opposite one he had his pipe in!

“Thanks Richard; I will be back another day for a chat. I have a parishioner at the hospital that should just about be done with her surgery so I need to be heading back. Take care of yourself.” And with that and a farewell from Richard he headed toward the door. He paused outside the door and relit his pipe then made his way back to the train and on to the hospital.

When he got to the hospital his pipe went into his coat pocket again. It would be fine until he walked home later. He took the elevator to the surgical waiting room and found that as he walked through the door his cell phone rang. He looked at the receptionist and they both laughed.

“Mrs. Nathanson is on her way up to her room. They will need about a ½ hour to get her settled in. The surgery went very well. The doctors are very pleased. You can head up there if you would like.”

“Thanks”, said Father Tom. He then went back to the elevators and took it to the fourth floor. Once he got there he remembered that there was an outdoor patio that he could wait on and enjoy a bit of sunshine. He found it and settled into a comfortable chair near the wall overlooking the downtown. He looked around and saw ash trays on the tables so he took out his pipe and relit it. He sat back and looked around the deck. Off to his left he noticed another pipe smoker sitting at a table. He tipped his pipe to the other man and continued to contentedly sit with his pipe. He was lost in thought momentarily and failed to hear the footsteps behind him. He gave a start as the voice behind him said, “I see you found my hiding place. Great place for a pipe eh?”

The man then sat down across from him at the table and Tom noticed then that he was wearing scrubs. They introduced themselves to each other and contentedly sat smoking their pipes.

“I look forward to my post surgery smoke here on the fourth floor patio. I am hoping the hospital continues to forget that it is here and doesn’t make it a non-smoking patio as well. I am not sure where I would go then. It is great to be able to sit here away from the door and other people and decompress after a surgery. What brings you here Father?” said the surgeon.

“Hmmm. It is a great place. I did not know it was here and would not have guessed but for the ashtrays. I have a parishioner here who underwent surgery this morning. She is due back to her room very soon so I thought I would step out for some fresh air while waiting for her. When I found I could have a pipe while I waited it was a bonus.”

With that exchange of words Father Tom’s pipe was finished. He looked through the door and could see that Mrs. Nathanson had not come back to her room yet. So he took the bag of tobacco from his pocket and after running a pipe cleaner through his pipe, packed a bowl of the new tobacco. He laid the bag on the table between the doctor and him. He took out his lighter and fired it up, tamped and relit and settled back for a bowl.

The doctor reached across the table and took the bag and opened it and put it to his nose. “That smells great. What is it? Smells like Virginia and looks like it as well.”

Tom answered, “McClelland’s Red cake, 5100. It is my go to smoke. Help yourself to a bowl if you want to.”

The doctor tapped out his dottle in the ashtray and ran a cleaner through as well. He loaded a bowl of the 5100 and lit it. He sipped contentedly at the smoke and it was obvious he was enjoying it. He commented, “Where did you pick this up? It is just the right moisture level for me. I really like it. I generally have been smoking some stuff I pick up downtown that is a Virginia Burley blend and it is no where near as good as this.”

“Ah… RJ Clarke’s on Cambie and 41^st. They carry it all the time and you can find it under the name on the label. Great smoke.”

With little more conversation they settled into the quiet comradery of the pipe. The cadence they shared almost matched. The wreath of smoke around them both showed the contented state of the two pipers. After a short time Tom saw the gurney with Mrs. Nathanson being wheeled into her room. He relaxed knowing that he would finish the bowl before his visit.

The surgeon stood and put his pipe in his pocket and thanked Tom for the tobacco. He said, “I hope to meet you again here on the roof! Have a good visit with Mrs. Nathanson. Her surgery went exceptionally well and she should recover with no complications at all. I have to head back to work now as I have appointments to see to at the office. Take care.” And with that he left the patio.

Tom was speechless for a moment as he realized that he had been sitting with the surgeon who had done his parishioners’ surgery. He had to laugh as he thought about the fact that the surgeon was a pipe smoker. Who would have guessed that they would connect on the patio and share a smoke?

June 2, 2011

The dream of an uninterrupted evening at home came to an abrupt end with a knock on the front door of the manse. Father Tom laid his book down and took a pull on his pipe. He rose from the chair, grumbling to himself as he made his way from the parlour to the front hallway. He moved aside the curtain and peered out the window next to the door so that he could see who it was that was disturbing his quiet evening with his pipe and book. He did not know why it happened, but it seemed like every time he planned an evening like this it somehow never happened as planned. Every single time, he would settle into his routine – pick a pipe, load it with a favourite tobacco, put his feet up and settle in for quiet evening smoke in front of the fireplace – somebody or something would intrude upon his plan. As he looked out the window there was a man’s face was squashed up against the glass staring back at him – sticking out his tongue and bugging out his eyes. Tom jumped back in surprise before it dawned on him who it was. A loud laugh burst out on both sides of the door simultaneously.

He barely had unlatched the door before it was pushed open by his guest. The big man, who lunged in the door, wrapped him in a bear hug that lifted his feet off the ground. Tom let out an “oomph” as he was crushed against the fellow’s chest. Once his feet landed back on the ground he tried to catch his breath. The man greeted him with a boisterous, “Hey Tom, you old reprobate, how are you doing? Did I interrupt your evening pipe? I sure hope so, what kind of friend would I be if I did not mess with your schedules.”

Tom laughed and responded, “I am doing better than I deserve, Ed. How long has it been? Man I cannot remember the last time your “largeness” filled my hallway. You did indeed interrupt me and it kind of ticked me off that somebody would have the nerve to intrude upon my solitude. But now that I know who it is I have to say it is good to see you. Come on in and sit with me next to the fire. You can pack a pipe with me and enjoy a good smoke. I think I have some aged bourbon in the sideboard so we can smoke, sip and make a good evening of it.”

That was all the encouragement that Ed needed. He shed his coat and dropped it on the chair in the front hallway. He flipped his hat on top of it. Out came his pipe from his jacket pocket and he followed Tom into the parlour. After he had settled into the chair on the other side of the table from Tom, he picked up a tin of tobacco from the table and filled his pipe. He picked up Tom’s lighter and fired it up. All of this happened in a matter of seconds and was done in silence. Ed sucked on the pipe to get the tobacco burning well and returned to Tom’s earlier question.

“Hmmm, I think if I remember correctly Tom, the last time I was here was about 2 years ago. I have covered a lot of ground since then. The diocese sent me to Costa Rica for quite awhile. They have a few congregations there and a seminary. I was the rector of a small Anglican congregation and taught in the seminary until a week ago. I received a letter last Monday from Vancouver calling me home! I have no idea what they have in store for me next but I am here to find out. Besides, I could not pass up the opportunity of a visit with you.” He puffed his pipe for a few minutes, enjoying the aged tobacco that Tom had left on the table.

His eyes were closed as he contentedly puffed and said, “You still love that aged tobac eh Tom? You have a lot of it stored away somewhere? I always wondered when you would run out but it seems you have a good stock of it. I always love that about my visits here. I know I will have some good conversation and some good tobacco. Tell me, what have you been up to?”

Tom drew on his pipe and exhaled a wreath of smoke. He spoke around the bit in his mouth. “I am writing a book Ed. I am using all my spare time to draft the stories that will go into the book. I am trying to combine tales of my ministry over the years with my love of all things pipe. It will be reminiscences combined with my favourite pastime – the pipe. I have written twelve stories so far and have the same number sketched out for writing. Each story covers an aspect of my life blended with a good dose of my pipe smoking ramblings. I have no illusion that it will ever be a best seller, but at least it will be something I can leave behind for those who care.”

When had finished talking he stood and went to the sideboard to pour a couple of tumblers of bourbon. He wanted a moment to compose himself before going back to continue the conversation with Ed. He did not add water or ice, just the straight elixir for them to savour and enjoy. He carried the tumblers back to the chairs and handed one to Ed. He eased into his chair and took a sip of the potion. It went well with the Virginia he was smoking. He closed his eyes and the thought ran through his mind – “Can’t get much better than this; sitting with an old friend, a tumbler of bourbon and a good pipe in front of the fire on a rainy evening.”

He did not realize that he had spoken these thoughts audibly until Ed responded with “Yep you are right about that!”

“I am curious to hear more about your writing Tom. I really like the idea. You have always been a wordsmith so I look forward to reading what you have written. In fact, I would not mind reading them while I am in town – you know I am here for the rest of the week and it would interrupt the tedium of the meetings with the bishop. I have already booked a hotel in town near the offices so I can make the meetings easily, but I have most of the evenings free. It would give me lots of time to read through the stories and get a feel for what you are doing with them. What do you think? I would really love to have a look at them.”

Tom replied, “Well… are you sure? They’re not finished yet and I don’t know if they are any good at all. Hmmm… I guess I don’t see why not. I’ll get them now; otherwise I will probably forget to give them to you before you leave.”

Tom went to his study and stopped by his desk. He tamped his pipe and relit it with a lighter on his desk. He paused for a little bit to think about what he was doing. It was the first time anyone would read these stories and he had the cold feet of any writer who is putting his words into the hands of another reader. He put aside all the “what if’s” and picked up a copy of the manuscript of what he had written so far. He took a deep draw on his pipe before leaving the study and decided that he had no real reticence in having Ed read them. He was a good friend and had always been a competent editor. With that resolve he carried his book back out to the parlour and handed it to Ed.

“Here you go. Have a look at them and let me know what you think. I want you to be honest. If they are not any good just tell me, you don’t have to worry too much about hurting my feelings. Better you than someone else who I don’t know. Mark any edits or things you think need to be changed right on the manuscript for me. The only thing I ask is that you don’t use a red pen as the memories of school grading are still too painful.” The last words were said with a wink.

Ed reached out and took the book in his hands. He thumbed through the pages and gave the titles of the pieces a cursory glance. He was quiet as he read the preface and some of the first story. He slowly puffed his pipe and let out an occasional hmmm. He then set the manuscript down on his lap and turned in earnest to his pipe. He picked up the tamper and gently tamped the pipe. He then puffed a bit, picked up the book again and returned to his quiet.

The evening continued like that for a long time in front of the fireplace there in Tom’s parlour. Ed and Tom sat sipping their bourbon, puffing their pipes and enjoying the mutual pleasure that a pipe brings. The quietude they enjoyed was the kind that only happens when two friends are comfortable with each other and with silence.

As the bourbon was sipped away and the pipes went out Tom walked Ed to the front hallway. He put on his hat and coat. He looked Tom in the eye and nodded his head. They knew they would share another evening soon.

I think, fellow pipers, that if we could have entered for a moment into the mind of either man, we would have heard each say, “Now this was a perfect evening; it couldn’t get any better at all.”

02/01/12