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He was still alive in 1956.Mother said sadly, "I had quite forgotten Harry." She wasn't alone ... so had everyone else.A back I distinctly remembered from before ... although I couldn't recall exactly ... entered the Customs Office.While we were standing waiting for our train to make it's makeup, a man in the livery of the Canadian Rail system approached."Austin's?" Yes sir," I replied."Passports?"Uhoh ... trouble ... Grace had hers, I had mine, Sally waved hers ... mother had hers done at the airfield ... but I had forgotten Amber. Amber had had no time ... and I wasn't thinking ... imagine my shock when Amber removed hers from her purse. We were led to Customs and scrutinized. Did you know the French have a bureaucrat whose job it is to examine your documents ... a Scrutinizer.Completely different from the man who riffles through your luggage looking for contraband ... Americans called him the thief.Our baggage had already passed through ... but there were a few difficult moments. He inspected behind the next desk in a similar manner and was about to move on to the third and last one when he noticed, about a foot from the back of the computer, the network cable had been crushed. "That's the problem," he mused. He knew he didn't have a replacement with him. That one was definitely longer than any of the spares he carried. He tugged at the cable on the floor and was pleased to find there was enough slack in the floor ducting to still reach if he cut off the broken section. All he had to do was to put a new connector on the end. That would take something over half an hour, being a very fiddly job, but it would be a lot quicker than a return trip to the workshop. He'd have to bend his tall frame low, too, so it wasn't going to be the most comfortable of positions. Still, he could remember a lot worse.He looked up for no special reason at that point. His gaze went through the currently empty leg space beneath the desk and was partially obstructed by the empty office.
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