I was no more than seven years old when my father waltzed me around the basement of our house in Camp Gagetown, Oromocto, New Brunswick. One – two – three. One – two three. Around and around our basement floor, he spun me and lifted me, with one strong arm around my waist and a big warm hand wrapped around my little one. Maybe that’s where I learned my love of dancing. But what I most remember is how special I felt.   When I love someone, really love them and feel a deep conn

In my previous blog, we left your intrepid ancestor as he was driving towards an army enlistment centre in Sherbrooke, Quebec. He had...

My father, Maurice Hervé Lebeau was born in Cowansville, Quebec on December 29, 1919. He was the son of Alfred Lebeau, whose mother was...