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Gone, but not forgotten

Kirsten Murphy
Northern News Services

Iqaluit (July 02/01) - A young Bill MacKenzie is immortalized in the hearts of family members who recently learned of his passing.

A slim, clean-shaven Lachlan MacKenzie sits near a rain-splattered window overlooking Frobisher Bay. The renovated Hudson's Bay staff house, now home to Bill and Jan Riddell, is a stone's throw from his brother's famous Apex "farm."

Lachlan flew across the Atlantic Ocean in record time to attend Bill MacKenzie's funeral June 13. In a rich Scottish accent, Lachlan speaks softly of a brother he hardly knew.

"I was only 11 when Bill left for Canada, but I remember he was into books and collectibles. While other kids played sports, he read in the sun."

Bill is survived by his mother Betsy, 87, Lachlan and three sisters, all living in either Scotland or England. Their father died in the early 1970s, while his older brother, Malcolm, was lost at sea and is presumed drowned.

A passenger on Lachlan's flight from Ottawa to Iqaluit handed him a newspaper with his brother's photograph. He froze. The picture of a round, casually dressed man with a long beard and tam does not resemble the jacket-and-tie-clad teen he waved goodbye to so many years ago.

"I remember him as very fastidious. He'd always went out wearing a tie, suit with a pocket watch. That's the way my mother remembers him, too. My older brother Malcolm was the opposite. Into rock and roll and greased-back hair," he says.

Bill, then 17, left his village of Lochcarron in 1957 to work for the Hudson's Bay Company. He was to be gone three, maybe four years.

"He was in regular contact with us in those days," Lachlan says.

At first the letters came monthly. Then yearly. Then not at all. By the time communication was re-established in 1980, Bill had been living in Iqaluit for almost 20 years.

The last time the brothers spoke was three years ago. "He said he wanted to come to Scotland, but his passport had expired," Lachlan recalls. "I've since learned he was petrified of flying."

No one, not even Lachlan, knows why Bill drifted from his family.

"When he got word of our dad's death (in 1980), it's like he just cut off the past. That's been my impression," Lachlan says.

The end of the era

Time has stood still since news of Bill's death filtered through Lachlan's home phone in Perth, Scotland.

(Public trustees tracked the retired police officer down from a return address on a Christmas card).

Today as rain pounds the Riddell's windows, Lachlan talks of the shock and regret his brother's passing creates. Shock that the bearded 61-year-old man lying in the city's cemetery is the same teenager he last saw on a train station platform 44 years ago. Regret he never knew the man hailed by Iqalungmiut as a community icon.

"I was going to say a few words at his service. Then the place filled up. There were hundreds of people and I just couldn't do it," he says. "None of the family thought he was so well respected. When he never came back or contacted us, we presumed he was a recluse living in a cabin."

Their mother was heartbroken by the news.

"Deep down inside, she thought he'd come back. Lots of Scottish people go to Australia or Canada and then return to the homeland," he says.

Lachlan takes home with him an expired passport, rings, a watch and various personal items. The remaining estate was signed over to a public trustee with instructions to ensure valuables found good homes.

For Iqalungmiut, Lachlan's visit was the missing puzzle piece in Bill's private life.

If he could ask Bill one last question, what would it be?

"I would ask him why he never went home to see mom," he says softly.

Despite the sadness of losing his brother -- in many ways for a second time --Lachlan is thankful to Bill's friends for welcoming him into their home and the community. "Of course I'd like to say I'll be back. Everyone has been so, so friendly ... you just never know."