"Cowardice asks the question...is it safe? Expediency asks the question...is it politic? Vanity asks the question...is it popular? But conscience asks the question...is it right? And there comes a time when one must take a position that is neither safe, nor politic, nor popular but one must take it because it is right." ~Dr. Martin Luther King

Sunday, July 22, 2012

Cyril Buck ..Febuary 29th 1924- July 20th 2012

.Cyril was born in Paddington ,London,U.K. on February 29th 1924 and died a long way from his birthplace, in Newmarket, Ontario, on Friday at 3. o'clock in the afternoon.
He lived eighty-eight years ,was married to Evelyn sixty-two years , had seven children, two daughters, five sons, seventeen grandchildren, four great-grandchildren and two more on the way at the time he took his leave. 
Art, Music and Theatre were the  passions of his life. He trod the boards in amateur theatre  in London,England before leaving  for Canada and soon after  arrival discovered  new opportunity with  Theatre Aurora.
Twenty  years of his retirement were happily and completely  engaged filling every conceivable role needed  to make the magic come alive/.
Sons, daughters, and grandchildren were recruited  to fill roles, places in the chorus or silently change sets before there were curtains for the stage. 
He introduced English Variety Theatre.
Christmas found him at Newmarket Town Hall Theatre, with the Queensville Players, staging  Pantomine, with a bunch of  Limeys like himself who could never let go their joy and love of slapstick comedy.
If he wasn't on stage playing an Ugly Sister, he was in the orchestra pit providing clicks, clacks, thumps  and rattity- tatts on drums, his secondary means of  augmenting  a living over the years.
Dozens of  full house audiences and hundreds of Canadian children,
including his  grandchildren, might never have had the opportunity to enjoy the entertainment the unique brand of British farce offers.
He worked with Terry Hallett, a talented Aurora Producer and Director, in Dinner Theatre in Toronto during the eighties. 

The tide recedes but leaves behind 
Bright seashells in the sand
The sun goes down but gentle warmth 
Still lingers on the land
The music stops and yet
It echoes on in sweet refrain,
For every joy that passes
Something beautiful remains.


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