thumbnail image of Barbara Ann Scott
Born 22 February 1947 in Notre Dame Hospital, Montréal, Québec.
Died 22 February 2006 Tillsonburg Memorial Hospital, Tillsonburg, Ontario.
Barbara Ann was third and the last child born to William Charles Scott and Jemima Broach Campbell.

Barbara Ann moved to Lorne Park (now part of Mississauga), Ontario with her mother, father , sister and brother in December of 1952. Barbara Ann married Brian Allen on February 25, 1967. They had three children: Stephanie Lynn, Glenn Robert and Brent Charles.

A friend and I were walking home from work on Monday, shortly after mum was re-admitted to the hospital, when my friend found a quarter on the ground. She picked it up and commented that it was lucky. 25 cents doesn’t go that far, but I figured she would be able to make a phone call or super-size her next cup of coffee. But then she handed it to me and said it was lucky because it would give me and my mum 25 wishes. I walked the rest of the way home with that quarter in my hand, rolling it between my fingers wondering what my wishes would be. I hadn’t yet decided on my first wish when Auntie Eleanor and I drove to Tillsonburg on Wednesday to see Mum on her birthday. As soon as I saw my mum in the hospital bed, I pulled that quarter out of my pocket. I made my wish and then placed it in my mum’s hand so she could claim her wishes. She died a couple of hours later – just long enough to make her 24 wishes. I can only assume that they did come true, because my wish was that she die with strength and dignity. And she did. Who says you can’t get much with a quarter?
Love ya, Mum!  (Stephanie)

I am at a loss of what to say, although there a million memories of mom going through my head. I wish I could put them all down for you to enjoy them the way I do, but perhaps they will always be for me and mom.

One of my earlier memories was spending Friday evenings curled up on the couch with mom watching Falcon Crest. Not that I was a fan, but it was time well spent… no honest, I didn’t follow the show… no really…

As I got older, it was more and more difficult to state my independence, especially like the time I went to see Rambo with my friends and mom. During a “Blowed ‘em up real Good” scene, mom wraps her arms around me and shouts, “Glenniepoo, give mommy a Big Kiss” as she plants one right on my bright red face!

Another time, at her wedding to Tom, mom bribed me with a beer to dance with Aunty Ruby. I dance a whole song with her, rightfully earning the beer, and somebody, who shall remain nameless – WILLIE!!! – took it away from me saying I was too young!

Every year, not matter how crappy I felt, or moaned about going to mom’s for Christmas, she always made it good. I think one of mom’s jobs here was to ensure that everyone around her had a wonderful time. Regardless of what was going in my life, I always ended up loving the time I spent with mom at Christmas.

I would like to end with one final memory, but by no means is it the last one. Every time I drove mom home, regardless of where we were coming from, I had to drive down to the end of Robinson Street, and “Do the Loop”. It always gave her and me a chance to look at the lake. Next time you are in Port Burwell, regardless if you are in a hurry, “Do the loop” and remember what a Fantastic person mom is.

I love you, Mommy! (Glenn)


Every Sunday evening that I was home, I would call you. I would talk about work, or what I had gotten up to at the weekend. You would tell me who was doing what, either in Port Burwell or within the family. Or you were always more than happy to delve into the family history and tell me of your latest findings, or to tell me once again of who is related to whom and how, as I am never able to keep track. Neither of us was ever at a loss for things to talk about.

I loved all of the times that we would sit at your kitchen table first thing in the morning, planning our day, only to be delayed because we would end up making another pot of coffee and losing track of time. I especially loved the “Celebrating Wednesdays”, the perfect excuse to spend time together. These times were the best as they were for you and me only. Regardless of where I was in the world or how long I had been away, I always looked forward to coming home.

On February 23rd, as my plane descended into Toronto, I had an overwhelming feeling of emptiness and I couldn’t hold back the tears. This time, coming home was not to celebrate, or even just a visit; it was see you in peaceful rest. There is comfort in knowing that you are not in pain and that your suffering is gone, but I can’t help this horrible feeling of being without you.

The time we spent together was always precious and although I was only in your life for exactly 33 years, you will be in mine forever. As you begin your new journey, know that you are loved.

Your Shit Pot