Robin Mackie of Carrickbraith

MACKIE, Robin Bruce, called of Carrickbraith. Died 11 July - the birth-date of his namesake, King Robert the Bruce - in his 90th year. We are told that a slip-and-fall killed him, but we find that hard to believe. For a man variously known as Captain Mackie, Mah Kee, the Great One, the Baron of Skana, the Beast, Honoured Sir, King George, the Raven, His Lordship, etc, it seems more probable that he would've been killed in a suspicious fencing match; or by imploding bagpipes; or while lost cross-country skiing to a remote cabin in the Interior; or by a tainted martini or home-made steak tartare; or after spying upon a Vodou ritual in a midnight graveyard; or mixing a suspect bowl of kava in Fiji; or in a stage illusion gone horribly wrong; or while swimming with sharks in the Caribbean; or in a fiery fighter-plane collision (all things he had done or enjoyed in life). On second thought, probably not the last one: he was too skilled and professional a pilot to allow himself to hit something while flying. After serving King and country in the R.C.A.F, Mackie went on to have a 35-year career as a civil-airline pilot, flying all over the globe. He began this career in an era when pilots were akin to rock stars - and he made the most of it (just as rock stars do). Imagine if James Bond had signed on with Pacific Western Airlines rather than the British secret service and you'll have a sense of how Mackie spent his career: other pilots wanted to be him, and stewardesses (as they were then known) wanted to be with him. Indeed, one former colleague called him, 'My image of the ideal captain.' He was so ideal that when the Queen came to fly over the N.W.T. she chose Mackie to be her pilot. He was born in the house his homesteading father built with his own hands in Marpole. He had (at least) three children: David, Rebecca, and Christopher - two of whom survive him. And he married twice: once to a neighbourhood girl, Violet, when he was a very young man; again to a prairie girl, Gwenneth, who survives him as his wife of 47 years. Throughout his days, Mackie always made sure to have the right (and correct) word; a pair of polished shoes, a pressed shirt, and creased trousers; and a cocktail ready for a guest (he was famous for travelling with a hard-shell briefcase that opened to reveal a mini-bar, complete with several bottles, a cocktail shaker, and citrus fruit). Mackie - especially as Captain Mackie - aimed to project an intimidating mien, but those who knew him well, knew him to be a truly gentle-man. But he lamented the loss of his youth and all that he enjoyed while young (including, as he wrote, those 'stupid difficulties when my genitals were in control of my brain'). After his first fall in May, he should've slowed things down; hired others to keep his yard and make repairs to his Spanish-style hacienda; and started walking with a walker. But he was, rather tragically, determined not to let his age dictate his limitations. The only walking aid he permitted himself was a silver-handled walking stick, which he paired with a lint-free Haumberg. And the only way in which he slowed down was by limiting himself to one martini a day (but if you've ever been served one of his martinis, you know that drinking just one doesn't really qualify as slowing down). Fittingly, the neighbourhood sent Mackie off with a wake this month, at which only the booze flowed more than the tears. Mackie claimed he wanted his epitaph to read, 'He died unrepentant'. But the epitaph that Robert Burns wrote for his own 'Ever Honoured Father' applies equally as well: 'Here lie the loving husband's dear remains, the tender father, and the gen'rous friend.' His mother wrote a poem many years ago, the last lines of which suit her departed aviator son: 'Fly to the dawn whose beam will guide your way/ Into a path where rising sun dispatch the grey'. A funeral is planned for the Island after the pandemic passes: stay tuned. Not only will Mackie be missed, he will be unmatched. Concedere Sperno!