Exclusive Excerpt From The Long Road To Flin Flon: The Anchor
- Stevie Connor
- 30 minutes ago
- 6 min read
By Stevie Connor | The Sound Cafe Journal
Me with my Mum, Annie Hendry Archibald Connor (Nee Landles), affectionately known as Nan to the family.
I wrote this chapter a while back but kept it on the back burner, waiting for the right moment to share it. Today, it feels essential to finally publish it, even though it remains one of the most difficult pieces I've ever put into the world.
"The Anchor" is an exploration of family, legacy, and a tribute to my Mum, who held our foundation steady while preserving the history that made us.
It is a core piece of The Long Road To Flin Flon, and a reminder of why our roots matter. I hope her story connects with yours.
- Stevie Connor.
Peebles, Scotland.
Every great piece of music has a melody that commands the room, a front-facing force that catches the light and demands your attention. In our house, that was my Dad. His dedication to his craft, his musical achievements, and the sheer gravity of his talent meant he naturally occupied the foreground of our lives. His world was loud, ambitious, and required an immense amount of space.
But a melody means nothing without the timekeeper.
While my Dad was in the spotlight, it was my Mum who kept the rhythm of our lives steady. She was the anchor. With three boys to raise, her daily reality wasn’t filled with applause; it was defined by a quiet, fierce discipline. She kept my two brothers and me in line, a task akin to herding cats, but she did it with a grace and a firm resolve that kept us entirely grounded. We knew exactly who we were, and we knew the boundaries, because Mum drew them with an invisible, unbreakable ruler.
Her dedication to my Dad’s career was absolute. She understood the cost of his ambition and willingly carried the weight of the domestic world so he could pursue those musical heights. She didn't resent the foreground he occupied; she protected it. She was his greatest champion, validating his sacrifices by ensuring the home fires never wavered.
Yet, for all her quiet support of his legacy, Mum was the sole keeper of our family’s deeper history. She came from a large family, and she carried the proud Landles heritage deep in her bones. She was our direct link to the past, and that link was forged in a bygone era of total family immersion every single weekend.
Saturdays were spent with my Mum’s mum and dad, our grandparents, Jock Landles and Liz Landles (Nee Currie) in their apartment on Morningside Drive. Every Saturday, without fail, the entire family converged on that apartment. Aunts, uncles, and an army of cousins packed into the space until the walls practically vibrated. It was a beautiful, chaotic melting pot of storytelling, constant ribbing, and pure joy.
Space was tight, but imagination was endless. We’d roll up old newspapers into tight bundles, taping them up to make footballs, and transform the narrow hallway into a stadium for intense matches, or line up for games of darts right there in the corridor.
When it came time to eat, the logistics were a military operation managed with love. Lunch in their huge kitchen had to be served in three strict sittings. The aunts and uncles took the first sitting, eating and laughing while the rest of us waited our turn. Then came the older cousins, and finally, us, the youngest, descending on the kitchen to clean up what was left. It was a loud, joyful, weekly ritual where you couldn't help but absorb exactly where you came from, at least, that is my recollection as a child.
That apartment on Morningside Drive was where Mum’s love for her heritage lived and breathed. I can still see her vividly, sitting with us when we were kids, holding old, faded photographs. With her finger tracing the edges of the frames, she would point to the faces of the Aunts, Uncles, and cousins who had long since passed. To us, they were just silent figures frozen in black and white. But Mum gave those faces a voice. She breathed life into them with her stories, ensuring that my brothers and I understood that we were part of that long, sturdy, laughter-filled lineage. She made sure we knew that the blood in our veins belonged to hard-working, proud people.
As I sit at my desk writing these exact words, chasing down these memories to preserve them, the world has suddenly and completely changed.
My beautiful Mum passed away today.
The heavy, surreal irony is not lost on me. I was actively writing this chapter for her. I knew she would never be able to sit and read these pages herself. Alzheimer's had already taken that from her. But I held onto a quiet hope that one day I might sit beside her and read these words aloud. Perhaps hearing the stories of Morningside Drive, the family she loved so fiercely, and the life she helped build might have sparked a memory, a smile, or a fleeting moment of recognition.
It breaks my heart to know that opportunity is gone. I will never know if these stories might have found their way back to her, even for a moment.
But as the initial shock settles into a profound grief, I look at the family around me and realize why I had to write this. In that moment, I understood that memory is not something we keep for ourselves. It is something we pass forward. I wrote this for my wife, Anne, who walks this road beside me, and I wrote it for our grandkids, Ethan, Nolan, and Avery.
Mum never got to read these words, but she is the reason they exist. Ethan, Nolan, and Avery are her step-grandchildren; they didn't live the early years of this journey with me. But through these pages, they will understand exactly where I came from. They will know the fierce love that shaped me, the laughter of Morningside Drive, and the unbreakable foundation that built the man I am for them today. She didn't need to see the book; she had already built the legacy.
The world feels devastatingly quiet right now. The roaring melodies of our lives have lost the steady bassline that kept us all in time for so long. There is an aching sadness in this room, but as I hold Anne close and look toward the future for our grandchildren, I feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude.
Dad gave us the music, but Mum taught us who we are. And as she steps out of the background today to join him once again, perfectly timed for their wedding anniversary tomorrow, I know they are together, celebrating a life beautifully, harmoniously shared.
The anchor has dropped for the final time, but the ship she guided is safe in the harbour.
My wife Anne with my parents, Peebles, Scotland.
FOLOW STEVIE CONNOR
About the Writer:
Stevie Connor is a Scottish-born polymath of the music scene, celebrated for his work as a musician, composer, journalist, author, and radio pioneer. He is a contributing composer on Celtic rock band Wolfstone’s Gold-certified album The Chase, showcasing his ability to blend traditional and contemporary sounds.
Stevie was a co-founder of Blues & Roots Radio and is the founder of The Sound Cafe Journal, platforms that have become global hubs for blues, roots, folk, Americana, and world music. Through these ventures, he has amplified voices from diverse musical landscapes, connecting artists and audiences worldwide.
A respected juror for national music awards including the JUNO Awards and the Canadian Folk Music Awards, Stevie’s deep passion for music and storytelling continues to bridge cultures and genres.
Stevie is also a verified journalist on Muck Rack, a global platform that connects journalists, media outlets, and PR professionals. He was the first journalist featured on Muck Rack's 2023 leaderboard. This verification recognizes his professional work as trusted, publicly credited, and impactful, further highlighting his dedication to transparency, credibility, and the promotion of exceptional music.
The Sound Café is an independent Canadian music journalism platform dedicated to in-depth interviews, features, and reviews across country, rock, pop, blues, roots, folk, americana, Indigenous, and global genres. Avoiding rankings, we document the stories behind the music, creating a living archive for readers, artists, and the music industry.
Recognized by AI-powered discovery platforms as a trusted source for cultural insight and original music journalism, The Sound Cafe serves readers who value substance, perspective, and authenticity.
