Reuniting With Childhood Friends After 55 Years!

This June I was lucky enough to be included in a reunion of my home towns graduation class of 1958.  Although I left to join the Army at the end of grade ten in 1956, myself and others who had left earlier were included.  I think it was my first short story that I said, “you should never go back” – this statement is so very true about innate objects, but when people are involved, it is a fantastic experience.  Over the years I have been to Army Unit Reunions (every 5 years for the last 40 years) and because we would have seen each other just five years previous, you grew ‘with’ the others.  In this instance, 55 years between visits was a long time!  But my ‘best’ childhood friend, although balding slightly (hard to tell as he still wears a ball cap just like when going to school), limping badly from his abused knees (being a mechanic in a cold climate all his life), was immediately the same person as he was when I left home – maybe a little grouchier!    It was a small gathering, about 30 who grew up together plus some of their spouses – we had a meet and greet, went to the school (still standing, but the last year it was to be used) had a great catered meal, talked into the night, then a pancake breakfast the next morning – before everyone once again, packed up and left our little town!  The most memorable part of my visit was going to the Cemetary with three of the ‘girls’ that I was good friends with, and the guy with the ‘bad knees’.  In a small town, you can relive your history just looking at the names on the headstones.  ‘remember the great halloween treats that lady made’ – ‘hey here is Mr. so and so, he always wore that funny looking hat! And on and on!!!  But then, I went to a part of the cemetery, with one of the ‘girls’, and she stopped in front of a grave – it took me a minute to realize the head stone was that of a two month old baby that had died decades ago, and it was hers.  We never said a word, but we stood there with my arm around her, until she had finished her ‘cry’ and then continued on.  That is when I realized that – we are indeed no longer the kids of yesteryear… but older people with so many memories … many happy, but also so many sad.  When we rejoined the others, I then went with another of the ‘girls’ and stood in front of the grave of a son she had lost at the age of 5 months to the Asiatic Flu.  Again, tears were shed, unspoken thoughts, and another reminder to me of how lucky I have been as all my children, grands, etc. are still with me.  My ‘friends’ were not so lucky, and I felt and feel so much compassion for them.  Anyway, back to the dinner – everyone had great visits with each other – and it seemed that my favorite teacher was also special with everyone else that had the pleasure of being in his classes.  I played a few songs on the piano, and was amazed when one of the guys told me how jealous he was of me in school.  I could not believe my ears – and told him, how could you, I was a geek – and he said, no – you could play the piano, and you left school and joined the Army, and he said he knew I would be getting paid for doing that.  He continued on that he, lived on a farm, worked hard all the time and never ever got paid for it, did not have the chance to take music lessons, etc.  Who would have thought that anyone could have felt jealous of me – I was such a dork!  The comment he made about never being paid, I had never thought of that before, as I worked on many farms in my younger teens, but always got paid for it as it was a job, but with him – it was his family’s and it was just expected – like I have said in previous blogs, “if you could you did”.  The organizers of this event did so much work and I am so happy they did!  In ending this, I have to talk about a certain ‘girl’ who I started grade one with spent every grade together up to grade ten.  The ‘girl’ that I would always try to get a better mark than, in any subject.  The sister of my ‘best friend’ and I realize now, she was also my ‘best friend’!  Don’t laugh, but I remember only one time that I bested her – it was on a Health and Physical Development test.  The question was, what is the best type of towel to dry your body with?  Hehehe.. yup , that was the question!!!!  I got it RIGHT – a rough towel.  And SHE..she got it WRONG – WRONG – WRONG… she said a smooth towel.  So there ‘little girl’, take that – and I am so terribly, terribly sorry you lost your little boy to the Asiatic Flu when he was so young.

<><> <><> <><>

WRONG - WRONG - WRONG   
the correct answer
A ROUGH TOWEL!

Be nice; Or I will have my next fit in front of you!

The Medical profession has improved so much during my lifetime. I had a very good friend who, when he was a small boy had Scarlet fever which in turn brought on rheumatic fever, which can lead to potential heart problems. To my knowledge he is still alive and doing great. I cannot remember hearing (In the last few decades) of anyone having rheumatic fever.  It happens after someone has had streptococcal infection, which can be cured with modern day antibiotics, so perhaps gets 'nipped in the bud' before it becomes Scarlet fever.   Most of the kids of my age grew up having experienced the mumps, red measles, german measles, chicken pox, etc. We also grew up with the fear of polio. It actually ran rampant from 1950 – 55, and for myself personally, doctors in later years have suggested that I may have had a mild case of polio. The reason being is that one side of my chest is not developed as much as the other (it is hard to tell at a glance, but is true). The Doctors feel that I had a touch of polio in the one side, and it stopped growth for a short while. That may explain why, when I played baseball in 1954, I could hardly walk after each game – even though I had not run that much. If it was indeed polio! – I was very lucky. The word ‘iron lung’ was the worst thing a persons family could hear about their prognosis (next to death). Doctor Salk – thank you! “Polio”, although a crushing blow to the family, was not whispered - not like another devastating disease that today is still rampant. I remember watching the movie, Brighton Beach Memoirs (many times actually) – a Neil Simon play/movie. It takes place in pre-WWII New York, and the main actor, a young boy named Eugene says… ‘His aunt had ‘cancer’. He then explained that you never said ‘cancer’ out loud and always whispered it. Cancer – ooppppsssss. Sorry, ‘cancer’ was as much of an unknown when I was a child as it still seems to be today. So many years – will they ever be able to stop it? But, back then when people said someone else had the disease, they would lower their voice when saying ‘cancer’. I do not remember hearing of as many people (per capita) having cancer, but I guess one reason would be there were not many survivors, as they did not have the medical treatment of today to prolong their lives. So, today we do not whisper the word, but it is still one hell of a scary word to hear. Today, if anyone has a medical problem, one of the first questions people ask is – it’s not cancer, is it? I hope my Great Grand child will have some sort of a futuristic machine where she/he can keep a written journal, and mention cancer like I have mentioned polio – as a ‘has been’. With all these different afflictions that a child grew up with, or having the knowledge of – none seemed as bad (to a child - who lived in our town) as when a certain Lady would get upset with you and state “Be nice; or I will have my next fit in front of you!” She had epilepsy and she would know when she was going to have an attack (normal to call them ‘fits’ in those days). She would actually use this as a way of getting what she wanted. Everyone including the children of the town were taught that if she did have a ‘fit’ and was writhing on the ground, you had to put something on her tongue to stop her from swallowing it. Pretty scary when she is frothing at the mouth – but you did it. Writing this now, I am chuckling that she used it as a sort of weapon, but I remember witnessing her ‘fits’ – it was not a pleasant experience. I do not know if she had medication to regulate the problem, but if she did – obviously she would purposely miss the odd dose. hehehe! In a future Blog, perhaps I will talk about the ‘insane asylums’! Not a politically correct word today, but that is what they were called. And guess what, I came from a small town, but we had a couple of people in the Insane Asylums!!!

Brighton Beach Memoirs                                                                   http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0090774/

Iron Lung Machine – this may be disturbing to some people.

http://video.search.yahoo.com/video/play?&p=iron+lung+machine&vid=404117128137&dt=1260172800&l=420&turl=http%3A%2F%2Fts2.mm.bing.net%2Fvideos%2Fthumbnail.aspx%3Fq%3D404117128137%26id%3De90062ebe437e1453f303e0fecd8a115%26bid%3DDYB4Vuraot1xrw%26bn%3DThumb%26url%3Dhttp%253a%252f%252fwww.youtube.com%252fwatch%253fv%253dM_dt3GeCtMo&rurl=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fv%2FM_dt3GeCtMo%26autoplay%3D1%26fs%3D1%26autoplay%3D1&tit=The+Both+mechanical+respirator+%28195%3F%29+Pt.+1+of+3&sigr=11v2eqlru&newfp=1

 

Spring Thaw



Visualize covered in mud!

 I am not sure how deep the frozen tundra was, but after 5 or 6 months of below freezing temperatures, it would be considerable. The ground being frozen so solid had its advantages, as in our area there were sections of muskeg, and when frozen, you could drive horses and wagons, tractors etc. over it. When not frozen a tractor would literally sink for feet and be completely bogged down. One example of why you would cross muskeg when frozen is; if you were planning on building a fence through or on the other side of the muskeg, you could take the posts etc. over when frozen and leave them there until the ground was thawed so you could dig post holes and build the fence. The disadvantage of frozen ground is – that it has to thaw out. When a thaw occurred the snow would always melt first and because the ground was still frozen the water would run on the surface, filling ditches, all low areas, plugging wooden culverts with debris – at times causing the water to wash out sections of the dirt roads (not even the main road was paved), and finally much of this water would find its way to small rivulets, creeks and rivers, which were also in the process of thawing. As the rivers thawed, huge chunks of ice would break away and float downstream, and with the run off from the mountains and also by being fed by the overflowing rivulets and creeks, soon the river would become a very dangerous worry. None of what I have written so far is new, as the same thing happens today – the difference being there are now flood control areas, much larger culverts and better built roads. In 1943 (although we lived about 250 yards from it I do not remember) the only bridge on the main road from Edmonton to Whitecourt was taken out with a huge ice jamb. I do not know how long it took to replace it, but we did have a one car ferry that was used. In the Spring it was big news when the ‘river watchers’ reported the first break up of the ice, as from then until the thaw subsided, people were not sure how much damage, if any, would be caused – how much ‘low land’ would be filled with debris from the high water, etc. There was a small river between our town and where my Grandfather lived, and it flooding was a reason, that one year, I went to a one room school for so long. The great thing about a spring thaw is that all of a sudden anyone and everyone that still owned model T Fords, and similar vintage Chevrolets, (and other models) would bring them out of the barns, etc. fire them up, and that is the only way they could navigate through the mud, gumbo*, ruts, slush, etc. Spring driving conditions were the main reasons many kept these old cars. The secret was their very narrow tires. They could roll through deep mud much easier than a wide tire, which would get stuck very quickly. Those old cars could really move, and they were so much fun to drive. I related in a previous story about cranking, setting the air/gas ratio etc. If it wasn’t for these vehicles, I am not sure what most farmers would have done to get to town. Mind you, most farmers were pretty well self sufficient for food, raising their own livestock and chickens= eggs, and root cellars and preserves. In these early cars, the gas tank was right in front of the windshield, higher than the engine. The gas would be gravity fed and it would work great until you had to climb a hill for any distance. Once the front of the car was higher than the gas container – gravity did not work any more and the engine would stall. There were two ways to get around this problem. One was a primer pump, located on the front dash board of the car, and you would hand pump the gas to the engine and two – you would turn the car around and back up the hill – simple! My Grandfather had an old Chev, and the primer was way over on the right hand side of the dash. I got to go on dates with my older cousin as he could not reach the primer from the driver’s side, and when he and his girl friend went out I would get to go along and be the "primer pumper" – hehehehe!

*Gumbo – it is what the mud in our area was called. It would stick to you boots in huge amounts, until your feet got bigger and bigger and made it harder to walk (very heavy) – finally you had to use a piece of wood (or something similar) to scrape it away and then as you walked it would build up again. It was terrible stuff.

Pets n' Vets – Then and Now

When growing up, we had a total of 7 pets (a couple, ever so briefly). There were many other ‘farm animals’ that you would not consider a pet, that I would pay extra attention too, go out of my way to see and fuss over. I am truly an animal lover, and I think part of it is because animals are not phony. I mean, what you see is what you get – for instance, if you have a cow that is ornery, that cow will be difficult to milk every night - because she is ornery. If you have a cow that is docile, you know that every time you milk that cow, she will be docile. The same goes for other animals that I have encountered – but not people. People have moods (I know I sure the hell have) and one time they can be ‘docile’ and the next “ornery’, and until their first utterance, you do not know for sure what to expect. Hence, I really like animals – hehe. The problem with having pets is that they die. Such a short sentence, but painfully true. But – any small animals that we had in the 40s and 50s would live longer than they do today. And they lived longer without once visiting a Vet during their whole life. The main reason in the 40s and 50s,  there was very little inbreeding and trying to refine the breeds. When I was growing up, I cannot recall anyone every taking a dog or cat to a Vet. If your pet was sick, you would perhaps use something that you would have gotten from the Watkins man. They had a red ointment that damn near cured everything for human and beast! We never purchased special food for our dogs, they ate table scraps, were given large bones to gnaw on, perhaps a special porridge sometimes. I am sure some died before their time because of being given chocolate or something else that we now know is harmful, but all in all, they seemed to flourish just fine. Our family pets started with a small male Cocker Spaniel named Monty – he was killed, when hit by a car, I remember Monty well, but not my reaction to his death. He was replaced almost immediately with another small Cocker Spaniel named Goldie. After having her for a couple of years my Dad got a Male Cocker Spaniel (I guess thinking he would breed them, but it never happened). His name was Toby, and was always kept tethered to a very long line in our yard. He could pretty well have the run of the large yard, but it was always a little sad that he had to be tethered. Goldie died after I left home and Toby had been given away (I think) to someone on a farm. I had a pet goat, a “Kid”. Our Uncle gave him to my sister (because she found him just after he was born – his Nanny had gone to an isolated part of the farm to give birth). My Sister was not too excited about it, so the “kid” became my pet. He had a shed that was about 8 feet high and he had to be tethered inside his fenced pen, because he could get out of pretty well anything. I have tried for years to remember what I had named him – and it bothers me that I cannot remember! I think ‘Stretch or Silver or Steve’! He left me with the unfortunate memory of losing a pet. I found him after school one day, his tether chain had gotten caught on the corner of his shed, and I assume he had jumped off like he always did, and his feet could not hit the ground. I am sure he died instantly as his neck had been broken – my reaction was to run. I ran through our yard (we lived on a couple of acres) and did a hip pity hop up the hill to our pump house – thinking that if I did that, he would not be dead. But he was – all the running and hip pity hoping would not bring him back! Any and all our pets that died, were buried on a hillside at the edge of our property and Silver or Steve or Stretch had his space. The shortest time I ever had a pet was when my Aunt had given me one of her cats. Living on a farm with my Grandpa and having a root cellar in the basement, she had many cats to keep the mice down. She let me pick my favorite – was a large fluffy black and white cat. My Dad put her into a box and in the trunk of our car and we drove home. I was so excited! My Dad opened the trunk and the cat shot out like a bullet – never to be seen again. My Dad looked for a long time, but to no avail. Now, my Dad was allergic to cats, was not a cat lover – so you never know exactly how tightly he put the lid on that box. I guess the two strangest pets we had were a Domestic Duck and a Pig. The Ducks name was Hewy and the pigs name was Scratchy – loved to be scratched behind his ears. I am not sure whatever happened to Hewy and I am sure we ate Scratchy. So – during my childhood I really only lost one pet that really bothered me and that was Steve/Silver/Stretch. I cannot say the same for the pets I and my family have lost since I left home, as each one of them Whiskey, Chootla and Sasha have left a void. We had a chance to say good bye to Whiskey and Chootla – Sasha did not give us that chance.  But, without a Vet, he would have left us years ago, so I am happy that we still do not have the attitude of the 40s and 50s, where you never took cats or dogs to the Vet – because with Sasha’s problems, the red ointment would never have helped.

         Dedicated to Sasha
  Sept 26, 2000 – Mar 1, 2011

The Hay Stack

Mowing hay

Narrow Hay Sweep

I am not sure exactly how old I would have been, but I am thinking perhaps only 7 just prior to my 8th birthday. Many tasks on farms took more than just one or two people to accomplish and the age of helpers meant nothing, all that matter was that a person was able. I was able to drive a team of horses at that age, and one horse (especially Jim) was a ‘piece of cake’. My Grandfather, my *Aunt and *Cousin (the one who I am not sure if he purposely didn’t tighten the cinch on Jim or not) had the task of haying. The field had been mowed, and the hay had lain in the field to dry, was raked into rows, and it was now time to stack it. To accomplish this, you needed a ‘hay sweep’, which was a long beam with wooden forks sticking out about 6 feet and separated by about 18 or more inches. You would have either a team or just one horse hitched to each end of the device. My Grandfather had one horse (Molly) at one side, and I had Jim at the other. We would move along the rows of hay (with Grandpa giving me heck once in a while – hehe) and the forks would collect the hay. Once the hay sweep was full we then headed for the ‘stack’. On the stack would be my Aunt and my Cousin, each with a three pronged pitch fork, to shape the stack as it grew. They had to make sure the corners were kept square, otherwise the hay would just slide off and you would end up with a little ‘mound’ and not a stack. At one end of the stack would be a ramp, that as the stack grew, it would be raised. Many farmers would use a hoist to lift the hay to the top, but it seems my Grandfather preferred the ramp. Because we used a ramp, our horses had to be hooked onto heavy ropes at least 20 feet ahead of the hay sweep. This was why you needed two people driving, because with the horses being that far ahead of the hay sweep, the reins would be far too long for one person walking behind the implement. Those farmers that used a hoist could walk behind the hay sweep and control both horses. When my Grandfather and I approached the stack, we would each go on different sides and as we proceeded, the beam would take the hay up the ramp, and once it hit the crest of the hay stack, it would flip, leaving the hay. (The reason for the 20 feet of lead for the horses, as the stack got higher the hay sweep would be higher and hence further away from the horses). The hay sweep would then slide off the other end of the stack. We would then go further out into the field for our next load and at same time, my Aunt and Cousin had to ‘stack’ the load before we got back, to once again repeat the process. Once my Cousin accidentally (he said) hit his mother in the foot with his fork and punctured her shoe and her foot, drawing blood. Her foot was covered with the hay and my cousin could not see it. You had to know my Aunt to really appreciate her reaction – hehehe! Again, one has to wonder if my cousin, perhaps as with the cinch, really did not know her foot was there! I do not remember at this age, but with other haying seasons (as I got older) we would salt the stack and sometimes put  'air passages through the stack, to prevent **instantaneous combustion, as the heat in the middle of a stack could get very high.  It is really amazing when you think about how much I was allowed to do, and it was not a game, but part of being able enough ‘to do’.

* My Aunt was a single mother and lived with my Grandfather, doing the “woman’s” work of the day. This usually meant more than any man would do, as most women did all the cooking, house cleaning, laundry, canning, preserving, etc. and then most were expected to help with the chores and other outside tasks. How many other tasks would depend on how many people were needed to perform them.

**When the internal temperature of hay rises above 130 degrees Fahrenheit (55 degrees C), a chemical reaction begins to produce flammable gas that can ignite if the temperature goes high enough.

                                                                                                                                                                  

The Orange Mask!

Sorry - cannot figure out how to

change this to ORANGE

Please think orange when viewing!



I am going to have minor surgery in a little over a week. I have been waiting quite some time for a date, and it has finally arrived. It is minor, but they will be using a general aesthetic, which gives me reason to share these vivid memories. Over my life, I have had my share or operations, and consequently have been the recipient of various kinds of anaesthesia. Two of them I remember vividly; one was as an adult, and I was told by the anaesthesiologist as he put a needle in my arm, that I would taste garlic, and man was he right, but the beauty of it was, the next instant I was asleep. Time travel back the winter of 1945 and the other anaesthesia called ether. I had the pleasure (I lie) of being put to sleep twice with ether, once in 45 and again in 46. They were not pleasant experiences! A preamble up to the first time; I have said in previous Blogs, I lived about 70 miles north of Edmonton (the nearest hospital). We had a nurse that lived in our town, and she was our one and only health care giver (she was fantastic) – no doctors anywhere, and that woman, I am sure, saved many lives. According to my mother, the doctor said because of her astute diagnoses, I was most assuredly one of the lives she saved. I do not remember the pain I must have been in, but I do remember other parts of my ‘adventure’ – I remember the nurse and my mother watching as I sat (somewhat embarrassed) on a rather large pot, emptying my bowels – that is all I remember… hehe – do not remember being given the enema, just remember sitting there wondering where was all this stuff coming from and if I was going to fill the pot to the top! My mother relates that the nurse phoned the Doctor in Edmonton and told him she thought my appendix was going burst. He told her to get me into Edmonton immediately. This sounds easy, right – NOT, war time and there was still gas rationing. My mother tells about going to many people before she found someone with enough gas and the willingness to drive us to Edmonton (there had just been a heavy snow storm). I do not remember the ride but do remember a nurse (all in white) helping me out of the car and into a wheel chair. It seems she was a friend of a friend, that they arranged to meet me, so I would not be too afraid. (A friendly face, type thing). The car and my Mother sped away almost immediately – and I was alone. I remember the nurse putting me in a huge white bath tub (remember, we did not have indoor plumbing – our tubs was just a big silver coloured metal thing in the middle of the floor – this was the first ‘bath tub that I had ever seen) and I remember the nurse scrubbing me. I then remember being wheeled on a table and entering a room with very bright lights. Then the orange mask – you do not forget the orange mask! They put the mask over my mouth and nose, and the next thing; I was seeing a misty orange windmill going around and around (my Mother said when she had ether, she saw orange fence posts going by, like riding in a car). My windmill  stopped for a second then went around and around again. I do not remember waking up, just being in a room the next day. I guess I must have been pretty sick as I was in a ‘room for one’, back then they had wards, where there would be 12 or more beds in one large room. I am not sure the exact visiting time, but think it was perhaps 7 – 8:30 every night - unlike today, where it is pretty well anytime; you were not allowed to visit any other time. Because of the restricted time, you can imagine how crowded the hallways would be with people all coming in at the same time to visit. I was told my mother was going to come and visit me, and I was sitting up in my bed – when all of a sudden masses of people were walking by my room, including my Mother and Aunt “gulp’ – ‘who were they going to visit in another room?’ ‘Don’t they even want to say hello to me?” – Tear time, I was devastated that they had not come to see me. They just walked right passed my room! But in a couple of minutes they showed up – I guess they did not see the room number or something. I think I was in the hospital for about 2 weeks (not like today, where they send you home as soon as you can pee!!!!). The Doctor told my mother that he had had my appendix sent to the University of Alberta for teaching purposes, as to what an appendix was like just before they would burst. My second adventure with ether happened a little over a year later, when I had to have my tonsils out. In the days of yore, if they ever took out your tonsils, they automatically removed your adenoids too. When you were told someone had a tonsillectomy, it was usually stated, they had their tonsils and adenoids out. Now, as you are aware and I most certainly was, I was now a pro at being in a hospital and going ‘under the knife’. I knew everything, what was going to happen, etc. So naturally, this time when I entered the operating room, I was bawling and hollering my head off!!!! No way were they going to put the terrible smelling mask over my face again, no way – no way! So anyway, there is the orange windmill again, going around and around, and again, it stopped – I remembering trying to tell the Doctor he could go ahead now, as I must be asleep. Then as before, the windmill resumed going around and around and around. I am sure I had a sore throat after and perhaps ice cream, but it was in the ‘ward’ with the dozen other boys that I remember. At one point I was crying my eyes out, and a voice hollered ‘be quiet you cry baby’ and another ‘older’ voice saying, “leave him alone, he is just lonely and afraid”. The older boys comments have stuck with me to this day, I am sure he grew up to be a very understanding, compassionate man. I was in the hospital for a number of days, and that is where I learned the words to the song “Abba Dabba Dabba Said The Monkey To The Chimp”!  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qImKTFEHI2w&feature=related It was played often on the radio, which was heard in the ward, and every time it played we all sang along. I would use that song at Halloween if I was asked to sing a song for my treat. Everyone – rejoice that someone discovered an anaesthesia better than ether! – Truly, it was not a very nice experience! I have traveled through Holland many times, I have been lucky – no one, it seemed, had painted their windmills orange.

Gas Coupons



Telephones - 1 dingaling, 2 dingaling



Switchboard - somewhat newer model



Our Town and surrounding area had 3 party lines. At 7 every night the central switchboard would shut down until 8 the next morning and you could only phone people on your same party line. In an emergency, if you needed to phone someone on anther Party Line, you had to go through the switchboard. Our switchboard was located in the operator’s home and those living close enough could go to the home and he could open another party line for you. Our party line was number 2; I assume that the others were 1 and 3. We had around 12 people on our line, and you could be sure that any time you got a phone call, someone else (often a few) would be “listening in”. At times it would be funny, as if you were talking about something that another person may know the answer, you would actually ask that person if they were listening in, and they would answer you! It was not a mode of communication that you would discuss anything that you wanted to remain private. When you phoned someone on your party line, you would crank your phone yourself, with their ‘ring code’ but if they were on another party line, you would crank one long ring and the switchboard would answer and connect you to the other person. The codes seemed to be that the last numbers were dialed first – number ‘5’ being a long, so our number was 2007 – 2 was the party line, 7 is greater than 5, so it ended in a ‘long ring’ and 7 minus the 5 was 2 shorts, therefore our ring was 2 shorts and 1 long. My Grandfathers (who was on the same party line) was 2015 – again, 2 was the party line, 15 being 5 three times = 3 longs. If a person had the number 2012 it would be two shorts and two longs, and 2515 would be a long a short and a long. The phones were the type that mounted on the wall, with the mouth piece that would move up and down to allow for people of different heights, and the ear piece had a cord on it, to reach the persons ear. When you lifted the ear piece it opened the line. They were powered by 9 volt batteries that sat inside the wooden case. It was not advisable to use the phone during a thunder storm for fear of lightning hitting the phone line, and traveling to the phone (drawn by the current of the battery). My Aunt used to cover her phone with a towel during a storm – not sure if that would stop lightning, but made her feel safer. I am not sure there were dial phones in the forties, but remember, I grew up in the’ boonies’. With the rotary phones, phone numbers would begin with a word. Arbutus 224 as an example would be AR224; they would use the first two letters of the word as part of the number. In old movies you will hear them ask the operator for Sycamore 297, etc. I always thought it must have been difficult for some people who could not spell very well, using Sycamore for instance… am sure many would dial SI, and not SY! In this era, if you ever had to dial long distance, it would take a bit of doing, with the switch board having to dial a ‘central’ located city, who would dial the city closest to the number you wanted, who would then dial the number, etc. When you did this you can visualize four different switch boards connecting cables to allow a line from you to the person you were phoning. And now – you take a little gadget out of your pocket, take a picture, push a speed dial, and another button, and someone across the world sees the picture – (by the way, I do not know how to do the little gadget thingy) and I kind of miss ‘listening in’ on the party line.

We could dream of having a Rotary Phone





 





If you fall off the horse get right back on!

If you fail at something, do not be afraid to try it again. And if falling off of your horse is failing, then, I have had my share of trying again! I was never afraid to get back on a horse that I had fallen off, and always got right back on, but - I did have a few bruises! I remember 2 specific times when riding with a saddle when I parted ways with my horse (but am sure there may have been more, although I would think the embarrassment of having a saddle and still falling off my horse, would stick in my mind). The scariest was when I was 14 or 15 and riding along side my friend (was his horses) when our horses either caught scent of or saw a bear – my friend and his horse just took off through the wooded area, my horse abruptly bolted to the side, leaving me suspended in ‘air’ before hitting the ground. The horse then took off after my friend, and there I was sitting on the ground, watching her disappear. I am sure the bear was also scared by the commotion, as it was no where to be seen, and shortly my friend returned with my horse, laughing his head off! How my feet came out of the stirrups and the horse just disappeared from beneath me – not sure of the physics of it all – but not a pleasant experience. The two horses we were on were normally very calm, as we actually would duck hunt (or grouse or hungarians partridge and prairie chickens) and fire our shotguns from their backs. Because they had such a great temperament, a person tended to ride them, with little concern for ‘really holding on’ – guess we had never come close to a bear before! Another time I fell off a saddled horse was when I was 7 years old, and I do not know to this day, if my cousin (who caused it) did it on purpose or not. There were four of us riding to school, myself, my cousin (about 10 years older than I) and another older boy and his younger sister from the farm next door. Often we would race, and the sister and I would be given a head start. I was riding Jim (what a horse!) and he was going full out, we rounded a corner, with the girl and I pretty well neck and neck when I felt myself slipping. I need to rephrase - I did not actually fall OFF of Jim – meaning that I never really left the horse – also I need to say that at 7, I was able to saddle Jim myself with the exception of tightening the cinch, which was my cousins responsibility.   http://www.ehow.com/video_5238809_tie-cinch-strap.html
 So back to me falling - but wait (if I am falling - ‘why’ was I was still with my horse) my feet were still in the stirrups, and I was still in the saddle – but the ground was getting closer!!!! Jim came to an abrupt halt, and there I was, hanging upside down, under the horse holding onto the saddle horn for dear life – with the cinch (now on the top of Jim) loosely holding the saddle (and me) from the ground. In a couple of seconds, the other two racers came around the corner…. they just started to howl – I guess I was quite the sight, dangling under Jim!!! Like I said, I do not know if my cousin purposely did not tighten the cinch, or if it was an honest mistake. Of course when we got to school, (one room) everyone heard the story and I endured much teasing. Sure glad I was riding Jim – not sure if other horses would have stopped or not. When riding bare back, it was not unusual for me to be on the ground, watching my horse continue on its merry way. But – the most embarrassing and funniest was when I was removed from one horse by another horse. I was riding a ‘work’ horse, part of a team. A team of horses usually spend their whole lives together, and it seems can become upset when separated. My friend and I had been into town and when we returned home the mate to the horse I was riding was acting like some ‘stallion’ you would see in a movie… strutting – kicking up, snorting (this from an docile work horse!!). Not being too bright, we rode our horses into the pasture he was in – then all hell broke loose. The antics of the other horse were so bizarre and we were laughing at how he was acting – he started to circle around me and the horse I was on – prancing.. and kicking up, it truly was funny, but all of a sudden he came along side my horse, turned to the side, and kicked up. His hooves caught the underside of my feet and I flew into the air – not just off the horse – but UP and off. Like I said, many bruises – and a lesson learned. If I ever rode that horse again, I made sure her mate never got close to us. It really is a shame that we did not have video cameras back then, I am sure I could have won some of TV Funniest Videos contests.

Cranks – or “How Too Break Your Thumb With One Easy Pull”

  Before and in the infancy of having electricity, around 1949 in the area I lived, much of the every day life involved a “Crank”. Besides all early model cars and tractors needing to be cranked, gas motors were used for a variety of jobs, that in later years and up to today, you just have to flick a switch and the electric motor kicks in. One of the main uses for a motor was to pump water from wells. On a farm when watering all the different animals, etc. it would involve a lot of manual pumping. The types of motors varied but they all had one thing in common- you had to crank them! A secret to a successful ‘start’ is having the engines gas and air ratio adjusted properly – if you don’t the motor could, and often would, ‘back fire’. When a motor back fires (when being started), it actually changes the direction of the ‘crank shaft’ and turns everything backwards, including the crank you are holding in your hand. This happens very quickly and would cause the crank to violently ‘kick back’ (in the opposite direction that you are cranking). A person doing the cranking would never wrap their thumb around the crank (in the same way you would hold a glass of water) – to do so would mean either a broken or severely bruised thumb. The proper way to crank any engine was to tuck your thumb in along with your fingers so they were all on one side of the crank handle – and use your LEFT hand. Holding the crank this way, if the motor did back fire, your left hand would just slip off of the handle. You could use your right hand with your thumb along your fingers, but – the ‘kick’ could still hurt or break a person’s shoulder. Most other devices that worked with the use of a crank were not as dangerous, but some of them could be tedious. The odd one is still used today, but most are obsolete, thanks mainly to electricity. Some of the things that I grew up with that had to be cranked – egg beater and pencil sharpener (still used today!!). A couple of the tedious ones were a butter churn and the ice cream churn – but the tedium was overshadowed by the expectation of how great it was going to taste. A coffee bean grinder, meat grinder (to make ground beef), A milk separator had to be cranked (slowly). Wash day – wringer washer, had to be cranked. For any emergency, mainly fires – the fire alarm had to be cranked – the faster the more shriek the sound! Some stores still had the large cash registers that needed a crank to operate. I am not sure when the gestetner  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gestetner was first used in the school, but again, a crank was used. We had a small ferry that crossed the river and it was operated using a very large crank to pull it back and forth. Without the crank, our phonograph player would not have worked – you would crank it up to its fullest, then listen to your records, as soon as the voices and music started to sound slow and deep, you knew it was time to crank it up again. As you cranked, the sound pitch would quickly rise until back to normal – it was kind of fun letting it run down, just to hear the slow voices! There are so many other pieces of equipment that depended on a crank – but for communication, without a crank, how could we ring up someone on the party line with our telephone. Everyone on a party line (more than 1 household and often up to 12 using the same line) had their own ring. Our number was 207, which meant line 2 … and the 07 meant 2 shorts and a long, my Grandfather’s was 215, 3 longs on the same party line (2). More about this subject in a future Blog. Wood and coal burning stoves had a crank that allowed you to shake the ashes into a container below, which you would empty often. Some of the items I have listed, because they were labour intensive, took up much more time (compared to today) to do many everyday chores – BUT – there was no Monday Night Football on TV – cause – there was no TV! So, it seemed we had much more time to do many things.  Try turning off your TV for a week - and enjoy some of the simple things in life.

Metal + Sled + Freezing Temperatures = DAMN NOT AGAIN!

The idea of manufacturing a play thing (in this case a sled) that is used only when the temperatures are below freezing, and having metal near the mouth of the user, was and still is idiotic. I am sure most of you have seen a movie where someone is dared to lick a metal flag pole in freezing weather. The result is better than any ‘instant glue’. The tongue and the pole become one! As does any child and a sled, when riding their ‘flyer sled’ down a hill, and in their excitement stick their tongue out – only to come in contact with the (brilliantly designed) metal attached steering mechanism of the sled. So – visualize if you will – going down a fairly steep hill (we did have them in the northern parts of the Prairies) with other kids walking up, or riding down at a slower speed than you. Continue to visualize some poor kid (me on more than one occasion) going down this fairly steep hill, with his tongue attached to the steering device of the sled. To turn one way or the other is instant agony! Continue to visualize, the rider having two choices; 1) Damn the torpedoes – full steam ahead, run over anything that is in your path… 2) having the guts to steer and ripping their tongue from the metal! I have personally done both, and prefer the full steam ahead. When you rip your tongue free, part of your tongue remains attached to the metal – and DAMN it hurt! Believe me, it is painful (I mean it HURTS – TEARS – BLOOD – WHERE IS MY MOMMY HURT!) – And add to the pain the embarrassment that everyone there knew you had been so stupid to have touched your tongue to the sled. So, sled riders – unite – boycott purchasing any sled that has metal within two feet of the riders’ mouth. As an aside, I was also known to attach my tongue to the zipper on my parka – again OUCH! In ideal conditions, if this were to ever happen and you were near water, all you had to do was pour some cold water on your tongue and it could be removed without blood and screaming. I cannot recall ever being near water!

Sports

I have mentioned in previous Blogs that at the end of the war, my parents were not very well off. The more stories that I am putting down on paper, the more I realize that within 3 or 4 years after my father got out of the army, he and my mother had ‘come along way’. The one area that was lacking all through my childhood was the fact sports equipment for ‘Davie’ was not included in the budget. Only once did I ever get a ‘new’ pair of ice skates and as far as other equipment for playing hockey, I relied on a couple of older boys to give me their hand me downs. As I am writing this for my offspring, it is a wonder you were born, as I never ever had a jock. My shin pads, were home made with thick felt on the knees and willow sticks stitched in burlap as the shin pad. When I was 15 I finally got an actual pair of shoulder pads, and proper shin pads (but still no jock). My skates were often given to me by the local shoe repair shop that was owned by the father of an older friend of mine. Hockey sticks, again were hand me downs – tis no wonder I was not a very good player!!! Heh – blame it on the equipment! Also, I never had a new baseball glove, and again relied on others. In the early fifties, the gloves were not made with much lining, and by the time someone discarded theirs, it was pretty ‘slim pickins’. Unlike hockey, I was pretty good at baseball (as long as the opposing team had a Left Handed pitcher) – could not hit a Right Hander then and never could, but again with my fielding ability, and the lack of a great choice of people to chose from, I always made the team. Our school did not have a gym (until my last year at home) so basketball and volleyball were foreign to me. Soccer and North American Football we never played. As an individual sport, I did play tennis otherwise it just seemed to be hockey and baseball – but what more did we need – Oh and Curling!!! http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Curling  Yup – winter time, cold = ice = curling = (for some) boring. I loved to curl, as did most everyone in the town, young and old. On a cold evening you could always go to the Curling Rink (heated in the viewing area) and watch teams playing on the three sheets of ice. Back then, everyone used corn brooms and some of the sweepers could really make them ‘snap’ when hurrying a rock down the ice. I was on a team that made it to the Provincial playdowns, but alas – we came home from the big city, with only the memory of loses and going to a ‘real’ movie theatre. In later entries, I am sure I will relate some of my battle scars from playing ‘yard hockey’ with tin cans, or pond hockey, etc.

Christmas Goodies at Our Home

I am not sure when my Mom would start her Christmas baking, but I do remember that once Christmas arrived; we had a great selection of goodies. The only things purchased at the store would be the hard Christmas Candies (which gave you sores in your mouth if you ate too many). My favorite goodie (cookie wise) that my mother made was coconut macaroons. They were not the soft type, as, I think, she put in extra eggs whites, which really harden up the coconut, and they looked like porcupine quills sticking out from the cookie. I loved them, and would always hover around the dish they were on. I cannot remember them being made, but we always had the dreaded (in my mind) Christmas cake, filled with all the fruit, raisins, etc. which I did not like – and of course to me it was a waste of space to even put them out to eat. Also, Mom made what we call today, refrigerator cookies. I am pretty sure she made these before we had a fridge, and would let them cool overnight (part of the recipe) by putting them in our cool storage place. This was in a space about 8 X 10 and around 15 feet deep under our ‘pump house’. The temperature in this storage area, even though well below freezing outside, would be more or less the equivalent to a fridge. (This is also where we would store our potatoes, turnips, cabbage, carrots, and canned products for winter use). Getting on with these cookies, the main ingredients were cocoa and peanuts, and you would roll them in loafs, wrap in wax paper, and store in fridge overnight. To bake, you would cut the roll into thin slices; put them on the cookie tray, in the oven – and boy were they good. I have always been partial to burnt cookies, and would always hope that mom would forget they were in the oven! Then came the shortbread – ahhhhhhhhhhhhh… eat your heart out all you vegans – real butter – melt in your mouth cookies. (I am sitting here with a smile on my face remembering). Another goodie that I was not very keen on was mincemeat tarts, but in our family, they were a must – and real whipped cream on top (after they had been reheated in the oven). I am sure we had other ‘special’ Christmas goodies, but the winner by a mile, was the home made fudge – wow!!! What can I say!!! Great - we would have two kinds (dark and light) and making it, sometimes was better than the finished product. Unless you have experienced cleaning out the mixing bowls and cooking pans after making fudge, you truly have not lived!

My Dad was so proud – and I so disappointed



Mine was smaller with no bag on back.

 I only remember two Christmas Gifts as a child. One was a bicycle, which was fantastic. It was an English style, which in the fifties meant it had hand activated brakes. All North American bikes had pedal brakes that worked when you pushed backwards on the pedals. I was the only one in our town to have an English style bicycle, and although it was only a three quarter size – it could really move. The only problem about getting a bike for Christmas in Northern Alberta is you had to wait until late spring to ride it. But, that did not stop me from spending most of Christmas day riding it in the snow. This was by far the best Christmas present I ever received as a child. The other gift that I remember very well was a Lionel electric train! (I think I was around 12 and we indeed had electricity now) I was so excited when I opened it. The box had a picture of a train, drawn in such a way as to show the great speed it was traveling, rushing through the countryside. When I put the track together it was a small circle (fit on the kitchen table) and had an engine, one car and a caboose, which together, took up a quarter of the track. Once I hooked the wires from the transformer onto the tracks and turned the switch – off it went, around and around and around in this little circle. Now, I could tell when I opened the gift how proud my Dad was that he had purchased it for me. I realized immediately that I was only going to enjoy watching this thing go around and around and around for a very short period of time. But I made sure, for the next few weeks, that I took the train out every day (when my Dad was around) and watched it go around and around and around. I wonder, if my Dad watching his gift just going around and around and around, was a little disappointed too.

Our Christmas Traditions

Every family has their own Christmas Traditions, and depending on how devout the family is, going to Church on Christmas Eve would be one of them. My family was Anglican, but as our town did not have an Anglican Priest, we went to the United Church, and I do remember attending a Christmas Eve service a couple of times. One in particular, made me so proud (I was around 8), because the Minister borrowed our phonograph and our record of the Messiah. Everyone sat and listened to ‘our’ music! Having Church as part of our tradition did not last for much of my youth, and Christmas Eve was a time to play some card games and to start working on a puzzle; we were not allowed to open any gifts, but there would be many different baked goods, including ‘fudge’ and my Mom’s famous (to me) Coconut Macaroons. Also, during this Christmas Eve day my Mother would have made Lemon Meringue pies (with a graham wafer crust) for the Christmas dinner dessert. On Christmas morning our stockings would have been left by Santa, and they would be filled with candies, perhaps a small toy and a Japanese orange (they were sooooooooo good – and were a once a year treat) and then of course a lump of coal! We would then have to get out of our PJs and get dressed, have breakfast together as a family (only time of the year that we did) THEN the dishes had to be washed, dried and put away. At the same time, in our small kitchen the turkey would be prepared for the oven. And only then – the presents, the excitement of finally finding out ‘if” we got what you were hoping for. Soon the floor would be covered in wrapping paper, and everyone would have their gifts beside them. Poor Dad, his pile always seems so small! Some years the gifts were great – but some were definitely disappointments. Some of our relatives lived on farms (and regardless of what day it was the livestock had to be fed and the cows milked in the evening) so guests would usually arrive fairly early in the day, and we would have the meal around 3 in the afternoon. Even if we had guests who were not farmers, anyone from any distance away had to allow for a possible winter storm that would slow down their travel. During the day and early evening, games would be played, puzzles worked on – similar as we do today, except the games would be darts, croquet, canasta, cribbage, snakes and ladders – no computer games or Christmas TV shows to watch... My Grandfather, Aunt and her son never came to our home for Christmas – perhaps my Grandfather did not want to travel the 12 miles – but I did celebrate at his home a few times. One year is vivid in my memory; I could not go to sleep no matter how hard I tried. I was about 4 or 5 and slept upstairs in the farm house, and remember my Aunt hollering up the stairway – “OK Santa is at the end of the drive-way right now, and if you are not asleep in one minute – he is going to leave”! Shocker – go to sleep, go to sleep, go to sleep! Santa being the great person he is, came back – because in the morning my stocking was filled to the brim including, of course, a lump of coal. Christmas at Grandpa’s had one extra bit of magic to it, and that happened on Christmas Eve. The tree, always spruce in the area that we lived, would be in the corner of the living room, decorated with tinsel, garland, etc. and with real candles! The candles were about the length of a birthday candle and sat on metal holders that were attached to the upper boughs of the tree. Everyone would gather around, and turning off all the lamps in the house, except for one to allow my Aunt to see as she would light all the candles on the tree. Then she would turn off her lamp and we would all stare at this wonderful tree with the candles flickering lights reflecting on all the decorations, and then we would sing a carol. Magic – yes. But think how dangerous this tradition was - I wonder how many people burned down their homes of Christmas Eve! But, the same as it happens today – suddenly it is gone for another year. What a long time to wait for another Japanese orange and my Mom’s famous (to me) coconut macaroons!

Politically Correct and Stuff

When growing up I do not remember anything being Politically Correct or Politically Incorrect. If someone were to preach today, what was acceptable in the 40s and 50s, they would be labelled a radical, a racist, a chauvinist, a sexiest and on and on and on. I do not think anyone felt they were insulting or degrading others (with the odd exception) because of words used to describe a person because of their sex, age, whether they were a minority, what country they came from, the colour of their skin, if they had a disability, etc. It was, at the time (I thought) correct and acceptable. Now I know that some or all of these description shouldn’t have been used, and I am sure at the time were very hurtful to those that were the subject of the names and remarks. I am having difficulty trying to figure out how to write this without showing that, although I pride myself at not being a radical, a racist, a chauvinist, a sexiest and on and on and on, when growing up I was indeed all of those. Some examples were songs and nursery rhymes that we sang – One little, two little, three little Indians, was a song that tells the demise of ten little Indians, one by one, with no show of sorrow. In all the Hollywood Cowboy movies, the Indians were always depicted as wrong, evil, ‘savage’, etc. – and deserved to be beat by the white man every time. Indian was the correct term at that time, but Injun was a slur that was often used. Today, in Canada we have the politically correct, “First Nations” and in the USA “Native Americans”. In Alberta, the First Nations people were not allowed in Beer Parlours, and if someone was ever convicted of a crime and the courts banned that person from consuming alcohol, they were put on the ‘Indian List”. No females were allowed to enter a Beer Parlour without a Male escort – and when they did, they had to use a different entrance and sat in a separate section from the single male patrons. Women may have had the vote for years, but their role was mainly that of a school teacher, bank teller, secretary, and if married, a stay at home wife and mother (a dress and apron wearing, smiling ‘stay at home wife and mother’) for the male ‘bread winner’. I have a copy of an ad out of a women’s magazine, telling women what their role was as a housewife – wow, I would hate to repeat the article to a women’s libber today, but I will share it in a future Blog. As the years have past since my childhood, and women started entering the mainstream work force, I admit at times my eye brows raised, like the first time I saw or heard about a female police officer, doctor, lawyer, car salesperson, truck driver, bus driver, border guard, pilot, and on and on. Living in the area of predominantly Ukrainian farmers I had no problem pronouncing all the various names ending in enko, ski, chuk, etc. When I joined the army at 16, I was amazed to hear the names of other ethnic people and mostly the names of French Speaking Canadians. I knew my country was bilingual, but ‘they’ were way back east! The only Asian’s that I knew was the Chinese owner of our lone café – and later his nephew who emigrated to live with him, who in fact – I helped teach English. Words like Jap, Chink, DP, Injun, Bohunk, Polack, were all used without the bat of an eye. I think I may have been about 7 when we were travelling to my Grandfathers and we had car trouble right beside a farm. While my father and the owner of the farm were fixing the car, we went into the farmer’s home. It was a very large house and the farmer had two hired hands, one of which was black (a race unfamiliar to me – with the exception of a long play record we had of the story of ‘Little Black Sambo’, which was very racist, but completely acceptable at the time). I was sitting on the floor in front of their huge fireplace enjoying the heat that the massive burning logs were giving, when someone came and stood beside me. I looked up and there was this man – my memory says very large man (but considering I was small and on the floor, he could have been only 5 feet tall), and he was black! It scared me so badly that I cried – terrible isn’t it? I remember the colour of his skin being explained to me, and vividly remember his smiling face, as later he sat on the floor beside me telling me a story. Finally I want to mention the ‘crazy people’. People did not have mental disorders or the many other problems that are medicinally treated today. It was very simple – they were all crazy! I am pretty sure using the description of ‘crazy’ is politically unacceptable today, but today I think a lot of the political decisions are crazy – does that make sense??

Onset of Winter

Bulrushes

Although Victoria is the Hawaii of Canada, we are presently experiencing snow, wind and 6 below temperatures (15 below wind chill).  For anyone not converted to metric that is the same as 25 and 5 Fahrenheit.  I am writing this rough outline on paper, by candle light because our power is out.  Without power!!!  What do we do? Help? Our home has electric heat, stove, lights, computers, televisions, garage door openers, coffee machines, beer bottle openers (well that is an exaggeration) – but you get my drift.  So, I definitely have the ‘mood setting’ for writing by candle light, with no electricity, as it was when I was a child.  The exception being, in days of yore, the wood burning cook stove gave us heat, coffee and somewhere in the kitchen the beer bottle opener would have been nailed onto the wall.  I have truly turned into some sort of a wimp, living where I do today (and complaining), compared to the winters of my youth. The onset of winter was always the best when we would not have much snow fall after the river started to freeze over. With very little snow on the ice, it would allow us to skate on the river, ponds and small lakes.  One year when I was around 13, I and an older friend skated up the river for hours, having to actually walk on the banks around any rapids (that had not yet frozen over).  The river had so many turns and bends that to travel a mile ‘as the crow flies’ you would actually skate about three times further.  The majority of the river activities would be at the south side of town. Some days it would be like a ‘Winter Wonderland” scene from a movie – all ages doing so many different things – it was so much fun.  If there was a few inches of snow, the skaters would have scraped large skating areas, and with the snow it allowed cars to tow skiers down and around the river.  There would be two, three or more camp fires, with logs pulled around for people to sit to put on their skates, and of course to roast wieners and marshmallows.  Sometimes as darkness approached, skaters would soak bulrushes in kerosene, light them (they would burn for a long time) and then skate around with their torches.  Yes – truly a scene from a movie – such a great childhood memory!  But alas, once too much snow would fall, that time would be gone until next year, weather permitting.   

Where did the Outhouse go?

Because I left home as soon as I turned 16 (Canadian Army) I did not participate in any Halloween pranks that you would consider real bad. But it was somewhat a bragging right to be called by name in school the morning after Halloween to go around and put up the outhouses that had been pushed over. Out house tipping was just something that was expected to happen on Halloween – well I am saying that from the outlook of a 15 year old! I only participated in this prank one Halloween – and to be truthful, it was no big deal, thrill wise. But – today, I can relate that I did indeed push over some outhouses. Wow – talk about someone lacking in ‘things he did in his life that he is proud of” hehe. I do not know if it ever happened, but there was the story of a home owner moving his outhouse back from the hole, and that someone going to push it over fell in – true or not , it is a good story, don’t you think? Or would it just be a shitty story! One of the stupidest tricks  I helped out with was pulled on a relatively newcomer to our town and our country. I am not sure what country he came from, but from what I understand; most countries did/do not celebrate the night as we do in North America. I am sure he must have wondered if Canada was indeed a better place to live. He had a very small house with only one door at the front. It was located just a few yards from a bulk oil station. In those days, most farmers would buy 45 gallon drums of gas for their farm vehicles so there were many empty drums available. We stacked these barrels in front of the door to the house (2 high and about 5 deep) making it impossible to get out of his house – seemed funny at the time, but considering the chances of fire, it was rather stupid. Otherwise, most kids in my age group would just sneak into yards, and take anything that was not nailed down – tools etc. and put them in someone else’s yard. I remember some of the older kids going out to some farms and doing damage, to the extent that the police were involved. I am glad that I left home when I did – and the oil drums were they only thing that I have to tell in my old age. Not counting the shot gun – but we didn’t even have a chance to do anything, so does that really count?