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?

Run Davie Run - Halloween

I was 14 years old when I found out that I was actually a fast runner. At that time when I played any sport, even if I did not exert myself or run very much, I would get terrible pain in my legs. As an adult, because of a couple of muscles on one side of my body having developed slightly less than the other side, doctors figured I may have had a touch of polio. Because of the pain, I did not run very often, and when I did – never ‘full out’. Hence, in any race, etc, I was usually last, and in my mind was a slow runner. I think motivation can push people to become better at most things! Visualize a house with no other homes within 100 yards in any direction, no yard lights, and the owner of the house having the reputation of ‘skinning kids alive’! I have no idea what we were planning to do to this persons property (as a trick), but being Halloween - just think of the reputation we would get for ‘being brave enough to do it".  So continuing to visualize, three of us, me, another 1 year older and the third 3 years older than I – sneaking up on this house. When we got fairly close a loud booming voice broke the silence –   'Who’s there?'  We immediately started to run, and as I had often feared, with every step I was being left further behind. Once more this voice “Stop” (panting, damn he is going to catch me – my companions are leaving me so far behind – come on legs, move). On a crisp, cool night, sound seems to be louder than normal – not sure how you visualize a sound… but try a shot gun! Remember the mention of motivation? I passed the first of my friends in about 5 seconds and the second within 10 – and from there, they were history. I am sure the person did not fire ‘at’ us, but in a way I should thank him for teaching me about motivation, and how in later years in the military, I actually ran in relay races, always with the thought of someone behind me with a shot gun shouting – Stop!



Halloween before Razor Blades

I cannot remember exactly how many houses there were in town, but on Halloween there were many that the kids considered ‘special’. I will not put names to the ‘makers’ of some of the fantastic treats – but I still remember who the ladies were that made many of these ‘oh so delicious goodies’. The popcorn balls, marshmallow creations, candied apples (with melted caramel), little bags of cookies, fudge – melt in your mouth fudge, and each maker with her special kind. We would run around in our home made costumes, or perhaps just a rubber mask (that would almost suffocate us) and as you past others - would shout, have you been to so and so’s place yet? How many cookies did she put in the bags this year? (Hurry – hurry, in case they will be all gone) A few people gave out store bought candy, which were gratefully received, but it was the ‘famous’ home made goodies that caused the furry. Some of us would try to change our appearance to go back for seconds, but alas – very seldom if ever did anyone succeed. Back to the masks – I am not sure what they were made of, but after having them over your face for two minutes you were completely covered in sweat – mix this with the often freezing temperatures on October 31st (Northern Alberta, remember) and it was not a very comfortable combination. After about 15 minutes, you would see kids with the mask just hanging around their neck – everyone knew who you were anyway! After hollering ‘tricks or treats’ something you dreaded to hear was “Sing us a song”. Then the real mean ones “Give us a little dance” (think I just described myself when the kids arrive at my door). A song I would serenade the treat giver with (wishing they had never asked, once hearing me) was “Abbadabbadabba Said the Monkey to the Chimp”. You will have to Google that one! All of this fun – without having to be escorted by an adult or worry about accepting any treats that are not wrapped, or worrying about someone being sadistic enough to put a razor blade in an apple – compare that to today - sad isn’t it? Once all the houses had been covered and you went home with the loot, it would depend on your age whether you would venture out again – to do or witness the odd prank. All at the time seeming harmless! In my next Blog you can be the judge.

Books of Knowledge

Although we, as a family were not very well off, my father was a reader. We were one of only a few, or perhaps the only family in town to have a set of ‘Books of Knowledge”. Our small home had bookcases built into pretty well any place that you could build something into. And on one prominent shelf were the set of “Books of Knowledge”. Being the studious child that I was, I actually remember using them (one time only) for a school report. I cannot remember what grade I was in, or what subject it was – but I was so proud of my report! Who else knew how the Eddy Match Company made matches? These books even had diagrams, a couple of which I traced and put into the report – wow I traced a picture of a match! I do not want to take away from anyone who may read this, but can you top that for ‘smarts’? The ‘Books of Knowledge’ are still available today, but with the world of computers, I am surprised that they are still able to survive. I do know that when I was growing up, they were a wealth of knowledge. So, why – did I not use them more? I think the answer may have been that I only ever had to do one report on the Eddy Match Company. You would think, I would remember what mark I received for my effort, but I guess it was not the top mark in the class – because that happened so seldom, I would have remembered. I had other great scholastic achievements that come to mind that do not involve the use of any books, and not much knowledge either. How is this one - I was the only one in class to get the right answer to the question, what towel is best to dry yourself with, a smooth or rough one. My arch rival (female – that could beat me up) got it wrong and (ahem) Davie got it right – Yippee!!! I remember this triumph almost every time we get new very, very rough towels! This question was on a test in Health, and part of the subject was having the teacher examine your hands and behind your ears to make sure you washed. This could be a very humiliating ordeal – makes you wonder how any of us ended up with any self respect or confidence, after being berated day after day for being dirty. Of course that female (the one who could beat me up) seems she washed – go figure! Another very vivid memory was the words of my ‘all time’ favourite teacher. I think I was in grade 8 or 9 – could not draw a straight line, but drew and painted a picture, which I was very proud of. Truly, I though I had done a great job. My “all time” favourite teacher pretty well put everything in perspective when he held my picture up in front of the class and said – the first thing that is wrong with this picture is it being signed ‘ARTIST, Davie’. Maybe I should have used the ‘Books of Knowledge’ and traced something!

Farms Scariest Creatures

When my father came home at the end of WWII, he and my mother toyed with the idea of taking advantage of a Veterans Affairs Program and buying a farm. They heard of a farmer wishing to sell, and drove out to see the property, taking me with them. At the age of 6, I was already very familiar with most farm animals, and had no fear of any of them (I had yet to deal with the two scariest). I had already learned signs of an upset animal that should be given their distance and those that were approachable. This particular farm, although a mixed farm, made most of its income from raising Turkeys! On our visit we ended up in the middle of a huge flock (gang) of huge turkeys (the majority of them came up to my shoulders - only 6 years old) I remember standing as close to my parents as possible, with these damn gobbling creatures all around me. Then all of a sudden everyone walked away, except me!!! Panic – Panic – Panic. I did, truly Panic. I was so afraid that I was going to be left at the mercy of these ugly, stupid birds. I realized later (‘realized later’ being the key) that all one had to do was run towards any of them and they would scatter, faster than I ‘wanted to’. I stood there screaming, and my Dad came to my rescue. I was never so happy to find out later that my parents had decided against purchasing that farm. Although turkeys did not hurt me, or to my knowledge hurt anyone, unless they may have gobbled someone to death – I still hate them! My other ‘scariest creatures most definitely can and could hurt me. Geese – simple word, harmless flying bird – think they own the farm yard…. No wait – they damn well do own the farm yard. Never upset a goose, especially if they have young with them – they are vicious. With the exception of the odd bull or upset mothering sow, I have never been chased by a farm animal as much as I have by geese. I am sure they knew how damn afraid I was of them – but the power they have in their wings, will knock you down, bruise you, and I am sure, if struck correctly could break bones. I hated geese, and I still hate geese. I was afraid of geese, and I am still afraid of geese (unless they are a flock of wild geese flying overhead, heading south for the winter) and even then, they damn well better not land near me.

The Sound of a Lawn Mower



 I now live in a Townhouse complex and our gardeners arrive once a week to make everything look ‘Spivey’. They do a fantastic job, with their gas powered mowers, gas powered weed trimmers AND (noisiest of all) the gas powered leaf blowers. So different from ‘back when’ most yards had the houses built close to the roads and usually had back alleys for residents to drive their vehicles down and into their garage behind the house. As well, everyone had a garden in their back yard, which left only a small front yard for a lawn. Regardless of the size of the lawn, there were no gas powered mowers, weed trimmers, edgers OR leaf blowers. In the spring, you took your push mower out of storage, sharpened the blade and oiled the wheels and away you went – no need to change a spark plug, put in fresh gas and start pulling on a cord “silently praying that it is going to start’ – and when it doesn’t start, muttering a few choice words, and every couple of minutes having to assure your wife that you are ‘not going to have a heart attack’, and then start pulling the damn cord again. You can still buy a push mower today, but I have not seen one being used for a long time. The “clatter clatter” of the push mower was so much quieter than the noise that was being made by our gardeners today, mind you being awaken from a nap (newly retired, remember) may have made these gas guzzling, noise machines sound even louder.  Again, in days of yore, once finished mowing the small patch of lawn, you would sweep (with a noiseless broom) any offending pieces of grass off the walk, use some clippers to trim the edges – and anyone in the house (perhaps newly retired) could sleep right through the whole process. When you needed a ‘weed whacker’ out would come the scythe, either a two handed version for large areas, or the one handed version for small areas. The secret of using these tools was not by brute force (that the noisy gas guzzlers can exert) but by keeping them very sharp. Normally if you saw someone using a scythe for a large area of grass and/or hay, you would see a sharpening device sticking out of their back pocket. The small hand held scythe is called a sickle, which I remember using along fence lines, etc. but I never did master the scythe. The gardeners have left the complex for this week – back to my nap (newly retired, remember).



Sythe

Sickle





My First Solo on a Tractor

As well as my Grandfather’s farm and others that I stayed on, my Uncle and Aunt had a farm about 25 plus miles away. As all the area farms in that era, it was a mixed farm. Mixed farming meaning that you raised all types of livestock, horse, chickens, geese, etc. as well as cultivating and growing grain, hay fields, etc. With the exception of salt, sugar and flour (guess some even milled the flour) most farmers were self sufficient. I actually did many of my ‘firsts’ on this farm. Both my Uncle and Aunt having passed away (Bless their souls) I can even relate some of these events that I had never admitted to them. Don’t get the wrong idea, nothing real bad – but things that would have upset my Uncle. My first solo tractor is not one of the ‘secret’ ones, as it was my Uncle that put me through the excruciating pain. The farm house sat a long way from the country road that passed in front, and there were fields on either side of the long driveway. When working the land, if the weather was nice, and no repairs were needed, often my Uncle would leave the tractor in the field for the night, then return the next morning to continue plowing, seeding, mowing, whatever the task was. After leaving the tractor one night, the next morning my Uncle took his car down the long driveway to finish up the field work. My cousin and I had walked down with his lunch, but he was just finishing up and was ready to return to the house. “Davie, do you want to drive the tractor back?” Yes – yes – yes!! I get to drive the tractor – Yahoo – finally, after all I was all of 8 years old. The tractor was a case with tip-toe* front wheels. My Uncle got me partially seated, partially standing at the steering wheel of the tractor. He then put it in the lowest gear it had, and opened the throttle to ‘one’ and let out the clutch – he then jumped off and got in his car and drove to the house. There I was – driving my first tractor at the break-neck speed of perhaps ½ mile per hour. Look disappointment up in the dictionary – you will see a picture of a kid steering a case tractor (with tip-toe* front wheels) going soooo slow that the worms on the ground are passing him. It took forever to finally arrive at the house, where my Uncle jumped on the tractor and stopped it. I have to give him credit, he did let me drive the tractor – many would not have. But ½ mile per hour – come on… my cousin thought it was very funny!! I would get even with her, just wait and see.

*tip toe – I am not sure what the correct name for this type front axle on a tractor is. We used to call them ‘tip toe’ which is when the front tires are only inches apart. This type of configuration was good for driving down rows of garden, with the front wheels and each back wheel straddling the rows. What benefit it had on a prairie farm, I am not sure, as on a side hill they had a far easier chance of tipping over than a tractor with a wide wheel base at the front.

Back To School

Before I relate what it was like on the first day of a school year, I will explain how and why I may be referring to different types of schools in my blogs. My family lived on the edge of a small village, and I went to a two room school (grades 1 – 5 in one room, I think). After my first grade, they had built another school with an additional two rooms, and then from there they kept expanding. So as I progressed in Grades, there were more class rooms. But, I would also end up going to school from my Grandfathers home (which was 12 miles north of where I lived). This was a one room country school with grades 1 to 12 and had a barn for our horses. Also, for some reason I was ‘farmed’ out a lot when growing up and would stay with families on farms for weeks on end and would take a school bus to school. These are the reasons that in one blog I may talk about walking to school, another on the bus or on horse back. Now, that I have completely confused you! In September, when we went to school on the first day – we were not given a list of supplies that we had to buy. The teacher would have everything that we needed, pencils, crayons, work books, paper, rulers, straight pens and ink (although early versions were available we were not allowed to use ball point pens). The teacher would also give us all the text books that we would need for the year. To my knowledge no parent paid for any of these supplies. It was part of what people got for their taxes in those days. Rather than use the straight pens provided, you could use a fountain pen*, but it was your responsibility to buy it. Not having to purchase any of the school supplies had many advantages besides not costing anything. Regardless of a student’s ability (or not) to purchase ‘neat’ pencil boxes, binders, etc. – everyone had the same. This procedure also did not cause any of the turmoil and stress that I witnessed in some of the Office Supply stores at the start of this school year. Mind you, if you lost something or needed more supplies during the year, the teacher would usually put you through the 3rd degree and lecture you on the evils of chewing on your eraser, or breaking your pencil. At a later time I will write about how the black boards were actually black, the sometimes “adventure” of being the pupil who got to mix the ink powder with water, why the schools always had the smell of oil - unless there was the wonderful smell of hot soup or hot chocolate and why there was a need for three and four holer outhouses!

• A fountain pen carried a supply of ink in a reservoir, which was a rubber, sac-like container inside the pen’s barrel. On the side of the pen’s barrel is a lever. When you pull out on the lever, its other end pushes inside the pen and presses against the sac. This forces out the air from the empty sac. Then when you place the tip, or nib, of the pen into a bottle of ink and release the lever, the ink is drawn up through tiny tubes into the sac. This is called the vacuum method, since the vacuum inside the sac draws up the ink.

The Comfort Of A Clock

I have a clock on the wall beside my desk – it is a battery operated dial clock, but still makes a ticking noise as it hits every second. Often when I am sitting here at night, when the house is quiet, this clock has the same effect as those I listened to over 60 years ago. Before we had electricity, coal oil lamps were our main source of light for the long winter nights. After the last meal of the day until we went to bed, the dim light from these lamps was what we used to do homework, read, play games, knit by, etc. The lamps gave off a warm glow, and along with the well stoked stove, helped to make you forget about the cold temperature outside and perhaps the snow storm that was going to make it difficult getting to school the next day. If everyone in the house was either reading or just sitting (also hypnotized by the clock), slowly the ticking would seem to get louder. Like a heartbeat, it added to the sense of safety we got from the lamp and stove. You noticed that I did not say a snow storm “would close” the schools, because that never happened, unless it was a full blown blizzard. Whether a country one room or the town multi room school – you were expected to get there.. I have just paused writing for a few minutes, letting the clock take me back to the coil oil lamp and stoked stove – and yes, its heartbeat is still here, keeping me safe.

Job’s Aplenty

This week, I am finally retired – no where to go – no deadlines – no excuse to ‘just leave the house’ – no co-workers and/or customers. Wow, this is quite a shock, as I have worked from before my teens (60+ years). When I was 7 or so, my allowance was earned by being paid a penny for every pail of peas and beans I picked for my father. I will talk about the size of our garden in a future story. One of my first jobs was working for a lady who had opened a little gift shop. She had the neatest little ornaments. When I was around 9, I would go to her store and sweep the floor, dust the shelves and merchandise, and if I was real lucky she would have some reason to leave (I am sure she did it just for the look on my face – that I was going to be in charge). I felt so important and if anyone ever made a purchase when “I was in charge”, I was an “Entrepreneur Extraordinaire” in the making! There never seemed to be a shortage of after school jobs, and if I did not like a place that I was working, I could leave (never seemed to be any hard feelings) and know another job doing something was available. The least suited job I had was working the gas pumps at a service station on the main highway that went past the town. I had a very good friend who’s Dad owned a garage in town and my friend could change large tractor tires in a jiffy – was he ever good, he could take the tire off the rim, remove the tube, fix the leak, put the tube back in then use these heavy bars and a huge hammer to force the tire back on the wheel. I had watched this many times and he actually made it look pretty easy (not so). Anyway, there I am at the gas station, and a car pulls in for gas. I ran out and filled the gas tank, pop open the hood and checked the oil and water, washed the windows and asked – “how are your tires?” When you have never actually fixed a flat tire, don’t ask ‘how are your tires’. The reply was – “Oh, I almost forgot, I have a flat in the trunk and will leave it here and pick it up in a couple of hours, just put in a new tube”. So far so good, a new tube, I would not have to try to find the leak and repair it. O.K. now, how did my friend do this? I am sure if they had video cameras in the 50s, I would have been on some ‘how to screw up’ show. After much effort I actually got the tire off of the rim, now for the easy part, just take out the old and put in the new tube, which I did. I lined up the valve stem to the hole in the rim, then took a big metal bar, and force the tire back on – done – now proudly filling it with air, I hear this ‘not good’ noise and how come it is not inflating? Off comes the tire (getting better at it now – practice makes perfect) and much to my dismay, when putting it on, I had (with the big metal bar) ripped the new tube to shreds. O.K. pretend you are setting up Ikea furniture – and it reads “to assemble this section, follow the same directions as Picture B”, which it seems I was about to do – exactly the same. Once more, another new tube and being more careful this time when replacing the tire, everything looks good haha! (Look at me - I did it!!!). - Now where is that air hose? Nooooo – again that noise! Well three times right (or something like that) – finally I ended up with a tire complete with a new tube, filled with air – with my clothes completely filthy, and two brand new tubes in shreds! I am basically a very truthful person, but I am sorry folks – any trace of the two ruined new tubes, were never to be found – ever. For the rest of that job, when a car pulled up and I would rush out - I always seemed to forget to ask “how are your tires?” Another job was when I was around 14, my father was hospitalized for a few weeks. I was allowed to stay out of school to look after his hardware/lumber yard business. Like the store keeper and the cigarettes, I got to enter the items in customers ‘books’. I had to rely on the honesty of people when they purchased lumber – I truly had no idea. The hardest part of looking after Dad’s store was when someone would buy bags of cement – damn those things are heavy, and at the time, I was built like the ‘skinny kid at the beach’ that was having sand kicked in his face. Many of my other paying jobs were working on farms, from about age 12 until I left for the Army on my 16th birthday. My farming experiences were many, which I hope to relate over the life of this blog. Another after school job (that many of the town’s kids had) was hauling wood, coal and water (no indoor plumbing) for various ‘real old’ townswomen, who I now realize were most likely still in their 50s. When we had sub zero temperatures and it would be snowing, sometimes it was very difficult to give up our warm homes to haul the wood etc, but we did (for all those old - old women), and I am sure for the rest of our lives it has and will continue to help us realize the value of dependability and promptness.

When Did I First Ride a Horse?

As you can see by the picture, I literally grew up with no fear of horses. Naturally the photo was posed, and I am sure someone was off to the side to catch me if and when I fell off. This particular horses name was Jim – yup plain ole Jim. Jim was a retired RCMP horse that was actually used in their line of work and not just for the famous RCMP Musical Ride http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gAOeGLiTvBk. I have memories of riding Jim on my own when I was 4 years old. I would go into the pasture with a cube of sugar and a halter, give Jim the sugar and then he would patiently wait until I buckled the halter. We would then go beside a wooden fence (so I could get on) and once aboard ride around, bareback and with just a halter. We rode around the farm yard and most often up the “mountain” and across the ‘river’ that I mentioned in an earlier blog. Jim, although very tolerant with me, had certain rules that I had to follow – and once taught I never forgot. The main rule was the proper way to mount a horse is on the left – NOT the right! I learned this rule, when I took him beside the fence on his right side, climbed up to the top board and he turned his head and nudged my leg enough for me to have to regain my balance, once more he nudged me – then finally he bit my leg. A horses jaw does not move – it is just a clamp – teeth onto teeth – and damn does it hurt! Since then, I have never, ever tried to mount a horse on the right hand side. As with many farmers of the 40s, most did not have the luxury of more than one riding horse (if that) and often you would ride work horses. Although Jim was a riding horse, he was also teamed with ‘Molly’ to do the heavy work. I have many stories where Jim and I both rode and worked together – although a few are somewhat scary they all are fantastic. I was so lucky.

Choosing Sides

Although I refer to growing up in a town, it was actually a village, which even then was stretching it – the population was shy of 300. Today, they have it right, and it is now officially a Hamlet, with a population between 300 and 400. For the ‘town’ to still exist is an accomplishment, as in the past 60 years many of the small ‘towns’ have disappeared. I will continue to use ‘town’ when relating any events that happened there. Because the majority of school pupils were bussed in from their farms, there were not many kids that actually lived and played in the town. Any time that we played a game that consisted of teams, the normal procedure was to pick the teams. I hated this procedure, as I was usually one of the last picked. Normally the two most popular or best players would get to be Team Captains.  Everyone would be standing around in a group, knowing pretty well exactly the order each was going to be chosen. Even knowing this order, deep down I would hope that perhaps “this time”, something magical would cause me to be moved up in the order of picking. As it happened so often, it was not really an embarrassment, and I am sure none of the other kids gave it much thought - except those that were still standing, waiting with me to be picked. I know that today there are still kids ‘standing and waiting and hoping for the magic to happen. Hey – Team Captains - put everyone’s name in a hat - pick your teams that way! I am sure being one of the last picked, has had an effect on how I dealt and still deal with life as an adult. Through my life I have, on many occasions, been an ally of someone who I felt was not being treated as an equal, and was being ‘one of the last to be picked’. So – although at the time it hurt, it gave me the compassion to understand the pain of others, and to try to help.

Credit Before Plastic

In the 40s and 50s the majority of people in my town used credit for most of their purchases. The different Store Owners would usually have a drawer, shelves or folder where they stored small ‘bill books’ each with a customers name on them. Every time a family member would buy something it would be written into the book. Some merchants would keep a running total so that people knew if they were overspending. At the end of the month when, those that had wage earning jobs got paid, they would go to the various places where they had purchased items, and pay the bill. Our town (as most outside of Edmonton) was a farming center, and I am not sure exactly how they would arrange to pay their bills. A farmer’s income depended on when they sold grain or livestock, and I am sure the Store Keepers would have to wait until a farmer had the cash coming in. It must have been difficult for the shop owners to ‘carry’ so many people for a month or more, and I am sure there must have been families who were never able to pay their accounts in full. I said in my intro to this Blog that I did not want my Great Grands (too late for my Grands) to do some of the idiotic things that I did. WELL – I will relate the story of my first cigar another time – but for now - My mother smoked a brand of cigarette called Dailey Mail, which along with Vogue were 1 cent cheaper per pack than all other brands. 28 cents vs. 29 cents. Often my mother would get me to pick up some items at the store including packs of cigarettes. This gave me the opportunity to replenish my ‘smokes’ when needed as I could just put them on the bill. I was around 12 years old (I know – I am not proud of it now) when my mother asked me – “Davie are you charging cigarettes on the bill?” I, of course, said NO – I don’t smoke (gulp). My mother replied “then what are these cigarettes on the bill for 28 cents?” I had not noticed that the month before my mother had switched brands to Players (a 29 cent brand)!!! Caught! – One of many times!

Hopalong Cassidy - Tom Mix - The Lone Ranger (and Tonto too)

As well as being a gathering place for people when the train arrived three times a week, for the boys of the town, the Train Station was a playground and one of many places for us to get into trouble. Not that I, Davie would ever get into trouble. (In my early years I was never called a ‘chicken’ – and if others were going to do ‘something’, I would be there). Often many of the ‘somethings’ were not the wisest but “hey’ we had to entertain ourselves. The rail siding at the station would usually have a few freight cars sitting idle. Most of them would be waiting for grain to be loaded from one of the two Grain Elevators located beside the tracks, or perhaps, from time to time, livestock. After the once weekly movie at the Community Center Hall (at least every third week, a western) with Hopalong, Tom Mix, Gene Autry, Roy Rogers or the Lone Ranger and Tonto too, these rail cars were one of many places for us to relive some of the amazing things our ‘hero’s had done. We would often play Cowboys and Indians (I am sorry, I realize this is not politically correct – but at the time it was). These freight cars were great to chase each other along the tops, having to jump from car to car, scurrying down the ladders and running along the tracks – up another ladder and now you would be behind your chaser. Yeaaaa – you got him!!! When shot, the dying scenes were something to behold, utter acting at its best! The longer it took you to die, the more you could make your ‘killer’ laugh! I am not sure where the Station Master was when we would have these fierce battles, sleeping perhaps, but every once in awhile he would ”wake up” – and we would run away, laughing because we had been so brave at both ‘running the tops of the cars’ and getting away from the Station Master. Thinking back now, with only about 10 boys in the whole town, obviously when we ran away, everyone knew who we were. (Chuckle)  Once far enough from the Station to regroup, we would then decide where our next ‘playground’ would be. The lucky part , although there were many slips, no one ever fell off one of the freight cars - but then again, who ever heard of The Lone Ranger (and Tonto too) falling off a train.