Mom's Flox

I left home at a young age to make my way through life but I never turned my back on my past years in Cape Breton. One of my fondest memories was learning to love gardening through helping Mom look after her flowers and small kitchen garden. Our soil was poor as it was contaminated by mining debris and pit stone. Through years of building up the soil Mom and Dad developed a great potato patch and a vegetable garden.

Mom was most proud of her flowers, and the one in particular was her flox. Mom got her first flox from a woman who sold them from her home in Bras D'or. This lady had a spectacular showy flower garden. Mom planted her flox around our yard and they were multi-coloured. In the early sixties I had a home visit and before leaving Mom gave me a few roots from her flox.

With instructions as to how to make them flourish I packed them in the car. I was living in Pembroke at the time and with good soil the flowers made a great showing immediately. One year they were hit by rust and I phoned home and Mom gave me the answer as to how to get rid of it: move the plants every couple of years. It seemed to work.

When I moved the flowers moved with me and now I have one small clump in the back yard. This year they are beautiful with a nice colouring. My flox change colour  every so often but always return to the pink eventually. I trust that I shall be able to keep these flowers alive and well and able to pass them on to one of my family. Flowers are a beautiful reminder of someone as dear to you as your Mom. Our lipstick vine is really putting on a show this year as well.

Charlie Brown - My Dad

Imagine having a Father whose name was Charlie Brown who had a Dalmatian dog named Snoopy. That was my Dad. Dad came by the dog when it wandered into his yard one day and stayed despite the best efforts to find its owner. Dad built Snoopy a dog house and yes, Snoopy slept on the roof.

My Father could not be described in a simple blog as he was a very complicated person. He and his family lived in a place called Cranberry in the shadow of the largest submarine coal mine and when he was in grade eight was pulled from school and became a boy miner. He worked beside his father as a helper and received  practically nothing for his labour.

This early start for physical labor probably was the reason he grew to be the strongest man I knew for his size.He was a bright student his teacher told me as she taught many members of our family and my very favorite teacher of all time.Working in the mine never curbed Dad's thirst for learning and if he had the opportunity he would have made an excellent engineer as he had a natural ability to fix everything. He was never stopped from taking on projects and one year he built a hay baler from plans in the Family Herald.

He loved sports and played football and was an excellent skater and made his own skate blades from files. He skated with the seniors well after eighty and taught many to enjoy the activity.

As a father he helped the boys to love fishing and took us to secret places when we were young so we could enjoy the sport. He tied his own fish flies and shared them with friends. Dad also built the boats we fished from and built some for friends.He showed his love for the family in small ways. Always a good provider and hard worker he showed devotion by example. There was never a time when I heard the phrase that he was too tired to do anything. People sought his help and he was there for them.

Being the Father of nine children gave him a sense of pride by making sure we had that which escaped him, an education.When grand children came along and there were many Mom and Dad softened up and became different people. They were able to share emotions that they missed as younger parents. Dad had time to pass on many of the skills and tricks that made him a happy person and was granted the love and affection from his family.

There are few days that go bye when I do not think of Dad when I approach a task and would love to be able to phone him and ask for help as I did when I built my double garage with his guidance. Charlie Brown would smile now for sure if he was able to see the huge family he led and left as his legacy.

Mother's Day

Every year I write about Mother's Day as I have such fond memories of this day back in Cape Breton. Being from a large family it is difficult to  have all the attention you needed or wanted. Mother's Day provided us an opportunity to reach out to Mom on her special day and seek and find a few moments when you related to her personally. On this day all the family joined in  and made a fuss over the person who made life possible and worth while.

As we age we profile our Moms in a different manner. Your Mom becomes a much clearer leader and influence as you realize the tremendous effort she made to look after nearly a dozen people. All my memories are positive now and my little regret is that she passed away before I had a real chance to reward her for all she had done for us and the result that her devotion had made on so many.

Mom's living legacy is in the lives of her children who have achieved so much. The fact that Mom was a proud person and demanded so much from us that we now pass on the values she instilled in each of us. For me one of the constant reminders I have is when I cook. She had a number of dinners and items that I still love today and feed my children these special but simple foods that have become traditional.

Mom was known to hear that the minister was coming down the lane unannounced and she would have a pan of squares ready when he stepped through the door. We had some laughter in our kitchen when Mom burned the steak or was so busy she forgot something but it was never anything but empathic and in good fun.

Noon hours were special times for us as we always walked home for noon recess. Our favourite noon lunch was corn cake or Johnny cake, hot with butter and molasses. Squares large and inviting sent us back to school with a full belly ready to take on the school work of the afternoon.

Cape Bretoners loved their fish and Mom used to bake fresh cod and vegetables. I could never replicate her recipe but the smell and taste is still there. This seems much about food but when you live in a home with a dozen people the communication time is around the table. We were well served with all the wonderful treats we received at that table and the advice and wisdom shared by Mom and Dad. There were times when the topics caused much chatter but we always seemed to manage.

On Mother's Day even yet I have a special little time when I shed a happy tear recalling the time shared with Mom and Dad around that kitchen table and seeing once again my brothers and sisters seated in their assigned places and listening to our betters help us to grow up to be good citizens and worthy Canadians.

Coal Miners

Rita McNeil had her yearly Xmas concert the other evening but it turned out to be a visit with the Men From The Deeps. It was a moving musical treat for those who have a connection with the coal mines in Nova Scotia and Cape Breton in particular.

My Father and grand parents before him all worked the coal mines of Cape Breton. What makes these coal mines distinct is the fact that many were submarine mines meaning they were digging the coal which was out under the ocean. Princess Number 1 was the largest coal mine  which took coal for a hundred years from under the Atlantic Ocean.

Dad would get up at 5.am and catch the man car to the mine. He had to travel down hundreds of feet in a elevator like cage where he mounted a box mounted on tracks to travel many miles to his work. This was called a man rake and held up to several hundred men.

Beyond this he had to walk to the long wall where the coal was mined. As a loader two men had to cut, shoot and load coal from a solid wall 40 feet by four feet and 6 feet high. All this was during a 8 to 10 hour shift. After work the reverse travel took more than an hour and then shower and take the man car home. This was really a 11 or 12 hour shift.

The men were hearty and strong and suffered working conditions that by today's standards would be brutal.Dad never complained but made sure none of his 4 sons became coal miners. Dad was a person who loved the pit ponies and I still remember him talking about one pony in particular named Samson. This pony was so strong and was worked in an manner that was brutal and even though some of the miners were caring the ponies were an expendable commodity.

I loved the Men of the Deeps rendition of a song so dear to Cape Bretoners called A working Man I Am. Everywhere this choir travels this song gets the greatest applause.Rita McNeil sings with this miners choir every chance she gets and is always very popular

Uncle Russell

I received a call last evening from my sister Carol Ann and I knew the message before I returned the call. Uncle Russell passed away.This summer I missed the opportunity of a visit but he was resting when I arrived at his house and I did not wish to disturb him. It was perhaps better in the long run as I remember Uncle Russell as a younger, active and influential person in my life.

I was fortunate in having half a dozen uncles and four of them lived within a stones throw from my home. I had the benefit of four men who shared every minute of spare time actively engaging their extended family in healthy activities. Ma Vickers' boys used the spacious yard as a compound with their homes built around the family house.

The yard became a sports arena where horse shoe pits were built and used nearly every day. Ball gloves were in the outer porch and there was always an uncle to play catch and in winter a family size rink was built right in the middle of the yard.

All of my uncles nurtured us and made sure we played by the rules. Uncle Russell was probably the quietest of all my uncles but had a positive impact on our lives. He would listen to us and had this habit of looking at us and saying really when we spoke questionable statements. He would then not criticize us but give his patented grin and chuckle. He had a impish manner and expressive eyes that indicated to us his acceptance or rejection of our conduct.

Just after WWII when two of our uncles returned home there was a celebration at the family home. Uncle Matt and Buster arrived home and we as children were caught up in all the excitement. My cousin Adrian was in the kitchen and picked up a pack of Camel cigarettes. He motioned to Harry and I to follow him outside. We retreated to the old apple tree and each took a cigarette. These were not cork tipped but strong tasting tobacco. We had trouble lighting them but managed to send up a cloud of smoke. Our fun ended when this figure looked down on us with a big grin. He encouraged us to finish the smoke. I never smokes another cigarette in my life. I was sick, Russell never ratted on us but we paid the price.

The best experiences with uncle Russell came during the hot days of summer when he took all of us swimming at the back shore. It was a two mile walk down past the big pond and we always stopped by a small creek which oozed coppers water. He explained it was from the abandoned coal mine. That was the first time I was introduced to the word pollution.. At the back shore was a huge sandy beach in the shadow of the tailing's of the closed steel mill. We never ever saw anyone there except us. Russel had us running races and getting in the freezing water and just having fun laughing and making noise in a place that was otherwise silent except from the crashing waves from the ocean. He always said to point east and over there was England. We loved these times.

I got in a little trouble once when I disobeyed my Grandmother. There was a small crop pit beside the house and we were told to stay away. One evening after dark I saw uncle Russell removed the frame over the pit and placed a winch in it's place. He disappeared down a latter with his carbide lamp lit.. I saw this and tried to follow but the latter was tricky. Russel heard me and chased me up the latter. He was angry and told me never to do this again.  I knew I was in trouble but he never told Grandma  or Mom. That was the kind of uncle he was.

Uncle Russel was 90 years old and lived a quiet life with his wife and daughter. He will be in the memory of his nephews for years to come. He made a difference in our lives.

Canso

Canso is a small town on the north east corner of Nova Scotia and on a clear day has a wonderful view of beautiful Cape Breton. Famous in the early days for its fishing fleet which gleaned a fortune from the Grand Banks of Newfoundland when Cod was king. Theresa and I made a journey out to this town while we were staying in Guysborough to see once again this town which lost its huge fish processing plant but remain viable.

We entered the town and immediately were overwhelmed by the natural beauty of the harbour and the fishing boats. We drove around the town and settled for a parking spot on the seashore. From there we took many photos.I engaged a group of about a dozen workers who made their living from the sea.

I asked about a friend who came from there and they knew the family name and said the fellow we knew left long ago  and went to Upper Canada. They seemed to be happy with their lot as fishermen and one quoted me the money he made last week when he  brought in 32 sword fish. Another said he and his fellow workers landed 50,000 lbs. of lobster at $4.00 a pound last week and that was not too bad.

I felt happy with the security these men found in doing what they and their ancestors have being doing for many years.The trip off the big road is well worth the time if you travel East in the future.These little towns have for the most part have come on hard times but I have a feeling that Canso will survive as a fishing town for many years to come.

Family Get Together

Every year when Theresa and I visit Cape Breton our family plan an event so we will see as many of the family and friends as possible. this year was no exception as all my siblings and many of my nephews and nieces came out to Melvyn's and Darla's home. With a great pool for the young ones to swim and surrounded by country food our shared time was warm and memorable.

I have four brothers and sisters living back home and it is special to be able to see them together and relating so well. The changes in the little ones over two years is amazing. Little girls become young ladies and boys grow to be young men. The family traits are deeply ingrained and the comparisons are made. Pictures are taken and and one of we five always draw special notice as we are getting older. I don't see too great a difference each year because I don't wish to think of us aging.

Family pulls you together and helps you to remember your heritage and share the past with young ones.I feel it is sad when children lose out on gatherings where there is an opportunity to mingle with members of the family from away . These family events help to keep the clan strong and I love every time we are able to have a fam..jam.

Are You From Away

The most frequently asked question  of me this time home in Cape Breton was "are you from away?" As Theresa and I mingled with the folks down home we were engaged in conversation numerous times with complete strangers. Walking on the boardwalk in Sydney or in the local stores people were so friendly that you become aware that maybe we stood out in the crowd. Maybe it was the way we walked or maybe we looked lost or needed help but in any case we became immediate friends with total strangers.

As we were going to breakfast one morning a lady asked us many questions in two minutes and was prepared to continue the conversation were we willing. The people with whom we were obligated to converse with such as the food servers were so friendly that we were impressed the Maritime people were always known as friendly people but since the economy has centered around the tourist industry the whole community seems to have taken the hospitality course.

We love to hear good things about ourselves and the comments we gleaned from people from away almost unanimously said the most charming thing about their Maritime trip was the people. Being from away causes the people from down home to put their best foot forward and it really shows. What is best about it is that it is not put on but genuine good manners and friendliness coming from the heart. I was so proud to be from away but still a down homer at heart.

65 Years Ago

Back 65 years ago we celebrated with a migration to Groves Point. Because few people had cars the only transportation that could be mustered up was to get Buck Ashe to clean up his huge truck and carry us out to the Point for a picnic and swim.This truck was a ten ton job with an open box which could hold up to 25 people. He would take us out on the 12 mile drive, drop us off and return in the evening to take us home.

The drive was fun and as we arrived at the beach site everyone would run to get the choice spots under the big trees for shade. Blankets were laid out and the boxes laden with the lunches would be stored close by. We children would find a convenient place to change into our bathing suits and we would be off to the beach for hours of sunshine and swimming.

The adults would sometimes swim or group on the sandy beach keeping watch over we children. I would break away from the group and sneak up the nearby Glenn and follow a trial to a small waterfall. Usually we would see deer along the way and on the way back we would take a different trail and emerge near the beach.

Mom and the adults would move away from the beach and prepare the lunch. A loud voice would call us together for lunch.An open fire made smokey tea and Mom's salad with her special mustard dressing was always served. Potato salad and ham on plates balanced on shivering knees caused by the long time spent in the cold water was our table. It seemed everything we ate had a special taste and the good humour among the family and friends made the day memorable.

After lunch games were played on the open field. Usually a pickup game of ball kept us interested and entertained for some time. Everyone joined, even Mom and we all laughed when funny things happened.

The sound of music caught our ears so we gravitated to the fire which became larger as we kids gathered driftwood to feed the flames. A banjo, a violin would appear out of thin air and the singsong would begin. Shouts from the people seeking their favourite song made us forget about time. Hot dogs and marshmallows were produced and with hastily cut branches the party was nearly complete,

The beep of the horn from Buck Ashe's truck reminded us that the day was over.Sadly we packed up and crawled into the truck box, The little ones wrapped in blankets nearly sleeping from the day's activity saying that we should do this again next weekend. We arrived home tired and completely happy with having a great day at Groves Point with family and friends. This routine was followed many times during our young lives and remains even today one of those memories that stand out as just perfect.

Oh My Papa

The older you get the more you look back at your life journey. Although my Dad has not been with us for many years I find myself reflecting on my relationship with Buddy Brown. Everyone called him Buddy but his name was Charles. Dad began his life in a little house in the shadow of Princess Colliery, a coal mine in Cranberry, Cape Breton.

His Mom died shortly after he was born so he was raised by his two sisters. He attended school at a small 2 room building in Queen Pitt. He was bright by all accounts and in grade 8 at the tender age he was taken away from school and began work as a boy helper. He was a small boy and life was difficult as he worked 10 hour shifts without much monetary gain.

Mrs. Farnsworth was Dad's teacher and she became my teacher some years later. Mrs. Farnsworth told me the story of how she tried to convince my grandfather to leave Dad in school but was unsuccessful. My memories of Dad are very mixed as I was one of many children seeking attention from Mom and Dad. Dad was the strongest man I knew for his size and attempted to make all the boys the same. We worked along side of our father whenever tasks were to be performed. Haying, gardening and shovelling coal when we were not in school.

Dad placed a high value on education and encouraged us to do well. He demanded much from us but gave back so much more. Today I credit my success in life to the parents I had. The work ethic was driven into us at a young age. Dad used to say that there was no work too menial but approach it as an opportunity. We did every type of work as kids and were proud to contribute to our well being.

The finer things Dad did for we children gave me life happiness. Fishing; dad was a happy fisherman. He tied his own flies and was happiest when fishing a brook with us. Dad was an athlete and as a young person he played football {rugby} and hockey. An excellent swimmer and skater up to his eighties. He played the accordion with a Cape Breton flavour and passed on the love of music to us.

Dad drove us everywhere: to picnics, school hockey and summer camp. He came to my graduation when I passed through Teachers College in Truro. All in all he did more than expected, along with his many jobs. As he aged and Mom passed on he came to visit me in Ontario. One time I wanted him to come for a visit so I told him I needed help building a double garage. He was over eighty but came and practically built the place by himself.

Finally I saw a great transformation in my Dad as he shared time with his grandchildren and left a lasting impression with all of them. I wish he was here today to experience the wonderful family he started and the legacy he left behind. My memories today are all positive and I share them with all who will listen. My Dad did the very best he could under very trying circumstances. I am sure all of our family share this strong feeling of our love for our father.

Church Point Get Together

Our grade xii class at SMH were about to be graduates and the class was looking for ways to get together before our Prom.We were a small class and actually 12 members of our class began grade 1 together and now were leaving the system for bigger and better things. After looking for an event we decided to have a cook out and swim at Church Point. A dozen or more signed up for the trip and my Dad provided the transportation.

Dad's old coal truck was in use every day hauling coal but that night it was all clean and washed. Dad was to pick us up at 7:30 pm and drive us out to the point, about 15 miles. He would then come back at 10.30 pm to drive us home. We were excited and just to make matters better the weather was hot and calm.

We all packed into the old truck and sang and had a great time in the cramped quarters and arrived to begin a great evening of fun and frolics. We built a huge fire and after swimming in the cool June water we stood around the  fire and warmed up. Hot dogs and marsh mellows were cooked, burnt to perfection and we settled down to some of the most memorable conversations we ever had.

We remembered the good things and the sad things that occurred along our educational journey. We were a close knit group and as we talked of the future everyone of us except one were off to higher learning in the fall. Like all graduates we swore to keep in touch and mostly we did. Sixty years later we are smaller in number but still a robust gang.

The evening seemed to go so quickly and we ran out of time to say those special words to our special friends as Dad blew the horn calling us together for our drive home. We carefully put out the fire and it was almost symbolic as the flames went out so did our high school life. Rather than being happy we felt sad on the way home and we were very quiet. Thoughts screamed through our minds as the real true meaning of our future became a reality.

As Dad dropped off each of us at our home there were the good bye's as Dad went from home to home to make sure we safely delivered. When the last person was let off and Dad and I were alone in the front of the truck Dad asked me how the evening played out. I told him it was fun but sad as we were moving on. He said he wished he could have the opportunities we kids had as there was a wonderful world out there for us....one he never ever had the chance to experience as he became a miner as a boy helper. What could I say? Sorry Dad and thankyou for the wonderful evening, everyone enjoyed it.

Planting Spuds In Cape Breton

Every May 24th weekend was potato planting time when we were kids. It was a family affair and no member was exempt. Mom had the job of cutting the seed potatoes. With her paring knife she would slice through the seed potatoes and manage to get several good seeds from one potato.

Meanwhile Dad and his favourite horse Lady with one of the boys would plow a row about 8 inches deep. All the family would take up positions along the row and with Mom's seed potatoes in a container would place the seeds 1 foot apart at the bottom of the row. Dad would walk along the row with a rake and close the furrow and cover the seeds. Another plow row and the the row for the next seeding.

This planting would take several hours and after the last row was covered we would prepare for dinner. Meanwhile Dad and Lady would harrow the field and make it look great. Lady would get a rest and some extra oats and be turned out to pasture. We as a family sat down to Mom's stew and corn bread. All the talk was about how good the crop would be and eventually we asked about our picnic plans at Groves Point.

On the holiday we tried to get in the water for a swim even thought the water was cold. There was something special about a big family working and playing together. We were not rich but had a wonderful experience because of the dynamics of eleven people living together. Large families  can lead to rewarding experiences.

Memory Lane 1953: Johnny Miles Day

As a youngster my father told me about one of the greatest long distance runners in the world....Johnny Miles This was a young man who could run for Long distances and never be tired. He was a youngster who had a dream of running the Boston Marathon. His work was delivering milk to the people of Sydney Mines, Cape Breton. He wore rubber boots because of the weather and the conditions but that never slowed this man down.

Johnny Miles won every race he went into and became quite a person in the athletic scene. He decided to enter the Boston Marathon and hitch hiked to Boston for the event. He had no running shoes but bought a pair for less than a dollar before the race.

He entered the race as an unknown but before long he was known all over the world. He not only won the race but broke the record in spite of being lost during the race. He returned home a hero but the world called him to race everywhere there was a classic race and he met the challenge. As a young man I tried to become a little like him as uncle Matt used to make us race long distances for our own good.

I became quite a half miler in my day but long distance always called me to try the long races. I ran the 5,000 and 10,000 races for the Olympic trials in 1960 and loved the competition. I did make the finals that year in the 800 meters but that was a far off challenge to the Marathon.

I tried the marathon several times and always finished but my time was a little off the record. I looked up my best time and found that in 1961 there was a race where the winner had a time of 2 hours 27 minutes 37 seconds. My time was 2 hours,46 minutes and 44 secs. I came 27th. That race was for Johnny Miles. I only raced one more marathon and in that race I was just a finisher. I never ran a long race again but I loved the challenge and the name of Miles was always on my mind.

Miles was a Sydney miner and so am I and I shall always be proud to say his name and talk of his record.

Flashback To 1948

1948 was a year of important events in my life. Our home in Cape Breton was in shock as the coal miners went on strike.Freeman Jenkins was the president of UMW district 26 when men were working for less than a living wage and decided to go on strike. For us in our family it was a year of celebration because our oldest and smartest up to that time graduated from high school and headed to Provincial Normal School in Truro. Grace was the first of many in our family who followed and gave us a real chance to make our mark in life.

One memory that I still remember as funny was the impact that Grace had on our life. On one of her visits home she thought the kitchen floor was drab and because she took block printing at college she mobilized us in a project of painting shapes on our floor. The result was amazing and gave us a real treat and brightened up our kitchen.

With the men on strike there were many people who suffered poverty and real hardship. The Red Cross fed the children at school with a jam sandwich and a little jar of white milk every morning. On Friday we were fed a jam and peanut butter sandwich and the milk was chocolate.

Our churches went into action in our towns and helped the very poor with food and clothing. I remember with great clarity seeing the face of despair on the faces of fellow students. We as a family were better off than most as we had a great potato  patch and kitchen garden and Dad worked wherever he could and with his horse and cart hauled boot leg coal and shore coal to help.

Our mother was an amazing example with knitting, sewing and making something out of nothing. One item of clothing she made me and I still talk about it when I get in that mood of remembering when. It was a yellow shirt with a broad collar. Mom made it special by stitching a yellow yarn type of thread in the collar and button holes.

That same year some of our family received a New Testament from Carmen United Church for perfect attendance. I still have mine and treasure it and keep it in my collection of special books.

The strike lasted for a long time and as the men were making about $8.00 per day they ended going back to work months later for around $9.00 daily pay. This all seems so long ago but these thoughts came to mind as I looked at a old family picture with all the kids in their uniforms representing their church groups.

Memories are wonderful mind pictures which keep us in touch with our past. I loved my early life and when I get a flashback I treat it as a gift.

Shore Coal In Cape Breton

Probably one of the few places in the world coal can be dipped with a net from the sea was Sydney Mines, Cape Breton. The Princess Colliery was a submarine coal mine which operated continually for over a hundred years and,washed the coal before exporting. This washing process involved dumping many tons of coal in a huge washer and after the washing it was loaded into coal hoppers and exported. This washing process was not very efficient and for every 100 tons of coal washed many tons were lost. The lost coal and water was dumped into the nearby Sydney Harbour adjacent to the washplant.

With millions of tons mined yearly you can imagine the amount of coal which ended up in the harbour water.After years the coal, being lighter than the sand in the harbour water became stratified and formed a layer of pure coal near the mine site. When a storm blew in the harbour the coal would move and settle in the coves in the harbour. This layer of fine coal would be exposed at low tide and my father and I ,along with several other owners of horses would load the coal on waggons hauled by horses and piled on the shore above the tidal line.

On a good day our mare Lady, would pull fifteen or twenty half loads up from the water to our coal pile. We used dump carts or Red River carts which were very useful when working in water and sand. When the tide came in and covered the coal we used dip nets to load the coal on to our carts. This was very hard work and when it was in the winter very cold. My father had a trick to keep our hands warm while they were wet. Before we started to work and while our hands were warm we would dip them in the water. They acted like a wet suit for diving. This only worked with knitted wool mits.

We used to sell this coal to regular customers but often large trucks would buy the coal there on the beach. One particular day we sold almost ten tons to a truck driver and after helping to load the coal by hand we received $20.  That was an excellent days pay . When we delivered the coal to houses a couple of miles away we charged $2 per dump cart full. When I was older,  around 14, Dad would permit me to go alone to make some money. I loved to work with our old horse Charlie. He was old but strong and steady.

The mine has been closed for years and there is no more coal in the water but for many years it gave us a chance to earn extra cash. One quality this fine coal had was being covered with a salt from the sea it kept the chimneys clear and clean. There was no dust and was clean to the touch. At our home we used this shore coal for many years.The good old days they say but I always think of them as the difficult days when good things happened.

Sydney Mines, Cape Breton

Every once in a while I get nudged into looking back at my birth place in beautiful Cape Breton. This week my oldest daughter sent me a link for the second time which contains triggers to my past. I lived only a stones throw from the CNR Station on the main line of the railroad that brought Canada together as a country. This station is now the museum for the Area and is a perfect setting for our past history.

We lived on a particular piece of land which would for a hundred years furnish the natural resources making Sydney Mines a power house for heavy industry. Men with the ability to see coal under the ocean and the courage to undertake risks and capitol to extract it made for generations of wealth for the owners. One mine in particular called Number 1 but better known as Princess colliery was the largest submarine mine in the world and produced fine coal for over a century without interruption except a few strikes.

This coal made good coke so a modern (best in the world at the time) steel plant was built right in Sydney Mines. Iron ore was close at hand and for years the plant produced excellent grades of steel. A town was built around the industries and soon churches, hotels and all the components that make a stable community became a reality.

As a boy growing up in a coal town there was memories of dust, specially when you helped your Dad haul coal from the wash plant. Every pull of the chain on the coal chute gave a belch of coal dust, especially on windy days. I never gave it much thought at the time but our whole life was centered around the coal. It was not long before the railway turned to oil for their fuel and the steam engines were sold as scrap iron. We still see them at museum sites and we saw the glory days of these beautiful machines die a slow death. Living right there by the tracks and watching the trains pass through had an impact on we kids who used to delight in putting a penny on the rail and see it flattened by the crush of these monsters who belched smoke and steam and while not moving made sounds like a heartbeat.

The slower and smaller coal trains moving the coal from the mine to the coal trussel in North Sydney were a challenge for us to catch a ride. Mom always warned us but we took chances anyway and jumped the train taking us down to the beach in Cranberry.

All this came to a stop when the mines closed, the steel mill was torn down and the business section of the town diminished when the Co-op closed. The hotels which once graced our end of town burned one after another and sort of followed the lack of need for such enterprises. Our town turned shabby for a time as coal tailings were flattened to make baseball diamonds and parks. Lack of industry chased people to the mall built to cover the whole area and people settled in to become a bedroom town. Seniors became an industry and new housing and facilities were built. Sydney Mines now is off the beaten path now but has become a quiet place to retire.

When I go home I always visit the cemetery where generations of Vickers and Browns grace the old resting place for people who lived through the glory days of their town. I also visit Lockman's beach where I picture the Great Eastern laying off shore while the trans Atlantic cable was laid from Great Britain to Sydney Mines. The old building still stands and if you are lucky you can see the bits of cable sticking out of the sandy beach if it survived the people who dug it up for the copper it contained.

I walk the shoreline on the cliffs where during WWII huge guns were placed to guard the harbour and the convoys which left to feed free Europe. There is much more to Sydney Mines than you see by driving through on your way to go over the Cabot Trail. Drop in to the Museum and see our history and oh yes, one of the best collections of fossils found anywhere.

My children were all born in Upper Canada so trips home are essential to make sure they do not lose their proud heritage.

The Men Of The Co-op

Mr Hollett, Co-op Milkman circa 1940's

Men who worked for the Co-op came from every walk of life. Some worked there to avoid the dreaded coal mines, some came as friends of the management team who were made up of mostly old countrymen and some came to work because they loved the work. Donald's father was one of those who came and made the Co-op his life's work.

Up at 5am, breakfast and a walk to the stable to prepare his rig for the day's delivery of milk to households all over Sydney Mines. The Co-op kept over a dozen draft horses, mainly Clydesdales, to haul or deliver milk, groceries and bread to families in our town.

Getting the horse ready for work was a task that required the driver to harness these giant horses and to hitch them up to the milk waggon and travel over to the milk plant to pick up their load for the day. Back then people place an empty milk bottle on their step with a dime and the driver replaced this glass , quart or pint bottle in it's place. Since the milk was pasteurized but not homogenized the cream always came to the top. There was a small cardboard cover over the top of the bottle and in winter when the cream froze the cork would pop and made the prized cream exposed to the crows who knew how to be good thieves.

From door to door every day was a heavy task and the horses became tuned into the route and knew where to stop and go. Any man could service the route as the horse had it down pat. These drivers knew nearly everyone in town and acted as the eyes and ears of the community. More than once these alert drivers called in fires and help as they saw fit during their workday.

The horse in the picture was named Queen I believe and worked for a long time in our end of town.The milk waggon pictured was to become our playhouse after it was retired with trucks taking over from the horses. My Dad took off the wheels and installed it near our house and it became home to my sisters dolls and toys.

Donald's father was not always a milkman as he grew up through the ranks and ended as the manager of the Cranberry Co-op. Many times I called in at this store as it was right next to my grandfathers home and we used to pass it on the way there. One memory of Donald's Father in that store was the old water cooled pop machine. Right at the front of the store and so cold. I used to pick an Iron Brew, a local drink like cola and drink it in the store. It was $.o5 to drink there and $.07 if you took the bottle. You received the $.o2 back with the return of the bottle.

The Cranberry store was unique as it carried more fishermen's supplies and dried cod and caplin were always there in abundance. The Co-op men were a special breed and Donald's Dad was a Co-op man through and through. We as kids always loved to go into his store because he treated us very well.

Swift's Social Club

Sydney Mines, Cape Breton was a coal mining town with a number of years as a steel producer as well. That is all in the past as not one coal mine is operating as we read this blog and steel producing is a distant memory. There was however, a time when Sydney Mines was a vibrant community. Divided into four wards of about equal size and with a distinct ethnic and social mix.

I lived in ward four and our house was the last one at the end of our lane named after my grandparents. Practically  every man worked in the pit or coal mine. Dad worked in one of the largest and oldest mines in Canada. Princess Colliery was a submarine mine on the north shore of Sydney harbour and reaching out for many miles under the Atlantic Ocean.

Our ward four had a community spirit and most of the people who lived there were either related, Scottish or friends. From this vantage the people formed a social club called the Swifts. I do not know the background of the name but all our sporting teams were called Swifts. The club was a loose collection of citizens who took responsibility for the development of sports facilities in the area as did the other wards. Hockey, football, baseball and a skating rink were developed and maintained by the local people without help from any level of government.

A clubhouse was also built by volunteers and was the focal point for cards, suppers and social events. As a youngster we were often entertained there on special occasions. I remember one such time when a bean supper was provided by the ladies with home made brown bread and plenty of home made pie. After supper Mr. Bennett played his guitar and soon many musical instruments appeared and there was a real hoe-down. Everyone joined in the singing and some did a step dance and you get the picture. It was right out of West Virginia.

That was the last time I remember the hall being used as it was just after WW11 and times had changed. The community had changed as well and the old Swift's Club just disappeared. My fond memories of our Dad's playing hockey and ball against the other clubs still lingers. Our arch rivals were a club from Cranberry where the Travellers played so well during the games and celebrated just as well thereafter. There was a type of healthy spirit developed in those local social clubs and because they made their own fun it was pure and not contaminated by politics, money and greed as we see in the professional ranks.

The Swift's are no more and I dare say not too many remember them very well but I shall never forget seeing my uncles and cousins taking the field and defending the honour of the ward four Swift's.

Flashback 1944

I was watching a news clip from the CNN war zone and without trying my mind jumped backwards to 1944. This summer Theresa and I visited Cape Breton and my home town, and we stopped the car along the shores of Sydney Harbour. I got out and surveyed the landscape and the ruins of a once vital defence station during WWII. I was surprised to see the foundations of the naval guns still intact and the living quarters underground there where they were 66 years ago.

As a young child I remember clearly the naval gun placements along the shore line in Sydney Harbour, and along Lockman's beach in particular. During the war there was a huge net across the harbour entrance, opened and closed by two small tugboats to guard against enemy intrusions. One day I was on the beach with my Dad when one of the huge naval gun fired a shell out into the ocean; a practise round, but it scared me and shook the ground around us. Dad explained their need and said to be unafraid. That same day on the way home with a load of shore coal, we passed a bog where parachutes were dropped from a plane and soldiers were firing machine guns at these miniature chutes. We even got one and took it home.

That evening I talked to my Mom about the war and all the noise and war activity, and during our talk there was a blackout signalled by a siren. This took the war close to home and for years after I played in the old war facilities along our shore and wondered about war in general. Without a clear understanding of why there were wars, I began to formulate my feelings about aggression.

I was an aggressive young person, often engaged in fights and conflicts but never knew why. Years later I came to the conclusion that I was some of the problem, as I carried strong feelings about most things, and defended my beliefs with physical force on occasion. Perhaps my life was a microcosm of the world, and countries acted like people. As I was 8 years old at the time, that thought was good enough for then, but there were bigger issues and later in life I would explore them.

This problem we have with aggression in schools and in the world is of grave concern to me in my elder years. If only the UN could really take on the designed task and be the government of the world and solve those contentious issues before they become open conflict. I guess it is things that cannot be resolved like who owns the oil and diamonds and in the future, who owns the food and water.

Down Home Reunion

Our family of nine kids and a wonderful mom and dad was the beginning of a clan that stretches across Canada. The core group however stayed in Cape Breton or returned after a stint in upper or lower Canada. Four of the family live in close proximity to our old home or cottage. Two boys and two girls call Cape Breton home and live close to the sea and the family roots. I make a yearly pilgrimage to the East and we always manage a family gathering.

It is not very formal or structured but after a few calls everyone who is available descend on the host or hostess with food and stories. We are not a family who over the years invaded the private space of each other but come an occasion to get together the attendance record is sterling. Our numbers have gone down and as all aging families they will decrease even more in the future. While we are able we make an effort to keep in touch and support each other when the need occurs.Our family ranges in age from 80 to 57 so by any standard we are a middle age family.

I love the contact with my brothers and sisters and to share their joy at the birth of another nephew or niece or grand children. It is the children who are the main attraction at our gatherings. They provide the energy to keep the traditions alive and to bring fresh arguments to our stale conversations. Every year we have to face life and death in our family and the family bond helps us through both.

Our third generation is the new strength and from what I see we will be well represented in the future with keen minds and bodies. Our family have been contributors for the most point, having chosen the humanities for their life's work. Education and public service heads the list and I am proud of that. Our parents made sure every one of us had a start in life with at least a year of post secondary education. That was an achievement in itself but the fact that all are gainfully employed and always have been so speaks loads of the work ethic instilled in all of us from a young age by our parents.

My journey to Cape Breton is over for this year but I left the Island feeling confident that all is well back home and I look forward to our next visit sometime in the future.