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.
Showing posts with label childhood. Show all posts
Showing posts with label childhood. Show all posts
Sunday, June 16, 2013
Saturday, May 11, 2013
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.
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.
Wednesday, December 26, 2012
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
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.
Friday, October 5, 2012
A Walk To Church On Thanksgiving Day
There was always a special service in our Carmen United Church on Thanksgiving. We as a family walked to church together on this day. We were a large family by today's standards but back in the forties we were about average . Getting ready for church was quite an undertaking as we had to measure up to our Mom's inspection before getting out the door. Polished shoes for the boys and best clothes for all ,we must have been quite a sight as we walked up the lane.
We lived in a house ,last on the lane and as we walked up the narrow pathway we passed most of our relatives who also lived close by. Nearly all of our extended family also attended our church. As we crossed the railway tracks we were in a different place. Our town was divided by two sets of railway tracks. One was the mainline CNR which was so busy during the war carrying material and men to other places in Canada and the smaller rail line owned by the coal company. These tracks often became a barrier when the trains stopped, blocking our free passage so we had to wait or crawl under to get home.
Mom usually walked with the girls but as we approached the church she gave us final instructions, specially to we boys about our behaviour. We could hear the church bell ringing, warning us that service was to begin in fifteen minutes. We hurried along an approached the steps forming a line as we entered the church chamber. The organist was playing the pipe organ and we filed down the right side and with the help of the usher filled the fourth and part of the fifth pews. We always sat in the same place. Mom quickly shuffled us around so she could keep an eye on us during the service.
On this Sunday the church was decorated with flowers and coloured leaves. There was a special feeling and every seat was filled. Our beloved old minister J W O'Brien cleared his throat and began the service. After the extremely long prayer and children's hymn the young ones filed out. This year I was able to remain because I was 11 years old. The rest of the service was pretty boring with the minister having a terrible time with his voice and he kept reaching down to find his glass of water. He prayed for everyone in several ways, spoke kindly about everything and told us how thankful we should be for all the blessings bestowed upon us by a caring God. I was impressed but my head was full of thoughts about all the people I knew who did not have much to be thankful for.
Service was over and we filed out with the adults thanking the minister for a wonderful service and we children were given a kind pat on the head much as you pat your favourite pet. What I was looking forward to was the Thanksgiving dinner with roasted chicken, mashed potatoes, turnip and carrots and Mom's apple pie or sweet squares.
As we cleared the church we boys bolted from the area and never stopped until we reached home. As we entered our house we were transformed into another world by the wonderful smells of Thanksgiving Dinner. I still have this memory and it is replicated every year when we get together to keep the tradition alive. What a wonderful feeling.
We lived in a house ,last on the lane and as we walked up the narrow pathway we passed most of our relatives who also lived close by. Nearly all of our extended family also attended our church. As we crossed the railway tracks we were in a different place. Our town was divided by two sets of railway tracks. One was the mainline CNR which was so busy during the war carrying material and men to other places in Canada and the smaller rail line owned by the coal company. These tracks often became a barrier when the trains stopped, blocking our free passage so we had to wait or crawl under to get home.
Mom usually walked with the girls but as we approached the church she gave us final instructions, specially to we boys about our behaviour. We could hear the church bell ringing, warning us that service was to begin in fifteen minutes. We hurried along an approached the steps forming a line as we entered the church chamber. The organist was playing the pipe organ and we filed down the right side and with the help of the usher filled the fourth and part of the fifth pews. We always sat in the same place. Mom quickly shuffled us around so she could keep an eye on us during the service.
On this Sunday the church was decorated with flowers and coloured leaves. There was a special feeling and every seat was filled. Our beloved old minister J W O'Brien cleared his throat and began the service. After the extremely long prayer and children's hymn the young ones filed out. This year I was able to remain because I was 11 years old. The rest of the service was pretty boring with the minister having a terrible time with his voice and he kept reaching down to find his glass of water. He prayed for everyone in several ways, spoke kindly about everything and told us how thankful we should be for all the blessings bestowed upon us by a caring God. I was impressed but my head was full of thoughts about all the people I knew who did not have much to be thankful for.
Service was over and we filed out with the adults thanking the minister for a wonderful service and we children were given a kind pat on the head much as you pat your favourite pet. What I was looking forward to was the Thanksgiving dinner with roasted chicken, mashed potatoes, turnip and carrots and Mom's apple pie or sweet squares.
As we cleared the church we boys bolted from the area and never stopped until we reached home. As we entered our house we were transformed into another world by the wonderful smells of Thanksgiving Dinner. I still have this memory and it is replicated every year when we get together to keep the tradition alive. What a wonderful feeling.
Thursday, July 26, 2012
The Boat Which Would Not Float
Years ago when I was a young boy I was always near water and dreamed of owning my own boat some day. Dad used to build boats for fishing and we use to enjoy our time in that row boat. We lived near a big pond. It was rather like a lake as it was over a mile long and close to half a mile wide. A highway ran through the pond at one end and caused a smaller pond or head as we called it.
This pond became the recipient of much pollution in the early days as water from the mines was dumped in at several points. We called it coppers water because it caused all the rocks and land to turn a copper color because of the impurities.
My friend Tom and I used to have a tree fort close to the pond and frequently walked its shores. One day we spotted what looked like a sunken boat close to shore. We thought we had found the best prize of all and our imaginations went wild. Plans flew from our lips and before half an hour we were sailing with a mast and sail installed...in our minds only.
Off came our shoes and socks and in we went. On close examination the boat appeared sound but it was filled with sand and muck. We came out of the water convinced we had a treasure.We swore each to secrecy and walked home making plan all the way. We would clear the boat of all that kept it from floating and pull the hulk up on the shore and clean it up.
We never gave it a thought about who may have owned it as we felt it was salvage. Tom and I realized we had to work quietly and quickly before our parents became involved. For several days we made stories to our family about our keen interest down by the pond and worked with a shovel and bucket to clean out the boat. Every day we would get much of the sand and muck cleared but the next day it would be filled again.
To make a long story short we did clear the boat one day and with a heavy rope and a tackle we were about to pull the boat up on shore. We tied the tackle to a large birch tree and it did its job but as we began to pull the boat out of the water it became very heavy. We bailed it nearly dry and on close examination saw several large holes in the bottom of our boat. We were not discouraged and managed to get it almost clear of the water when we heard a very unkind sound.
With a crackling and sound of splitting we saw our dream boat separated into two halves. It was rotten right down the stem and was abandoned for that reason. Discouraged a little but never the less happy for the experience we decided to go on for bigger and better things. We decided to build our own boat. In the meantime we had to be happy with our four pole raft and long poles to explore the shoreline of the Big Pond.
This pond became the recipient of much pollution in the early days as water from the mines was dumped in at several points. We called it coppers water because it caused all the rocks and land to turn a copper color because of the impurities.
My friend Tom and I used to have a tree fort close to the pond and frequently walked its shores. One day we spotted what looked like a sunken boat close to shore. We thought we had found the best prize of all and our imaginations went wild. Plans flew from our lips and before half an hour we were sailing with a mast and sail installed...in our minds only.
Off came our shoes and socks and in we went. On close examination the boat appeared sound but it was filled with sand and muck. We came out of the water convinced we had a treasure.We swore each to secrecy and walked home making plan all the way. We would clear the boat of all that kept it from floating and pull the hulk up on the shore and clean it up.
We never gave it a thought about who may have owned it as we felt it was salvage. Tom and I realized we had to work quietly and quickly before our parents became involved. For several days we made stories to our family about our keen interest down by the pond and worked with a shovel and bucket to clean out the boat. Every day we would get much of the sand and muck cleared but the next day it would be filled again.
To make a long story short we did clear the boat one day and with a heavy rope and a tackle we were about to pull the boat up on shore. We tied the tackle to a large birch tree and it did its job but as we began to pull the boat out of the water it became very heavy. We bailed it nearly dry and on close examination saw several large holes in the bottom of our boat. We were not discouraged and managed to get it almost clear of the water when we heard a very unkind sound.
With a crackling and sound of splitting we saw our dream boat separated into two halves. It was rotten right down the stem and was abandoned for that reason. Discouraged a little but never the less happy for the experience we decided to go on for bigger and better things. We decided to build our own boat. In the meantime we had to be happy with our four pole raft and long poles to explore the shoreline of the Big Pond.
Tuesday, July 3, 2012
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.
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.
Sunday, June 17, 2012
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.
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.
Friday, June 15, 2012
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.
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.
Tuesday, May 22, 2012
Trout Fishing With Uncle Alex and Dad.
Dad had a few brothers but the one closest to him was Uncle Alex. He lived in our town and we were regular visitors to their home. One thing Dad and Alex had in common was their love of fishing.Uncle Alex was a large person and took up a lot of space when we went fishing. On one unforgettable trip down north to Breton Cove we travelled in a half ton Ford.
As the trip was a long one in the late forties with the roads not so good and a ferry to cross we left very early in the morning. As we picked up Uncle and he squeezed into the cab I was left with little room. Uncle Alex was a nervous passenger and the road over the mountain was winding and although Dad was a good driver it was a problem if you met a logging truck.
On nearly every turn Alex would grab my knee and squeeze so hard it actually became uncomfortable. Both Dad and Alex smoked. Dad and uncle lit up when we began the trip and never ceased to let their pipes stop the relentless smoke all the way. We had to cross two ferries and waited for each nearly half an hour. This was the time when I could get out and have some fresh air. I loved to fish as well so I knew better than to complain.
All the talk was about fishing and the big ones that never made it into the boat, Between stories and laughter I knew the old folks were having a good time. Alex loved a locally made pop called Iron Brew. He had a six pack and he offered me one and it was good. I became a fan of that pop after that trip.
We finally arrived at the turn off spot and carefully drove down a narrow pathway to the ocean shore. There was the glory hole for speckled trout. Separated from the ocean by a rocky beach made up of perfectly rounded stones which made such music with every incoming wave you had to just take a moment and fill your mind with this landscape.
It was early morning and the only sound was the ocean waves and some seagulls fighting over some washed up fish. We had a small row boat that Dad built and carried it in the back of the half ton. We were all business now as fishing was on our mind. In minutes we had the boat in the water and all the fishing gear at the ready.
Alex and Dad had other thoughts. A fire was started and tea boiled and they ate some breakfast. I already had my line wet and declared a bite but it might have been a bottom fish. I came back to the warm fire and had some toast burned over the fire and boiled tea.Soon we advanced to the boat. I saw nothing but trouble as the question was how were we to fit into that small boat. As I mentioned Uncle weighed at least 300 pounds and with Dad and me as well???
Dad got in the middle and took the oars, Uncle sat in the back and nearly sunk the boat and I curled up in the bow. Dad was not concerned as we pulled away from shore. As a joke Dad said we had a heavy load so keep the gum in the middle of your mouth. They laughed and I worried. Dad rowed to the other side of the pond and dropped his favourite anchor - a stone on a rope.
With pipes lit to keep away the mosquitoes we began fishing. Every cast we caught a fish. These trout were all about the same size and were fun to catch. I used a alder rod which I cut as we prepared to fish. Every time Uncle got a bite or a fish he yanked it so hard it landed in the boat and the tiny boat rocked dangerously.
I could not reveal the number of trout we caught but in those days we filled the pail in no time. Dad lifted the anchor and released the stone anchor and rowed back to shore, I jumped out and so did Dad but poor Uncle had difficulty getting our t as he sat too long. He sort of rolled out not on land but in shallow water. Dad managed to help him up to our laughter and we all joined in knowing it was in good fun.
That was a special day for me and the next time I fished with Uncle was when he moved away to Ontario and so did I. I met him forty years later on Muskrat Lake near Cobden and he was fishing. We had a visit and he reminded me of that time when we caught all those trout and he caught a wet bottom. We laughed as we did that day when I was ten years old and Uncle and Dad were young as well.
As the trip was a long one in the late forties with the roads not so good and a ferry to cross we left very early in the morning. As we picked up Uncle and he squeezed into the cab I was left with little room. Uncle Alex was a nervous passenger and the road over the mountain was winding and although Dad was a good driver it was a problem if you met a logging truck.
On nearly every turn Alex would grab my knee and squeeze so hard it actually became uncomfortable. Both Dad and Alex smoked. Dad and uncle lit up when we began the trip and never ceased to let their pipes stop the relentless smoke all the way. We had to cross two ferries and waited for each nearly half an hour. This was the time when I could get out and have some fresh air. I loved to fish as well so I knew better than to complain.
All the talk was about fishing and the big ones that never made it into the boat, Between stories and laughter I knew the old folks were having a good time. Alex loved a locally made pop called Iron Brew. He had a six pack and he offered me one and it was good. I became a fan of that pop after that trip.
We finally arrived at the turn off spot and carefully drove down a narrow pathway to the ocean shore. There was the glory hole for speckled trout. Separated from the ocean by a rocky beach made up of perfectly rounded stones which made such music with every incoming wave you had to just take a moment and fill your mind with this landscape.
It was early morning and the only sound was the ocean waves and some seagulls fighting over some washed up fish. We had a small row boat that Dad built and carried it in the back of the half ton. We were all business now as fishing was on our mind. In minutes we had the boat in the water and all the fishing gear at the ready.
Alex and Dad had other thoughts. A fire was started and tea boiled and they ate some breakfast. I already had my line wet and declared a bite but it might have been a bottom fish. I came back to the warm fire and had some toast burned over the fire and boiled tea.Soon we advanced to the boat. I saw nothing but trouble as the question was how were we to fit into that small boat. As I mentioned Uncle weighed at least 300 pounds and with Dad and me as well???
Dad got in the middle and took the oars, Uncle sat in the back and nearly sunk the boat and I curled up in the bow. Dad was not concerned as we pulled away from shore. As a joke Dad said we had a heavy load so keep the gum in the middle of your mouth. They laughed and I worried. Dad rowed to the other side of the pond and dropped his favourite anchor - a stone on a rope.
With pipes lit to keep away the mosquitoes we began fishing. Every cast we caught a fish. These trout were all about the same size and were fun to catch. I used a alder rod which I cut as we prepared to fish. Every time Uncle got a bite or a fish he yanked it so hard it landed in the boat and the tiny boat rocked dangerously.
I could not reveal the number of trout we caught but in those days we filled the pail in no time. Dad lifted the anchor and released the stone anchor and rowed back to shore, I jumped out and so did Dad but poor Uncle had difficulty getting our t as he sat too long. He sort of rolled out not on land but in shallow water. Dad managed to help him up to our laughter and we all joined in knowing it was in good fun.
That was a special day for me and the next time I fished with Uncle was when he moved away to Ontario and so did I. I met him forty years later on Muskrat Lake near Cobden and he was fishing. We had a visit and he reminded me of that time when we caught all those trout and he caught a wet bottom. We laughed as we did that day when I was ten years old and Uncle and Dad were young as well.
Sunday, May 20, 2012
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.
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.
Sunday, May 13, 2012
Mothers
Everyone has a Mother. This makes mothers the most influential group of people in the world. Even in countries that have little regard or respect for women their role makes them so important in bringing up a nation and guiding the youth in acquiring their values.
Mothers are honoured every year in May and a special day is declared. People chose to celebrate in many different ways but flowers and gifts seem to be the most common in North America. In our large family we had a routine which was repeated every year. We would attend church in the morning, wearing a flower. Red if your mother was alive and white if she was deceased. I remember one time making what I thought was a smart remark when I suggested that pink would be appropriate if your mother was sick. My Mom straightened me out in a hurry.
After church we would walk home to dinner prepared by our father. He never much cared about church attendance but he could cook when necessary. Immediately after dinner we boys and sometimes the girls would run down to the Big Pond forest and look for May flowers. These tiny pink and white flowers were the provincial flower of Nova Scotia and usually bloomed in May.After we picked a bunch we would grasp them tightly in our hands and race home to present them to Mom.
It always amazed me how excited she would be as we each in turn presented her with our lovely flowers. Mom acted excited with each offering and carefully placed them in water. They only lasted a short time but these flowers represented the love and respect we held for our Mom. Time went on and soon I was married and the father of four children. My children used to make Mothers Day special for their mother. I always felt a special inner glow as my kids honoured her and I thought of the happy times I had on Mother's Day when I was a child.
Mothers are special and were more women in charge of more responsible positions in this world it would be a better place by far.
Mothers are honoured every year in May and a special day is declared. People chose to celebrate in many different ways but flowers and gifts seem to be the most common in North America. In our large family we had a routine which was repeated every year. We would attend church in the morning, wearing a flower. Red if your mother was alive and white if she was deceased. I remember one time making what I thought was a smart remark when I suggested that pink would be appropriate if your mother was sick. My Mom straightened me out in a hurry.
After church we would walk home to dinner prepared by our father. He never much cared about church attendance but he could cook when necessary. Immediately after dinner we boys and sometimes the girls would run down to the Big Pond forest and look for May flowers. These tiny pink and white flowers were the provincial flower of Nova Scotia and usually bloomed in May.After we picked a bunch we would grasp them tightly in our hands and race home to present them to Mom.
It always amazed me how excited she would be as we each in turn presented her with our lovely flowers. Mom acted excited with each offering and carefully placed them in water. They only lasted a short time but these flowers represented the love and respect we held for our Mom. Time went on and soon I was married and the father of four children. My children used to make Mothers Day special for their mother. I always felt a special inner glow as my kids honoured her and I thought of the happy times I had on Mother's Day when I was a child.
Mothers are special and were more women in charge of more responsible positions in this world it would be a better place by far.
Monday, March 5, 2012
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.
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.
Monday, January 30, 2012
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.
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.
Thursday, October 27, 2011
Halloween
Halloween was a special day when I was a kid some years ago. We looked forward to this day and planned tricks on our friends and neighbours. Back in those days some of the so called jokes went way beyond and caused damage and outright vandalism. Some towns were known for their outrageous stunts and were widely reported. As young people we were less exciting but managed to have fun without being over the top.
For days ahead we planned our costumes and in a family of nine it was difficult to find props to make yourself less known to your neighbours. There was never a thought of a store bought costume. It was find some old clothes and become a tramp for a few hours or an old army outfit making you a brave warrior or whatever you could muster up. Every year there were movies which caused the majority of young girls to become a Hollywood personality for the evening.
We would soap windows or some silly thing or pull the old rope game where two people would stand on opposite sides of the road and when a car came by pretend you were holding a rope and make the driver come to a stop. Moving from house to house was the main attraction where by the neighbours would try to guess the goblins who crowded their door. Everyone had fun and most of the neighbours got in the act. Apples, home made fudge, candy coated apples for special goblins and suckers were the main treats. At Ma Vickers' place there was the special treat of home made taffy. Granddad Vickers was always given the credit for this delicious treat but in fact we found out years later that he had nothing to do with it.
Those days were ended in our home with a time when we all had to be in the house and a sharing of our pillow case full of goodies was traded and admired. Mom always warned us about eating too much candy by using the tooth cavity scare but it never worked. Finally we would go to bed with our treasures neatly tucked away under the bed or other secret place. It was a fun time and was for the children and parents who shared this special day. Next day the pumpkins were turned into pies and the decorations either taken down or re-cycled.
Today our young people miss the wonderful fun time because of the changes in society. It is not safe for your kids to go door to door, home made treats are rejected because of fear of the contents, they carry UNICEF boxes asking for money for the world's needy and how much is really turned over to the needy. Parents fear for their children and fun pranks are no longer acceptable..This magical day from the past has become another commercial grab as huge stores open for the season and sell China made costumes at ridiculous prices. Tiny toddlers come to your door with bag wide open for the treats and the guessing game is lost. What was a community social event has become much less.
For my part I always carve a pumpkin and welcome the handful of kids from the neighbourhood. Today you are lucky if you get a handful of goblins at your door. Adults buy store treats that they themselves like as they will not have to give many out to the public. We are a few days away from Halloween and I hope this year all the kids have a safe evening and maybe, just maybe the adults could tell them about the days when this was a very special day.
For days ahead we planned our costumes and in a family of nine it was difficult to find props to make yourself less known to your neighbours. There was never a thought of a store bought costume. It was find some old clothes and become a tramp for a few hours or an old army outfit making you a brave warrior or whatever you could muster up. Every year there were movies which caused the majority of young girls to become a Hollywood personality for the evening.
We would soap windows or some silly thing or pull the old rope game where two people would stand on opposite sides of the road and when a car came by pretend you were holding a rope and make the driver come to a stop. Moving from house to house was the main attraction where by the neighbours would try to guess the goblins who crowded their door. Everyone had fun and most of the neighbours got in the act. Apples, home made fudge, candy coated apples for special goblins and suckers were the main treats. At Ma Vickers' place there was the special treat of home made taffy. Granddad Vickers was always given the credit for this delicious treat but in fact we found out years later that he had nothing to do with it.
Those days were ended in our home with a time when we all had to be in the house and a sharing of our pillow case full of goodies was traded and admired. Mom always warned us about eating too much candy by using the tooth cavity scare but it never worked. Finally we would go to bed with our treasures neatly tucked away under the bed or other secret place. It was a fun time and was for the children and parents who shared this special day. Next day the pumpkins were turned into pies and the decorations either taken down or re-cycled.
Today our young people miss the wonderful fun time because of the changes in society. It is not safe for your kids to go door to door, home made treats are rejected because of fear of the contents, they carry UNICEF boxes asking for money for the world's needy and how much is really turned over to the needy. Parents fear for their children and fun pranks are no longer acceptable..This magical day from the past has become another commercial grab as huge stores open for the season and sell China made costumes at ridiculous prices. Tiny toddlers come to your door with bag wide open for the treats and the guessing game is lost. What was a community social event has become much less.
Friday, September 23, 2011
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.
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.
Thursday, August 4, 2011
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.
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.
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
The Men Of The Co-op
 |
| Mr Hollett, Co-op Milkman circa 1940's |
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.
Sunday, May 8, 2011
Mother's Day
I have written so much about Mom in my book that I probably repeat myself endlessly about her and her influence on my character. She was my super ego and no matter how I tried to escape she always found a way of creeping in to effect my judgment.
For years after her death I had dreams and realistic visits with her. My wife had a difficult time with me sitting up in bed and talking to the wall but actually Mom. She would try to wake me but I was so deep in thought that nothing could break the connection. Then I would go back to sleep. In the morning She would ask me who I was talking to and I would be able to give her a actual account of my visit with Mom.
At times of crisis in my life I would receive this visit and receive great advice. In real life Mom rarely gave me any advice but since her death I have had an on going partnership with her. I know that there is a rational answer to this situation but I love the thought that maybe the times I needed her when she was alive she was too busy or occupied to come to my aid. Now that she and I have lots of time I am receiving that attention I so dearly wished for as a child and young person. Her visits trailed off when I retired and no longer was in the public eye. I suppose my conscience and subconsciousness aspect has not required her help as I am at peace and have a wonderful life with a family and extended line of friends.
Age becomes your motivator and you wish to squeeze everything you desire into the time you have left. My Mom died well before normal age for most but her 65 years encompassed a world of achievements and her influence to her family and friends was remarkable. The time we have cannot be measured in linear time but how we use the time we had. My Mom used her time doing what she knew best, building a family who would become good people. She achieved this and on this day I remember picking May Flowers to wear to church and to give to her just because she was our Mom, and we loved her.
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
Mom's Kitchen
Today when we think of a kitchen we visualize a modern room filled with all the stainless steel appliances and a floor which shines and a neat breakfast table and chairs. All this along with over the stove fans, air conditioning and central heating. Quite a sight but one which most women expect in their home.
My Mom lived in a different era and as I watched a documentary on early Canadian living my mind immediately turned to my Mom's kitchen. To this day I do not understand how it functioned but functioned it did. Some time ago I was talking to my older sister Jeannie and we laughed at the way it was back then. We couldn't get a handle on the way our Mom would Marshall all of we kids into an orderly manner to function as a family.
Our kitchen was similar to most for our time. It appeared large to us but by to days standards it was small.It measured about 12 by 14 feet. In this room there were five doors. One to the basement, one to the bathroom, one to the dining room, one to go up stairs and one was the entrance. Two windows, one over the sink and one looking out over the backyard. Mom used these as a place for her geraniums and they bloomed summer and winter. The center of the room was our beautiful Enter prize stove. Mom loved this coal heated stove with the large oven and ornate warming shelf above the four lids and water heater. The stove had to be polished with stove black when the top was warm and the smell was special to me but the girls did not like it. A bucket filled with coal sat beside the stove.A fridge, wringer washer and a large harvest table filled in most of the space. Dad had a chair beside the stove where he sat and read the paper and smoked his pipe when he came home from the pit on the man car at 4.40 pm. He smoked Old Chum tobacco and at that time it cost $.25 at Uncle Chabs store.
That was the layout of the room but place 8 or 9 kids and Mom and Dad there you can guess it was a marvel that we were able to eat, work, do homework and all the other tasks with some kind of order.Supper time was one time we were all together and Mom sat by the stove and served the meal. Dad sat at the head of the table and commanded respect. We as a family did not say grace together but we were always thankful for the supper Mom served. At meal time our home smelled so good because we nearly always had home made bread, corn bread or buns. Most of our meals were hearty as Dad worked in the coal mine and was hungry. We ate early when Dad arrived home. I used to meet him sometimes and drink some of the pit tea. It smelled like the mine but was sweet because it was laced with much sugar.
With all this activity realize that mom often had her rug hooking rig in the room or a quilt frame but we managed. I guess we as a family now realize that that close contact as a family with everyone mixing and having to co-operate to survive made us the close family we are today. My memories of that kitchen , lacking in most of the modern conveniences had one element you can't buy at the Co-op Store, it had the human bond of a family with a wonderful Mom and Dad who gave their life so we would have it better than they did. I would love to go back for a day and relive those hectic times like when we were getting ready for school or church and watch my Mom get us all ready and out of the house on time, every time
My Mom lived in a different era and as I watched a documentary on early Canadian living my mind immediately turned to my Mom's kitchen. To this day I do not understand how it functioned but functioned it did. Some time ago I was talking to my older sister Jeannie and we laughed at the way it was back then. We couldn't get a handle on the way our Mom would Marshall all of we kids into an orderly manner to function as a family.
Our kitchen was similar to most for our time. It appeared large to us but by to days standards it was small.It measured about 12 by 14 feet. In this room there were five doors. One to the basement, one to the bathroom, one to the dining room, one to go up stairs and one was the entrance. Two windows, one over the sink and one looking out over the backyard. Mom used these as a place for her geraniums and they bloomed summer and winter. The center of the room was our beautiful Enter prize stove. Mom loved this coal heated stove with the large oven and ornate warming shelf above the four lids and water heater. The stove had to be polished with stove black when the top was warm and the smell was special to me but the girls did not like it. A bucket filled with coal sat beside the stove.A fridge, wringer washer and a large harvest table filled in most of the space. Dad had a chair beside the stove where he sat and read the paper and smoked his pipe when he came home from the pit on the man car at 4.40 pm. He smoked Old Chum tobacco and at that time it cost $.25 at Uncle Chabs store.
That was the layout of the room but place 8 or 9 kids and Mom and Dad there you can guess it was a marvel that we were able to eat, work, do homework and all the other tasks with some kind of order.Supper time was one time we were all together and Mom sat by the stove and served the meal. Dad sat at the head of the table and commanded respect. We as a family did not say grace together but we were always thankful for the supper Mom served. At meal time our home smelled so good because we nearly always had home made bread, corn bread or buns. Most of our meals were hearty as Dad worked in the coal mine and was hungry. We ate early when Dad arrived home. I used to meet him sometimes and drink some of the pit tea. It smelled like the mine but was sweet because it was laced with much sugar.
With all this activity realize that mom often had her rug hooking rig in the room or a quilt frame but we managed. I guess we as a family now realize that that close contact as a family with everyone mixing and having to co-operate to survive made us the close family we are today. My memories of that kitchen , lacking in most of the modern conveniences had one element you can't buy at the Co-op Store, it had the human bond of a family with a wonderful Mom and Dad who gave their life so we would have it better than they did. I would love to go back for a day and relive those hectic times like when we were getting ready for school or church and watch my Mom get us all ready and out of the house on time, every time
Thursday, December 2, 2010
Christmas
It was only officially recognized as a holiday in the USA years after Thanksgiving because it was thought to be too sacred a day to celebrate it except as a church going celebration. Thanksgiving was recognized by Congress earlier but the day was December 18th. Christmas remained as a religious celebration for years until we began to commercialize it and make it what it is today. Most people still understand the significance of this day but Christmas has become a time of many types of recognition.
With the introduction of Santa, gift giving and family get togethers, it is the special day for many in the whole year. In simpler times like when I was a child we looked forward to Xmas for weeks ahead. There was great emphasis in church and school about the Christmas Story and everything and it was meant as a religious celebration. It held however, special memories of home and family. Weeks ahead Mom would bake her light and dark fruit cake and carefully wrap it in special cloth and place it in a crock until Xmas. Home made mincemeat would be bottled, ready for those special pies and tarts which again were symbols of Xmas.
Our father would disappear to his work station in the garage only to display his handwork at Xmas. Home made gifts were common and expected. We as children would write on paper what we would like Santa to bring to us and we would wait until a hot fire was burning in the kitchen stove and one after the other we would toss in our wish list and watch it go up in smoke. Somehow Santa was to get the message and fill the orders.
Rumors would circulate in our home that Santa was watching us and we had to be good. If we were not we could be missed on Xmas morning or at least have a bag of coal placed in our stocking. I had coal in my stocking every year I think. We tried to get a big sock to hang up but it did not matter as each of us got the same thing. In our home everyone received an orange, an apple, grapes wrapped in tissue paper and hard candy. The hard candy was all colours and some was called ribbon candy. The special treat was the little bag of mixed nuts, Brazil, hazel and almonds. When we picked up our socks at the same time we always acted surprised and then the lessons of sharing and breaking the nuts with only two hammers when there was a dozen of us was fun. We never had a nut cracker.
We expected and received one gift along with a few smaller items shared among family members. We all saved and bought Mom and Dad gifts. For Dad, it was pipe tobacco or a pipe and little items he liked. For Mom it was chocolates , handkerchiefs or perfume. One year I gave my Mom two tiny vases which were hand painted and from Japan. I bought them at the 5 and ten for 15 cents each. Mom kept them and when she passed away my father gave them back to me. I treasured them and passed them on to my younger sister as she wanted a memory item of Mom. I recently saw a pair of these same vases at a yard sale and was tempted to buy them but I did not.
Besides fattening up the chickens for dinner dad would get some special foods and pop to make the day special. Dad would go to the local pop maker and get several cases of mixed drinks. My favourite was iron brew but we all had our special flavours met .Our house was invaded by friends ,uncles , neighbours and excited children showing off what Santa had brought. Later we would go skating on the pond right next to our home and have fun with all the local people. Home for the Xmas feast where Mom could produce six drumsticks from two hens and we all praised everything that was served and enjoyed the bounty rarely seen except on Christmas.
For us Christmas was family, and it still is.
With the introduction of Santa, gift giving and family get togethers, it is the special day for many in the whole year. In simpler times like when I was a child we looked forward to Xmas for weeks ahead. There was great emphasis in church and school about the Christmas Story and everything and it was meant as a religious celebration. It held however, special memories of home and family. Weeks ahead Mom would bake her light and dark fruit cake and carefully wrap it in special cloth and place it in a crock until Xmas. Home made mincemeat would be bottled, ready for those special pies and tarts which again were symbols of Xmas.
Our father would disappear to his work station in the garage only to display his handwork at Xmas. Home made gifts were common and expected. We as children would write on paper what we would like Santa to bring to us and we would wait until a hot fire was burning in the kitchen stove and one after the other we would toss in our wish list and watch it go up in smoke. Somehow Santa was to get the message and fill the orders.
Rumors would circulate in our home that Santa was watching us and we had to be good. If we were not we could be missed on Xmas morning or at least have a bag of coal placed in our stocking. I had coal in my stocking every year I think. We tried to get a big sock to hang up but it did not matter as each of us got the same thing. In our home everyone received an orange, an apple, grapes wrapped in tissue paper and hard candy. The hard candy was all colours and some was called ribbon candy. The special treat was the little bag of mixed nuts, Brazil, hazel and almonds. When we picked up our socks at the same time we always acted surprised and then the lessons of sharing and breaking the nuts with only two hammers when there was a dozen of us was fun. We never had a nut cracker.
We expected and received one gift along with a few smaller items shared among family members. We all saved and bought Mom and Dad gifts. For Dad, it was pipe tobacco or a pipe and little items he liked. For Mom it was chocolates , handkerchiefs or perfume. One year I gave my Mom two tiny vases which were hand painted and from Japan. I bought them at the 5 and ten for 15 cents each. Mom kept them and when she passed away my father gave them back to me. I treasured them and passed them on to my younger sister as she wanted a memory item of Mom. I recently saw a pair of these same vases at a yard sale and was tempted to buy them but I did not.
Besides fattening up the chickens for dinner dad would get some special foods and pop to make the day special. Dad would go to the local pop maker and get several cases of mixed drinks. My favourite was iron brew but we all had our special flavours met .Our house was invaded by friends ,uncles , neighbours and excited children showing off what Santa had brought. Later we would go skating on the pond right next to our home and have fun with all the local people. Home for the Xmas feast where Mom could produce six drumsticks from two hens and we all praised everything that was served and enjoyed the bounty rarely seen except on Christmas.
For us Christmas was family, and it still is.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)